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Combing out the comb over. The Big C Treatment Hair Gel

February 3, 2012

 

The early morning comb out going under

I tug the comb through my hair and a wad comes out. I have to set up an appointment to get a shaved head. I have an enormous head, so it’ll be interesting. I’ll look like one of those hall guards by a king.( I guess back then, working for the king was like having a desk job.) I purchased a funky beret. My take. If you’re going to be a smooth skin boy you might as well have some style. Too bad they can’t use skin graft to rebuild a testicle, after all that’s where I’ve been told for years men’s brains are located. It’s funny, as one pads through the shock corridor on novocained feet, the treatment is either like boot camp or the way a cult works. It takes aways anything you can call a semblance of yourself through physical humiliation and pain where you either believe everything or nothing. You lose taste, food means nothing, everything hurts…Your identity, the concept you have of yourself, falls in to bargain bin of marked down “Vanities all is Vanity.” Or the bootcamp deal where you are just a stripped down function, which I think can happens during treatment and should the last thing you allow the treatment to do.

But I never agreed with people that let life’s present evaporate or swallow the moment by saying these stupid things: This is too shall pass. Or the yuppie thing: the journey is it’s own reward. Having a destination is evertyhing. Or that there’s nothing new under the sun. Well what if you’re above the sun? I’ll take the flyers.

EIther way, heading to the land where people’s heads have no part.

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One Comment leave one →
  1. February 3, 2012 7:20 pm

    I like ya too much to waste your time by posting a trite, inspirational cliche. (Besides, isn’t that what FaceBook seems to be for for the most part?)

    I will say this: I have faith that you can totally pull off the beret. You will post a pic, yes?

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