This Is Not A Love Blog

So what do we have here? Let's answer that question with a description shall we? Yes let's. A description or not a description, does this text describe? Aside from the fact it describes itself as not a description... this is not a description. So far at least it hasn't been very descriptive. There may be some hint or clue later. Some wild goose chasing a red herring down a rabbit hole. But what do we have here to describe anyway?

There was something remembered in a dream since forgotten. Something hidden, lost, something buried beneath the sleep. An ancestral memory coded into the DNA. The ghosts of your ancestors combined to the one future ghost of yourself that you are today. A memory of a memory. An infinite mirror image in a mirror image tunnel of the same repeated memory. A legend passed orally from one generation to the next through a long line of deaf amnesiacs then transcribed to a forgotten language by blind dyslexics using invisible ink.

Could the legend be true? Or just a rumor? One overheard being whispered through the walls of your womb from before you were born. A Chinese whisper in an echoing loop of shushing sounds. And although it was such a long time ago you're still there fumbling in the dark looking for the thing that was dropped inside you. When you were inside you. Before you gave birth to you.

Anaesthetized and being operated upon the surgeon dropped something inside you. While under his knife he described a meal he ate in his sleep. His words dropped into your ears and sank directly to the bottom of the subconscious without so much as brushing against a single fish. His words could have been these words. His description this text. But this isn't that meal, nor even its stain on the cloth but merely the faintest whiff that rose in a bubble to the surface from deep beneath the psyche.

While under his knife he dropped his dinner in you, a sausage he was chewing while cutting you open. You were that sausage he sliced. You are both sausage and surgeon trapped in an infinite consuming loop eating your own head, chasing yourself inside out, then outside and in, circling endlessly. You are our author and I am your surgeon and this text is the slop I've removed from inside you. To put it more succinctly you are up your own ass.

There so description done and dusted. You may now proceed with the reading of the blog.