I sigh and bury my head in the pillow. I feel one of my organs push its contents into the next organ in the chronological order of digestion, an order I to this day am not sure I know. I tend to imagine anything that goes on underneath my skin as a sort of opaque carnival that sends various faceless objects in a series of pointless circles, and actually feeling any sort of tangible movement of flesh or liquids unnerves me. It makes my being alive seem mechanical and strange. Being a homospian boggles my mind on a daily basis. I have a problem with peremeability--I do not want to be permeable in an ambigouous way, in a philosophical way, in a physical way. The outside word is filthy and it is other and I know the inside of me is red and fleshy with bulges in horrifying places, mixing creams and acids in a variety of disgusting pools of matter and I have an insurmountable amount of issues with this, hence my EMETOPHOBIA. It is the ugly inside coming out and I can't stand to be reminded of the ME being as messy as the OTHER of my MEMBRANE being PERMEABLE all the disgusting breezes coming in and coming out without any say so on my part, on behalf of my lovely, innocent carnival.

The process of reproduction is quite perhaps the most horrifying example of this lack of membrane. Even if it is not for reproduction, you have to examine everything as its scientific, basic factual purpose in which case being penetrated, injected, having the OTHER put inside of you in the most universially mammalian process that if viewed through a video would revolt the most self-actualized and at-peace-with-the-body of people, the growing and the eventual horrifying expulsion of what the OTHER has put into you through a puncture in your membrane, you are not closed off to anything yet open to everything without any say so on your part, on behalf of your hideous, smelly carnival.

So how do you rectify this? Align yourself peacefully with the idea of being removed from the naturalness of being alive in respect to this philosophical quandary? I do that, I'm fine with that. I am above it, I should be heralded. People disgust me. Ugh. Myself included, but not in an emo way--in a physical way. Love is not blind, love is retarded. Its your chemicals alerting you of the precident created by evolution to pair to mate to have another-- as the one who goes away from the pack gets eaten, gets in trouble, dies young, doesn't perpetuate the species, is a waste. I have intellectually evolved beyond it but just because I know the law of gravity does not mean I don't fall. I think and I think and plot and still I come to the same conclusion.

Fuck it. Let's break out the booze and have a ball. At least I exist. I don't have a higher purpose and neither do you. Nobody is watching you and nobody is monitering the synapses in your little brain--a brain that is well within the bell curve of everyone else's brain having the same influxes of peptides, the same flavors of emotion, jesus WEPT we are not special, I do not need to be fretted over or upon because I am mildly out of my mind BECAUSE of my surrender to my mind, my wonky distribution of chemicals bestowed upon me by heredity, by environment, by circumstance I really am done fighting the tide, hello, this is who I am this is what I believe after all the shit and the lovliness I have been through, whatever, we all have a bad story to tell that would make you question the tapestry of humanity, so what the hell. What the hell. Who cares I push things too far I'm damn curious and I'm not righteous about it anymore but I'm not sorry anymore I'm just going to breath in and out and pretend that process is not a chemical rearanging of atoms my body is siphening away from THE OTHER to make THE ME continue to exist.

Someday you will die somehow and something's gonna steal your carbon.