Cnidaria

by dschapman

Pulled my hair out for a girl, no good reason for it. Fell into a tree and collapsed on the ground. Hadn’t laid on the ground in years, it felt strange. Realized things I haven’t done; haven’t walked barefoot in water. Haven’t even walked in water. Haven’t slept under the stars. All kinds of things I hadn’t done, and could easily never do again. Some men go all their lives without doing anything. In some ways I have already done too much, though did nothing of value. It is easy to forget how hard it all is in the first place, to go about it now would be suicide. We are old now, we are breathless, civilization is starting to creak. If we still look young, it is because we are sickly, and malnourished in development. I scooped the meat out from a mango and I pulped it into juicy nectar. The look on his face when I drank the entire long island iced tea right in front of him was priceless. I threw the glass on the ground and it smashed into pieces. The maid would take care of it come next Tuesday morning. After which I’d catch a flight out West, far West, Japan, Spain. Jumping around from place to place on a whim, it’s like teleporting, you dose up, drink, zone out, and arrive in twelve hours somewhere else in the world. Might as well be anywhere, then. Might as well be in Mississippi. Here in Mississippi there are cotton fields, life is very different here. There are men here of a different sort, there are diseases of the head that scare me, but so too keep me safe, and I am absorbed by the super-hot suction of daily Southern life, homeostatic with the scales in my favor.

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