TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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12.18.02, later wednesday night
Before I woke up alone and upset (and with the most threadbare memory of why I was alone and upset), I dreamt of a girl who decided to exchange heads, snap, just like that, as if it was so easy. Easy to change, like how it's easy to swap spit with a lover or melt White Rabbit rice paper on yer tongue before devouring the actual candy.
The boy who helped her switch heads was soon dismayed to discover that, with the switch, she had also exchanged memories, her wealth for barely something and strange, for the memories of a stranger's.
Who was the boy to the girl? Now he's a stranger, not that special someone with whom she could easily swap spit because now the memories of former kisses were no longer there. Here. In this head that she had traded in for a newer model, with his assistance, so easily, as if it were that easy.