"It starts as an itch where the spine meets the skull, seeping into Freudian slips and throwing a stick into the spinning spokes of the endless internal monologue. This itch can be overrun by fear of survival, by armies of breeders forever marching forward, afraid of the battles ahead and too dumb to question the Caesar looking over their backs from the clock tower.
But, if allowed to squirts sideways…
Something’ll get coughed up, a slimy hairball, slightly putrid with black bile and gastric juices, waiting for a shot of lightening so it’s amino acids can be recombined into the spark of life, wiggling and squirming its way across the cold linoleum floor to crawl into it’s new hole where it can grow in safety while making raids on table scraps and long forgotten chunks swept under the fridge.
Will it grow into a pavlovian friend or slink away into the mountains, creeping along the tops of cliff bands hardly seen but still causing the hair to raise on the back of the neck from thought of its teeth and claws?
Either way it can be collared but never chained, yanking the leash out of the hand or dying, chain stretched taunt across the yard, ass pointed towards freedom.
It loves coffee and eye-candy and long semi-stoned runs deep into the mountains, it’s presence always felt, sometime sitting on a shoulder and whispering in the ear, sometimes flying so only its shadow can be glimpsed as it crosses the sun. It needs to be free to explore, to play across the world, deviating down random paths, collecting bruises and tickling neurons that have become dusty and shrunken.
But it also needs a partner, a companion, a rostrum so it can manifest into the world to be deconstructed, a signifier to be reborn a million times, it’s mother forgotten but forever sharing in it’s origin. It needs courage to overcome fear and live."
