How I freed my hair from it's own tyranny.
Lets just say, with a sly wink, that my health isn't fully rounded. In that it is far from complete; not near a wholesome well-being. For some obscure reason I decided to hack the majority of my hair off. Note, not attempt to cut it, no that would be far too fucking sane but hack it. This is why sobriety and I repel. Three-day weekend; enough space for you to peak under the sheen of constant occupation to find there is nothing there. A debilitating kind of dull death. Facing the harsh possibilities of the future, to see the smog restricting you never ending. A dangerous recklessness shrinking the fight, until it is too small to hold onto any longer. My affections; like images in an advertisement. Unobtainable, wondrous promising scenes, lurid shades of fake mediated happiness clashing with a void of colour, definition. Soul.Being incapable of functioning, I am two interactions; staring and lying. The reality is packed around me. Under the bedclothes swims whispers of escape. Perhaps slashing myself up might provided some sort of activity. That is dismissed, it is an old enjoyment now and I need to heal, literally. Something brand new thunderbolts into my head. It seems such a good solution that I do not bother questioning it. I do not heed the blue stars warning me that I was wound up. Taking a pair of kitchen scissors chunks of hair fall into the bin, another part of me becoming detached. The pile of sawn off hair looks strange somehow, I cannot figure out why. It seems almost alive.
For a while the light feeling of being spent, released temporarily, resides. A state which, is familiar to how I felt after I cried when I was young. Now crying ends and the poison is not erased by tracks of healing salt water. Why oh why did I not defile my arms instead? That would be the sensible thing to have done. It's kind of ironic you can walk around with red raw arms and if anyone manages to
I never finished this and I can't remember what I was going to say. The misery that lead me to cut all my hair off with a pair of kitchen scissors, actually turned out to have a positive impact on my life. I felt more like myself with short hair and I don't think I'll ever have long hair again. Ridding myself of my locks was a ceremony, marking a new era of myself.
BOOGIE
BOOGIE
Labels: hair
posted by Boogie @ 3:47 PM
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