I don't lose much blood. A few grams. I can hear the sound of divine music washing over my head as I lose the weight. I touch rapture and transcendence. I am not often peaceful. This is not a pain. This is release. I do not hate myself. I am in love with my self. Only for an hour.
Thursday, 2 October 2008
I sit with my arms in front of me and my legs crossed. I have a spike. I made the spike earlier. I ground a fork down until it became a lovely spike. I trace thin red cuts on my arms and let the exposed blood run gently down to my hands. The spike does not look bloody. At the end of my arms there is a bowl that I have filled with cream. My blood slowly and carefully pours into the cream. The white and red look good together. I wish that it was other parts of me with the cream.