SELF-HARM WITH ICING

It takes a lot to resist all that’s out there. Today, my nails resisted the lure of a knife to peel away the skins of soaked chestnuts. The husk is a fucker – torture of the first degree. It burrows its way under the nailbed and cries vinegar. Yet, despite the pain, I felt I in tune with the machinations of the cog of toil and felt I do not work near hard enough. Real labour is where the intellect and stories of man are at. Listen to those with leathered hands.

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