They say it sometimes takes awhile for trauma sufferers to recount a particularly confronting event. In the grand cosmic struggle of life, perhaps this tiny little bubble of hideous dread may not measure up against the more solemn travails. However, it was a kind of ‘home-coming’ that needed time and space to communicate in intelligible wordedness. Here, it’s worth a feeble attempt anyway.
Welcome back to Sensory Perdition. New and improved version… Yes, indeed, a worse state than before. This is the looming shadow of fear. Five lovely days away, cocooned inside tranquil cleanliness, yet unable to erase the horror, the anticipation of sensory agony, awaiting upon return to reality.
Full attack. Despair. Heavy, ponderous exhaustion.
Immediate physical reaction: fever, pounding headache, nausea, mouth ulcers, and angry red hives all over face. It’s a new-look now, Red-Puffer-Fish-Cheeks with angry splotches and bubbles. More confronting and bizarre than a Yayoi Kusama installation, because one lives inside it, the dots and blobs are live attachments to one’s flailing drowning entity, bobbing up and down seething dark waters thick with decay, struggling to breathe. Oh, and asthmatic wheezing. A lot of it. Thank goodness for a new tube of ventoline!
Full sensory meltdown.
Yearning for Clement Space, trapped inside nightmare of inclemency. Scrambling, scrambling, like frantic gerbil round and round in little tragic wheel, trying to clean, clean, clean, while filthy lazy sloppy human entity relentlessly re-composes dirt and filth. A bizarre cyclical comedy of purple and bruised blue in swirling bubbling yellow vomit.