Excavation of self, through rotten banana peels and skin

At last the smell that was really me came to bare, to fully express itself, as a piece of rotten fruit or uneaten meat, table scraps left to bloom in some dark, neglected space. A smell, an essence, of toxins combined with bad habits and bad hygiene. The smoker, the homeless, the mentally ill, the town idiot spiraling out of orbit, fallen to their own crater on some distant moon — and what a feeling of peace in the uncaring, shifting in the underbrush of the early morning licking a sore, hungry, still alive for another day. No dry cleaners or office parking lots here. At last, the real me. Hiding in the shadows with that stilted, startled look of the coyote, untamed. The self is not all it’s cracked up to be, it smells of the earth and ground. It needs to get out and forage. It does best undercover.

Categories: prose, writing

Tags: , , , , , ,

9 replies

  1. Mobile Dog Wash Service booked for 14:30 hours.
    Bruce xo

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Cool. (“He says “cool” again, but continues backing up slowly, and picks up a heavy piece of firewood, wishing he had a knife or something.”)
    So, Hobbes, the one from Leviathan, not the toy tiger that hung out with Calvin. Scary but very cool writing.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. It’s Sunday, 1:00 PM. My last shower was Friday, 6:30 AM. I’m right there with you brother. Fortunately, I’m about to go for a run which will force the issue–I’ll finally be clean and (more importantly to me) shaven.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Ha! Just got back from the trail myself but should have brought my Yak Trax. Hope you had a good run Jeff…and a long, hot shower and shave! Good Sunday to you!


  4. Dark – but vivid. No snoozefest here.

    Liked by 1 person

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