Where the pain begins, a soft puppy who rips off your toenails

I always thought Pain would be a real benign looking fucker. Cute even, perhaps. The kind that raises no suspicion, and so you allow them into your lives. And it sleeps by your feet, and because the feeling is so new and not something you are used to, you let it. And slowly, slowly it grows and grows. And now it is no longer just sleeping by your feet, but biting your toenails and giving you nightmares. And you try to get it out of your life but it seems like there is no point at all, so you slowly give in little by little. Until, well, until you die.

The End.

Now children, who would like to hear another story?

.

I think there is something to be said about generating low expectations. Keep them low, real low. Like that song. And she got low low low.

Apple bottom jeans?

Anyone?

.

I wonder what cavemen did to pass the time. They must have been plenty tense most of the time, always looking behind their shoulders. Always alert, never really sleeping, always alert.

I don’t know you know. Maybe they were actually really chilled out fuckers. Like just no worries, and just hanging out, nibbling some leaves now and then and indulging in free love. The painters and artists in their own tiny world, always on the lookout for something new to paint. You think they had imagination back then? Wonder when that came about – imagination.

Difficult to measure that I think. What is imagination? Who possesses it? Is it a purely human invention? Or is there more to it? Is imagination what you get when an animal’s dreams enters your mind? Or imagination what the animal inside us is thinking? Is there a universal imagination? Something that connects through and through.

Who knows.

 

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