par-rish

The Instinct of Cells beauty softens each of us like an egg soaking in vinegar, but I have always been soft, soft as baby fuzz, a flabby soul stuffed into my skin like sausage meat inside a hog casing. I have no idea what it’s like to have to kill, to jump out of an airplane, to learn I have cancer. I spray lavender-vanilla mist on my pillow to help myself sleep. the hardest thing in my life was when my dad died. they tattooed little dots on his head to help them aim their rays. his hair started to fall out. luckily, he didn’t have much to lose. I correspond over the Internet with a young woman in England. she