Hunger strike
Ive gone on hunger-strike. The sun rises and I sit down on my pillow, that i’ve had for my entire life. I smell my grandfather on it, and his too, I wonder if they could smell me before I was born. Its polyester, microplastic. All around me, things bubble up like shaken milk, A2 from the grocery store. A local market cuts at and domesticates whats left the criminal person between your skin and bones, a kinship with something outside. If youve ever walked through a forest after a long day inside, if youve ever driven too fast on a highway, if youve ever been too drunk, too high, too sleepy or wired from stimulants, you know this feeling. All of God exists in the extremes. Rising and falling at the same time, a great bird falls into water and presses another upwards!
The cycle repeats forever so i’ve gone on hunger strike. I heard the hungrier you are the slower time goes.. and I want to stop it forever. Imagine that, a permanent pause, stopped mid sentence, right before the crash, the kiss, the final breath, the takeoff. Imagine youd live forever right before it all happens. Thats where God lives, and his house is made of plastic.