Epilations

Procrastination is my art. Its power over me creates so much, so many little things. I'll groom. Yesterday I looked at my toes for what seemed like the first time since arriving on the Island in January. These were toes suffering the suffocation of winter and frost. You can't just change climates and expect your toes to know how to adapt because, they don't. Trapped in frozen humidity chockablock of flaking dry dead skin, don't even ask them because they'll just say no. Blankly stare at you because you forgot to put their eyeballs on. I'm talking about the felt tip pen.

So instead of multidisciplinary public health expository writing and synthesis of ideas. I wax poetic about my toes. And my lips are now chapped.

Back to the upkeep of the human. The hairs, the glorious mammal characteristic that frightens us. Poils poussing from every pore because they can, it's a birthright. So I take a machine and I take a bath to sedate them. To lure the poils to their final showing. It's here and now when you must conquer matter with the mind. Do it or suffer excruciating pain and it's all self inflicted.

Halfway and wondering what the fuck, I was so warm in my fur coat. What do I have now but sparse thorns dotting my inner thigh. Thanks modern technology, thanks society. And it won't change the world because the hairs have only been displaced, I probably inhaled my fair share.

Next Song,
On Friday the 13th we will buy a lotto ticket because according to the TV numbers are responsible for everything.

When does Lent start?