A Facebook Response Addressing The Comment : "preach on brother swid." (Injecting Snake Venom Cocktails Could Prolong Your Life And Might Cure Cancer.) For Richard Vargas.

 

Okay.

 

So im not preaching as much as im taking it all in and regurgitating chewed food mess back onto the kitchen floor. And you’re down there taking it all in.

Im sick. Not talking, really just moving my jaws lazily up and down as I watch thoughts pass through the spaces between teeth. Getting lost and distracted as they float on the currents of warm air drifting through my bathroom— yes, my bathroom has its own weather patterns, which include hurricanes, tornadoes, droughts, and floods. Im sitting on the plastic toilet seat observing their slow, smooth movements. Like grape jelly filmed splattering against a white wall in slow-motion. Like it all made sense. But it never makes sense.

Nonsense: without logic; void of meaning.

Still, it feels important to capture and package these thoughts for food into plastic vacuum sealed containers. Preserved morsels of the past to be enjoyed at a later date.

I think im going crazy, but we all tend to second guess ourselves when we’re in the process of “losing it.”

Am I going crazy?

No. But I guess I have to pass some assessment. Because everyone has a voice, which means everyone has an opinion.

I am feeling fuzzy, like Im in a daze languidly exploring the parameters of this comment box with reckless abandon. And it’s dark and rocky like an underground cave or a concrete pipeline. I feel like I will either fall into a hole or discover a room decorated with gigantic crystals at any second.

I will go to bed tonight after witnessing a cigarette self-embalming itself (the ancient Japanese practice: sokushinbutsu), which is why it takes me three days to process the messages posted on/in my digital space.

But, for argument’s sake, Im sick, which is why Im taking it all in, and regurgitating chewed food mess back onto the floor—not preaching—but you’re still down there taking it all in, eating partially digested fragments of space and matter. So what does that make you?

It’s an interesting question to pose.

Who are you? And why do you care about me?

I thought it was en vogue to stay 50 feet away from anyone with any kind of disease, ranging from the common cold all the way to cancer, no?

And it feels like our breaths’ importance is equal in really cold weather, which is why they reveal their physical appearance, instead of remaining invisible.

Snot dripping from our noses. Cheeks red and chaffed. This notion will remain true ad infinitum.

Just like the notion that I could have done something more productive on my day off like learning how to play an instrument, depositing other people’s money in my bank account, or shoveling the backyard clear of snow so my neighbors could really understand the beauty of a well-cut lawn.

Oh well.