pourquoi le vaseline??

quand le force suffit?

Or was is the other way around? He spread vaseline on my lips with a cotton swab, rubbed it on, with the rubber tipped finger. Massaged my neck, my chin, my jaws. This was not, not what I had expected from a trip to the dentist. It occured to me, with my chin in his hand, that he was the one that so perplexed certain people I know. It made me totally happy, but then I love to be touched. Can't help that. One is as one does, or is it not so? And so we discussed the benefits of flouridadted water, and tears practically welled up in his eyes, I nodded knowingly. I know, so little information, so much ignorance. Truly, and policy is made based on such ignorance. Tomorrow it is her turn, drilling and anesthesia for her. None for me. I like all my drilling done with one-hundred percent sensitivity, I like the dizzying vibrations, the waves of white pain that wash over in anticipation of nirvana and the nothing-center, in the center of pain is pleasure. I know this. In the center of pleasure is pain, too. And my work is never done, and the overtime is killing me, and I tell this to no one, but I don't care. Jimmy crack corn, the master's gone away.

There are universes of randomly constelated pieces of information that agregate themselves and then dissipate. I can't hold the universe in my mind, but on the tip of a pin, prick my finger, let it bleed. The night falls, and the work lurks, leeching life from me, there is not seamlessness. The woman looks over, and her face tightens. It must hurt, to think, that someone younger, more beautiful, more alive could steal the love of your children. She tugs the girl's sleeve. Let's go. I cast my head back, I don't mean to look, but I am curious, to see how that pain might manifest itself in someone else. Someone who could be like me, in a couple more years. When I mean nothing to anyone anymore. There is that possibility, and it isn't so frightening as it is complex, like the overtones of an aged libation. If I were to pour it out, over my head, drink from the rivulets that run across my body? Would there be an answer for the insignificance of any individual life?

I don't think so, but I muscle through it all, keep pushing towards something, I don't know what, but if it isn't there, then there is no fun in the process. Here's where the story ends. It was cold and grey today, and I felt the sunshine on my face for a few fleeting moments, felt a warm glow spread through me. Then it was gone, back to my drab existence. Back to my ant-like eternity. Back to the page. Sublime.