Dante's inferno opens with Dante running through the woods from three horrible monsters. He runs for so long that he finds himself lost in the dark woods. He's tired, he's alone, and he realizes his doesn't know the diritta via, or right way out. He becomes conscious that he is ruining himself and finds himself falling into what he calls a basso loco, or deep place, where he says the sun is silent (I sol tace). My disordered world is my basso loco where I sol tace. The words found here are my desperate attempt to articulate what feels like my stumble through a place where up is down and food is greed, where death is honor and flesh is weak. It seemed so easy to find my way here but I'm finding it much harder to find the way out.

Thursday, March 3, 2011

My esophagus is torn.  My stomach stretches and spits up bile.  My potassium drops and drops.  My head spins, I'm weak, blood pours from a mouth riddled with ulcers as I've become a bucket of filling and emptying; woman who breaks into little girl sized pieces when any man touches her.  I am not going to have a happy ending am I?

This is the problem with sickness.  It brings us too close to death.  It's like being a teenager and meeting your first lover, feeling the thrill of touch turn to sheer terror when you realize that you have no idea what the fuck you're doing.  But the problem is once you've been there, once you've tested your limits-pushed them farther than you thought possible- you have a taste for it.  You have a new found need for the lack of need itself.  And it's intoxicating.  It's your drug, your lover, your anesthetic- but the problem is by the time you realize it's killing you you're already mainlining it.
Remy
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