These past few days I have become more aware of my own body.\nMore sensitive to its details: the pores opening, the sounds it makes as it functions\u2026 And this flesh\u2026 battered by the friction of passing days.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Body. My body. I feel you as something foreign, I feel you as excess. Unable to reconcile with you. I know I owe you so much, body, for you granted me the gift of knowing, and in return I have been ungrateful.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Why do you contain me? Why do you press me against yourself and force me to inhabit you, to watch you decay? Are you afraid of being left alone?<\/p>\n\n\n\n
These past few days I have become more aware of my own body. Of others\u2019 bodies. Of what their flesh conceals.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Though perhaps all this hyperfocus is nothing more than having a Cronenberg film on, or having watched too much body horror so far this month.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The terror of having a body! Or the sadness of knowing oneself to be something more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Of wanting to be something more!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Because I am not my body. I am not this decay nor this fly-specked flesh. Or at least, I refuse to be. And yet I am, and with enormous pathos I try to adorn it, because it is the only thing I can offer you. The only thing I can receive from you.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I long for you, like something hooked and hanging from a butcher\u2019s rail, feeling the cold steel of the hook I dangle from, in the endless moment in which it tears into my back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Distant. And you are there, and from afar you look at me, and in your gaze I perceive a vastness from which I am exiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n