it is him again

how

how does he navigate between who he once was, who he now is, who he will become, who he wants to be

there is ketchup between his thighs

a black mood beset him at 11:30 and he drove to the mcdonalds on powells

sat in the parking lot, car with the lights on, staring into the black windshield, enjoying the freshness

got ketchup between his thighs, on his fingertips, on spots on the wheel which he cannot see

drove home, set up the tent. the tent will be another world, a child’s hide-a-way. the cat is curious. curiosity did not kill the cat

so much fear. repercussions flood his mind without his realising it. we are trained dogs. schools, parents, society teaches us what burns, what feels good. both are fabricated; for the people who teach us what burns are the very same people who will burn us if we don’t follow the rules.

there is apparent and real danger to colliding

but the danger with cutting the hair, claiming ownership of this body which he so often despises and seldom loves (when is he ever happy- he can count them on one hand for the past month) the danger with cutting the hair, he repeats, the danger is not real. there is no solid repercussion but somehow

(this little thing, this hair, why is he so afraid? panopticon?)

somehow he morphed from a free pixie girl with terribly onionish smell to some sort of fleshy clone- something that comes out during the dark, something that popped out of a mold, bits and all attached. you don’t see that side of him until he shows you, like this. do you have a dark side?

he doesnt mind the ketchup between his thighs. but he washed it off anyways.

wouldn’t you?

 

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