Monday 10 November 2008

Maybe when I’m ensconced in the allergy, I’m learning
what it is to be dead, can’t think about duties or numbers
or responsibility, I feel nothing – as Death explains in Wyrd
Sisters – a dead person does not have the glands to secrete
hormones that register emotions, right now all my adrenaline
is all used up in mental flight from the all-destructive allergy,
I feel nothing about nothing, except that my head has turned
into a steam locomotive building amazing pressure and ready
to explode, I should never have eaten three kinds of allergenic
foods in a row, now no pill can fight the symptoms or stop the
pain; eating is the best way in which to punish myself, it’s kind
of unfair that the activity that ensures our survival should be
the cause of my chronic suffering; it is not as if I can stop eating
at all, I tried it before and while the headache and muscle
pains were gone, I was too tired to carry on; I wish I could jump
right into the middle of next week and feel immediately better,
renewed in body and spirit, clear of thought and mind;
right now the steam locomotive is picking up speed down
a steep ravine; crashing again, when shall I learn - if
food’s involved, probably never, I think…