4270 April 27, 2010

I caught myself dreaming nonstop but I couldn’t keep the dreams in motion. They were just pieces of dreams like shards of jewel lodged in my brain. I woke up with a headache.

When Granny called yesterday, she told me a story about when she was a little, sad girl with a terrible headache and a newly shaven skull. She recalled the moment her younger brother saw the long, flaxen locks fall to the kitchen floor. Her mother cut off all her hair because follicles on her scalp perpetually became infected. Granny said the headaches were so painful, she couldn’t do anything other than go into the dark, cold bathroom and lay her bald head down on the porcelain commode and try not to cry.

My own cranium cramps still persist with iron fists. I gave up on common cures. Now, I lie my head down on the cistern to feel cold enter my eyes. This old house nestles and so does my head. This method is my only aide. My drug. The toilet? This habit is forming & is no longer played out only in my home. This Water Closet furniture fixation spills out into the world. One night, I locked myself in a bathroom stall at some bar downtown and rested my rostral part against the wall. I felt my heart and heard the beat. Maybe I wrote something on the graffiti-ridden wall regarding MJ’s Demerol dreams..

My pain causes purging.  And I’m not even drunk.