There is a garden in my mind and it grows on both sides of the soil. That means roots and flowers intertwining. Dreams when I'm not sleeping.
These are a couple of my chronic images of pain and strange mutation.
Because of Cerebral Palsy, I had three operations when I was a kid. They cut into my heels. They cut into my thigh. They cut into my shin. They did it for free and it helped a lot. However, after the last surgery where they jiggled around my tibia, the nerves there ended up a little fucked up and confused. The lower part of the shin is extremely sensitive. The slightest pressure causes a locomotive of pain to roar down to my foot. Consequently, I began to imagine a scenario of hurt. In some dark wood of Eastern Europe, I stand in shadow, unable to move. A wolf approaches (in 2003 it became a Martin Direwolf). My left leg is exposed and the wolf bares its teeth; its right canine is absurdly long, some seven inches. The beast punctures the top of my shin and slowly rips down, digging a canal of agony. I scream a lot.
That hurts, doesn't it?
The second is about mutation.
I sit on a couch in a quiet room reading a book facing a door. I feel a sudden itch at the right base of my jaw. Reaching to scratch it, my fingers find a hard, plastic tab. Naturally, I pull it. My perspective changes and I'm watching from the wall. The Me pulls at the tab and it divides my skin along a wax track from my jaw, over my chin, up the center of my face over my scalp, and down the back of my head to the base of my neck. The two sides of my divided head fall away to my shoulders. Perched atop my shoulders is a perfect sphere of orange cheese. A knock sounds at the door. The Me stands up and opens the door. A very thin child is there, shaking. The Me takes the ball of cheese in both hands and gives it to him. The child hides it in his long coat and runs away. The door shuts.
More of these later.