London’s

I rode the tube to Bethnal Green last night. My fear of closed spaces – which had on many occasions prevented me to even contemplate plunging into London’s innards – always gives way to mild bursts of insanity. Yesterday, I imagined the train being permanently immobilized between stops, my brain equated the tunnel to a tomb, flashing images of rotten corpses whizzed by, and finally a steady stream of stills of each one of the passengers around me as a mummified lump…

“Mind the Gap”.

Phew, I made it (alive).

A mummy from the Chachapoyas culture

As I rushed through the crowds, I felt incredibly aware of my own existence (I always do after a tube ride), but I also felt fascinated with the thought that we are all ultimately perishable walking forms. I wondered about my own ‘innards’ and what they’d reaveal.

It turns out, just like the London underground, it’s not all that attractive. But why hide these crippled bones of mine? I’m taking my skeleton out of the closet today and stripping myself of my flesh. I’ve done some exploratory probings during my lifetime, and have decided to come clean about by own crookedness, and expose my bones in increments.