One day I won't have a face. I suppose this could will be like a hairless french king situation, but still, my face won't be there. I had this thought this morning as L asked me whether I was gonna squish her face. Whenever anyone refers to their bodily parts, it always sounds a little alien, body-horror as if they were referring to their ink sac or ovipositor or something. My arm, your face, as if these abstract soul-like beings are temporarily and embarrassingly forced to pilot these wacky animals.
Is that just christianity? or buddhism? or scientology? dunno, in any case it made me think of course about death and nonexistance and at some point no longer having a face that can sense all these things visually, aurally, etc. and that people can look at, admire, pity, whatever. And how that sensation is a fleeting gift no matter whether you like your face or not
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