The notes in his little notebook basically needed no revisions or additions, apart from entry 14.
Entry 14 read: [Tomato sauce turns into plaster under the sun (reason currently unknown).]
He thought for a moment, crossed out [reason currently unknown], then added:
"Tomatoes are hearts."
As he wrote this, a strange wave of dizziness swept through his brain, as though some shackle on his cognition had been unlocked.
Almost as if possessed, he continued writing:
"Tomato sauce is blood plasma."
Writing those two sentences left him uncomfortable all over. A sense of upheaval crept over him like darkness.
He felt darkness enveloping him, the world abandoning him.
He felt himself sinking. He was sitting in a chair, yet both he and the chair began sinking into an endless abyss.
He felt it becoming difficult to breathe. He felt an indescribable, unspeakable aura of terror descend from the void and clamp around his throat like a pair of invisible hands.
He felt terribly uncomfortable, terribly agitated, so he gripped his pen tightly and began scribbling out the sentences.
He looked like a drowning man struggling desperately.
Only when he had completely obliterated "Tomatoes are hearts" and "Tomato sauce is blood plasma" could he finally draw an easy breath.
"Hah, hah..."
He leaned against the chair, panting violently, like a lucky survivor who had pulled himself free of a mire after untold hardships, embracing the beauty of the world with all his strength.
He looked at the two sentences covered in chaotic lines on the page, his eyes narrowing involuntarily. His expression was solemn, an unusual light flickering in his eyes.
"What kind of twisted information is this, that it can't even be recorded in writing?"
He felt as though writing those two sentences would drain his life away.
Yet he could