2018 Oct 8 •

I got it in my mind that today was the day to fix my fingernails and that without fixing my fingernails, nothing else could occur. As if that were the beginning, the middle and the end of my existence, as my existence stands, today, however ghostly. It costs so much to live but it is free to cure the plague of fingernails. This might not be accurate information. 4,000 words is not a lot of words. It is less than 4 million. I learned this in school. It was the only thing I had to learn into school before I knew that school was not the place I needed to go to do the real learning. Flesh is not the same as skin. I need to turn 400 dollars into 4,000 before I can think about fixing my fingernails but I can't make a penny without fixed fingernails. The most hilarious thing about this episode of the podcast is that it's not about fingernails, really, at all. It's about cuticles. Is there a band out there called Cuticles? Would just Cuticles be a better band name than The Cuticles. I think I prefer the former, but it's close. So the typing is the cure and this is the point. The making of the art, in and of every waking second, is the cure. And the cure is the money as the data adds up. In the future, money will be fingernails because our cuticles will be so strong that the fingernails will grow and shed themselves of our bodies before each day is done. I can't wait for this future fingernail money! Cuticles are just soil and life as it is in farming, the soil is the heart of the matter. The beating pulse beneath our feet from up which every aspect of life is birthed. Heaven is hell and hell is heaven. If you ever see thousands of vultures then you know all religion is a lie. The holiest men look down to the ground, to the dirt. They feel the soil and might even rub some of it on their skin. Fingernails are the motherless ghosts of the skin. I would never describe the mother as emollient or humectant but what else could the mother be but water? The mother surely isn't words. The words are all underground, far beneath the soil, hobnobbing with the hypothetical and metaphorical. I am not Hindu but would never hinder you, so perhaps I am? Would you hinder me? Would you cut my fingernails and put them in a stew? Would you feed the stew to your deceased female relatives as you put something on the television? The feeling of the cuticles against my lips. I can't be the first person to enjoy this mystery. But I am determined to be the first person to destroy it. We can harvest the future money together. We can give it back to the people who need it. The people who need it the most are always the people who feel like they deserve it the less. But things are changing. Everything's changing all the time.