art $hit
I lost myself. Not my mind but actual pieces of my corporeal-ness. Like clockwork, I would be fine one moment then the cogs and gears would start churning and my center would spasm. Not center as in core, but the center of my body if you measured it from ground up. Is that the median? What is the prime meridian of my body, because my dick slants to the left, so I suppose that would throw measurements off a bit. The pressure in the steam engine would build up higher and higher until it needed to expel a log. And expel it wood. Sometimes the battle was furtive, quick and fierce, sometimes it was like reading War and Peace, an interminable existential journey spanning the apices, nadirs, and all the intervening mundanities of human experience.
Other times, it was like reading Finnegan’s Wake. is Foundered, no? yield till riverrun-eth over, upon the commode. Sisters Pericarp Endosperm Aleurone. Yellow embryos are planted as suppertide culminates with cry of “bababad algharaghta kamminar ronn konn bronn tonerron tuonn thunn trovarrhoun awnskawn toohoohoordenen thurnuk!1” A timpanic aural-tic accompaniment to the diarrheal purgation of a spastic colon or halcyonic Eden. Either way, the son of Adam was left down in the dumps. Now and then I was the fortunate son, far removed from conflict. At these times it was all peaceful-like, you know like a parlay under a white flag — sometimes I would have to throw up the white flag. Those were the times I kept every part of me.
1 most probable proper segmentation.