Saturday, July 11, 2015


I fell down and hurt my knee, scraping it. There was blood, blood that gathered itself up into thick viscous drops and trickled down. Unperturbed i placed my knee below the tap. Cold water cascaded down through the faucets which shimmered with glinting reflections as a ray of light slanted in through the window. My skin burned yet was soothed by the coolness of the water. Initially the blood didn't let up but eventually, after protracted immersion, stopped. Thin, watery trails of blood, now of a red wine type red, snaked down my legs and coloured the bathroom tiles leaving behind a trail of redness as this reddish water flowed into the gutter which sucked it in , made a whooshing noise as it did so and then became a punctuated drip drip drip that sounded uncanny in the silence. A scab of skin had unloosed itself. I picked it off carefully and ate it. Thus i gathered how i tasted
Which was sort of like wet , cold, chewy striated with grains of sand, a little bitter, a little salty, a bit meaty and a bit like sandpaper. I chewed away thoughtfully. It left behind a garish drop of blood where the flesh was teased out. I scooped this drop of blood in my forefinger and placed it in my mouth. It was curiously tasteless, flavourless but the smell of steel pins or coins rose sharp and pungent in my nostrils and i swooned
Remembering the ribbons of blood that traversed and criss crossed as i cut my wrists. Then while i kept my wrists straight, with my hands held out horizontally the blood would accumulate in thick gobs. It was a curiously disembodied sensation as though bathed in blood my wrists underscored the tractability of my veins. One slash of the blood, a line ,in the slash, of lacerated flesh, however indistinct and then the blood flow as though this thin aperture, like a pencilled eyebrow burst open and the uncontainable blood seeped out. It's not like hurting your knee. It is much more visceral and thrilling. And scary yet orgasmic
While i put dettol in a sponge and dab the wound with it.It stings and then cools. A piquant aftermath of sharpish sweetish pain spreads its tentacles as they meandered out indistinctly as sensation , forking out laterally. Some blood has curded and dried at the centre of the wound like a vermilion mark . It is still semi congealed like jelly but before long it will become treacle . And then become brownish reddish black. With great delight i will scratch out this dried piece of blood and within will be blood and pus and pain and and life
Whatever it is is what it is . Therefore i take it as it is. In any case for the moment the wound has been attended to.I have ,in ministering to it,suspended my mind from thought while enjoying the sensuous physicality of my impressions by experiencing them pleasurably. I've cut up a bandage in a rectangular shape and pasted it with tape over a cotton that lies beneath it. The structure is of a palimpsest where the curative narrative represents within the narrative of pain that underlay it. The two overlap , blur superimpose until it assumes a reality all its own. At night the drop of dettol dotting the bandage gleams phosphorescently. I place my leg gingerly, tremulously within the bedsheet and lapse into slumber .

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