Perdition. Thy Name is Hernia
The 401 was filled with jumpy, illiterate texters as I realised that I had finished
forty days of fasting, walking, hating, seething, and sitting cold and strayed
from any semblance of solid drink, food, and thought that had usually placated
my red hot madness in the face of some stupid obstacle that was brought forth
by gas, or movement, or dancing, or by birth, or by shifting, by carousing, by
reaching, by looking, straining, pouring, catching, or by bending, planning,
grabbing, or doubting, by shouting, stirring, smoking, drinking, crashing,
falling, punching, kicking, stabbing, screaming. By whatever means necessary to
bring about the hernia.
The hernia. The hole in the abdominal wall. A
ridiculous evolutionary runoff manifested for absolutely no good reason at all.
A crass pulling demon totally unnecessary at any age. But especially at an age
in a person’s life filled absolutely to the brim with failed aspiration and
false self-censorship. This context is not relevant however, as any fly-choked
child of any non-North American domicile will demonstrate. No matter, it
happened in the autumn of 2011, after an abrupt fall out from a milque toast
Master’s program at a Downtown University
I don’t really care. Nor do I approve of any of the
recent crop of politicians. I do not return in earnest from any trip with the
wind of change, nor the paper of solidity.
This situation has made the hernia a total necessity in order to ensure that a wave of strong bitterness and sobriety fell deeply and darkly on the winter of 2012. Along with a total and complete aversion to public communication, thus making my inroads towards my hernia induced project of "giving back" to my city a complete exercise in selling shoes. Simultaneously, I knew the real reason was a half hearted attempt at finding employment with the city in general, e.g: a good benefit package, a career . . . I knew the remuneration was to be poor, but why not? I would work in the archives! Away from the soiled firmament of society, away from the chattering idiots replete with all manners of personal technological appenditures made up of precious metals mined dangerously by underpaid and desperate men from places they purport to care about. To actually marvel with a straight face, at a model globe of the Globe and tell their kids that “well, you know Gaia, we must be better stewards of this thing, we kinda hafta be, you know, like, really responsive to the needs of all of the various and equal demands on this creature”..all the while, rationalising and translating this nonsense into their mutual equity funds on even kilter with the purchase of foreign sovereign bonds that may increase their risk of exposure.
But, Back to the Drive to the Hospital…
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