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On falling off the edge.
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![]() 10/8/2007 2:51 pm [Post a comment] |
There are a thousand tiny, barbed, fine as an eyelash fishhooks set at 3mm around the contour of your body, to each hook is attached a line, virtually invisible to the human eye. To each line is attached an idea, a request, a difficulty. Each line vibrates with the resonance of the oily thing at the end of it. The closer the thing, the idea, the request, the difficulty; the harsher the buzzing into the nerve it latched itself into. Every one hums at a frequency that demands you pay attention, scratch, pull and tear at your fucking skin until it stops - no matter how much it hurts. No matter that you may sever a fucking tendon or lose that idea, request or difficulty forever. Forever is a long fucking time to be wondering - and wondering is just another fishhook which connects directly to the 'regret' segment of your brain. Whilst the brain can't feel pain, it can certainly feel agitation. Each line takes its frequency from the pool of oil that is the half-formed; buoyed by petrol fumes or the air above asphalt - fucking amazing, living colour in perpetual motion giving glimpses of the safe way to remove that hook without removing a chunk of yourself. Each line tugs and buffets in the scorching mistral that surrounds the edge. Each line stretches away so as to give maximum support and cause maximum irritation. Each line is holding me up. Lest I fall off the edge. Scratch and fall or bear the pain and stay afloat. Fan FUCKING tastic. What a way to feel alive. |
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