finger smoke
Created on: February 18th, 2008
I chopped off the tip of my right index finger cutting an onion on an extremely sharp mandoline.
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This site just proves how f*cking crazy Max has grown over the years, maintaining a site where half the people don't appreciate a damn thing he does. 6 months from now, he is gonna disappear off the face of the planet for a week until he is arrested in France for murdering a couple that he believes "Rick Roll'd" him. When they show him being carried away on the news, we will all probably see him shouting for BTape and Syncan for post bail for him. Also, 5.
On the bright side, it should grow back in a few weeks. I did something like this to the tip of my left hand middle finger while cutting cord with a pocket knife. Oddly enough, it was my righthand thumb fingernail which gouged out a plug from the other finger tip. It bled for a long time, but it healed rather nicely. End of story. :-)
I read this Sylvia Plath poem tonight and for some reason it made me think of this. LOL
Cut
What a thrill ----
My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of a hinge
Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.
Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls
Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz. A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one. Whose side are they on?
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to kill
The thin
Papery feeling.
Saboteur,
Kamikaze man ---
The stain on your
Gauze Ku Klux Klan
Babushka
Darkens and tarnishes and when
The balled
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence
How you jump----
Trepanned veteran,
Dirty girl,
Thumb stump.
Cut
What a thrill ----
My thumb instead of an onion.
The top quite gone
Except for a sort of a hinge
Of skin,
A flap like a hat,
Dead white.
Then that red plush.
Little pilgrim,
The Indian's axed your scalp.
Your turkey wattle
Carpet rolls
Straight from the heart.
I step on it,
Clutching my bottle
Of pink fizz. A celebration, this is.
Out of a gap
A million soldiers run,
Redcoats, every one. Whose side are they on?
O my
Homunculus, I am ill.
I have taken a pill to kill
The thin
Papery feeling.
Saboteur,
Kamikaze man ---
The stain on your
Gauze Ku Klux Klan
Babushka
Darkens and tarnishes and when
The balled
Pulp of your heart
Confronts its small
Mill of silence
How you jump----
Trepanned veteran,
Dirty girl,
Thumb stump.
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