I Do Run On

"It's been a long time, I shouldn't have left you/Without a strong rhyme to step to"

-Eric B and Rakim, "I Know You Got Soul"

It turns out I curse too much in my blog to access it from work. Well, fuck. Guess I'll just have to access it from home at 3 in the morning when I'm awake and sick as a dog.

This entry, my first in about a month, is a little gross. If you have a sensitive stomach (one of the few symptoms I don't currently have), but are still jonesin' for a little Bloody Knee Jerk, check out this piece I wrote on Sufjan Stevens a few weeks ago in the City Paper.

Getting back to the point, I am illin' to the point where I'm coming up with nasal metaphors. My nostrils share an appendage (the nose, for those of you who flunked anatomy), but right now they couldn't be more different. The left nostril I've dubbed Philadelphia. It has some problems, but in general it's functioning fine. Just a few centimeters away across a thin membrane (which would be the Delaware River in this metaphor), my right nostril is Camden: full of pain, pressure, and possibly a crack den or two.

My sinus cavities run deeper than the mines of Moria, and right now there's something evil and burning down in the abyss. It has me wishing Superman were real and that I could somehow convince him to shrink himself and fly into my nose (like he does with that city in glass he keeps around) and use his heat vision to burn off all the mucous from the inside of my nose. Chances are Superman would become engulfed in snot, get lost in the dark tunnels, and die.

For all the blowing, kneading, medication, and even punching, "I'm still running" to quote Sleater-Kinney's "What's Mine is Yours". My next step is to get a suction pump, attach some aquarium air hose to it, shove it in as far as it will go, and syphon out the goo. Is there an all-night pet shop around?

This entry is as disposable as a used tissue.