Day 40

how strange it is to tell people you are something you are not. it's weird when someone reveals to you that they are malcolm x, when it's very obvious they are not. how can it be that king kong ain't got shit on me? i am dead to me. i am an anomaly. my entire body is covered with rosy lesions that ache and itch and make me wish i was a dog so it would be perfectly honky-dory for me to tear my teeth into the skin of my arms and claw my legs whenever i please. we are nothing without our appearances. i don't want to walk or move or do anything, i want to scratch at myself and it's gotten to my head. i want a new body.