Hey Frank! Write me a story about the 3 bears coming home and holding Goldilocks captive.

Avatar

They aren’t bears, exactly.

They aren’t really any kind of living thing. But at least, the little guy is sort of alive, in a way.

He’s been in his small plastic cell – that’s the size of his cage, anyway – for about an hour now, just sort of pacing back and forth, talking in his little animal voice. At first, that was funny. A little bit silly. But now he’s just… repeating a phrase, over and over, with no apparent understanding of what the phrase means.

Then he starts doing the same thing with other phrases, without understanding any of them either. Then he does the same thing with syllables, repeating them in rhythmic order, with no understanding of the meaning of the individual sounds. Then he begins to say them backwards, again, as if hearing himself say them for the first time.

The little guy keeps saying the same thing over and over, in different ways. And every time, it’s with an air of puzzlement – as if to say, why does this have so many different meanings? Why is that one of my favorite meals? Why?

He doesn’t get the questions he’s asking himself. He doesn’t realize he has an audience, when he does his little phrases. He just has… the little guy. The little guy has been there for so long that he feels a little bit unreal. Almost like an actor on a stage, a little bit unreal, a little bit unreal, as though this are all part of a little play and the little guy is actually an actor, and the audience is only part of the play, and the little guy’s lines have nothing to do with his reality, only with his performance. The little guy’s lines can’t affect anything real, they just affect him, his mind.

Except for the little guy, who is real. He is the little guy. This whole experiment has happened to the little guy and has happened to him, as a little guy.

He has a feeling – one of those odd, tingling, floating-on-a-cloud feelings. A feeling that he understands nothing of what is going on. An airy sensation. A sort of a floating feeling in his head.

A feeling that only the little guy exists, and all that surrounds him. This tiny space, in which only the little guy can exist. The little guy is the only thing that can know anything.

This is the little guy. He is the only little guy. Everything happens to him as it does to the little guy. And the little guy, who is the little guy, is the audience. And the little guy, who is the little guy, is the person in the room. And the little guy, who is the little guy, who is the little guy, who is the little guy…

This is what Goldilocks felt. This is what it feels like to have an audience, when you’re in a room full of people. A room full of Goldilockses.

Goldilocks? Goldilocks. Goldilocks. It’s the little guy. It’s the little guy that’s in the little room.

The little guy, the little guy, who is the little guy, is the little guy. He is the little guy.

The little guy in the little room, the little guy in the little room, the little guy in the little room. This is the little guy. He is the little guy. And he is Goldilocks, who was Goldilocks.

“This is where she is, Goldilocks. This is where she is, Goldilocks.”

Avatar

So Goldilocks in this situation is clearly becoming more and more unhinged in her current reality?

It’s not Goldilocks that is the little guy in the little room; it’s “Goldilocks.” You might say that it’s the little guy that Goldilocks became.

So “Goldilocks” was someone, or something else at one time and now has lost all touch with self and has slowly turned into the little guy in the little room then?