This morning, after nearly 12 hours of sleep, having slept in for the first time in more than a month, I took an old, stuck thought, and buried it in that most endless of burial grounds, the West. Thinking the thought – a memory of how someone had sneakily insulted me in front of some of my relatives nearly a year ago – for perhaps the thousandth time, I recognized it as a self-deprecating habit, investigated it at its root, congratulated myself for having caught myself in the process of self-mutilation, took out my little leather salt -pouch, and focused all of the negative emotions and pent-up frustrations surrounding the memory into the salt-pouch and from there into the welcoming arms of the House of Death. Black is the soil of West, and deep, and I am slowly learning how to bury my toxic and useless habits there so as to free up my energies for such thoughts and actions that will be helpful rather than detrimental to me and to mankind. Aho.
mentiri factorem fecit – 場黑麥
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