My Heart Is But Candied Diarrhea In Your Hands

LINGERING!

I hang sideways, my feet placed on the wall. The blood is rushing to my head as gravity pulls body towards the floor. I slowly attempt to step forward, but I still feel a bit unsteady. I start to feel the shot of whiskey I found at the campsite. Catching my balance, I continue to walk along the wall. A dream I had last night appears in my mind. There was a rotting skeletal corpse lying in the grass... The corpse looked like a horse with no front legs. One could say it was a nightmare, but I was not upset when I woke up.

LONGING!

The wall is cold on my bare feet and I desperately want to put my shoes back on. Suddenly, I hear a Tina Turner song in my head. I can't remember the lyrics, yet I hear the tune and I make my feet step to the beat. This warms my little feetsicles, and for a brief moment, I forget where I am.

LUMPY!

The shadow I make on the wall is stretched and contorted. My ribs are being constrained by this confounded harness, and I feel as though I might be permanently indented. I begin to wonder if this is how the women felt in the 18th century who wore those ridiculous corsets. Did they like having their insides squeezed like a tube of toothpaste? Perhaps they did!

LIMP!

As I continue to make my way around the room, I let my myself daydream. Sophie Tauber-Arp's Dada Sculpture springs to mind, and I begin to imagine what it would be like if that were my own head. Inside this head there is no detail and yet everything is so intricate. Colours are blocked together, and I feel like a tetris piece stuck in a tiny crevice. My face is there, and yet I am unrecognizable. One can see me, but I see no one. If my head exploded, the walls would be splattered with bits of brain matter, bone, and my silly dreams.