You didn’t say it.

I did. I said everything there was to say about the leafiness, the hardness, the annoying sticker and the goo it leaves behind, needing to be scrubbed off.

You cannot eat that apple without payments to the picker. I wrap it in paper towels because that is the way I like to eat it. It feels like an unwrapping, or a defrocking. Dig my teeth into the papered piece of power, it’s carnal in a way, ultimately vulgar.

Sometimes it’s an apple, other times a slab of meat. Tonight it could be brain matter from a stuffed pepper. That will make my fingers smell musty, and dusty, and when inspectors come to analyze the scent of my fingers I will claim to have no idea why I smell cerebral.

A lot of good food gets wasted this way. Soaked into flesh, absorbed into thoughts, nothing ever digests this way and over time bowel movements cease. Only the air and its invisible mites keep us alive, and that is by eating us. Most of us never experience the sensations but we are constantly being eaten alive by millions of tiny mites, some deep in our flesh, others swarming and pecking at any part of the body. 

In some cases, such as mine, the mites are clearly visible and form an obstruction, a curtain of envelopment that shields me from unwanted human interactions but makes it cozy for those invited in. I am sometimes surrounded by flailing swords and machetes, or scissors. Few seem to understand that I have no control over this, and that it is not, in fact, an awkward high school mating ritual.

Wheel spinning. Spheel winning.

I showered well today, readjusting a recent change I’d made to the routine. No more bright lights when entering the tub or when taking the daily cocktail of BP and anxiety meds. I can get enough light from the phone to be sure I ingest all 4 pills. I love my shower, though. I’ve been taking two. Nakedness is itself a salve, one I wish I shared more frequently. Feeling my body, with my hands, from bottom to top and everywhere in between, is a good reminder that I am, in fact, alive. I think I might only be barely alive, held together by a few drops of cum and the firm security of the mites.