Sunday, 27 June 2004


I appear to be experiencing some kind of enforced rebirth. All metaphorical and taut, stretched to the edges with no leakage like a giant, intoxicating white sheet to keep the nightmares away, but I can still remember, right? Everything feels new, fresh out of plastic, starched lips and eyes crusted tight and muscles full of non-use. Skin clean as a whistle and limbs rigid with expectation, I am preparing myself for the world and the world is ready for me. Instinctive jerks of my arms and I am learning how it all works, testing the reflex and sense of my nerves, a thousand tiny pins in my ribs and weakness in my soft bones. My insides feel too big for the vacuum-packed flesh that holds my insides in, the angles of my joints protruding and threatening to pierce and rip their way out of my tight body.

The trouble with religion is that it is such an ungodly affair.

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