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“The petroglyphs told the story of an unusual event.”
An event so precisely parsed even William could tell. Our handicapped language is still working, but I still can’t effortlessly illustrate this devastating event of a feeling – a muted implosion of serotonin and adrenaline through capillaries that discharge blind aggression like kerosene between teen King and Queen Dopamine. I need three bottles of codeine before I try to convey this allegory with metaphors, analogies, and similes like a Professor Dickens teaching the difference between two cities. I could borrow a French expression, add an Arabic adage, and toss in a Portuguese epigram. I can’t do this. I have to postpone this interpretation to deaf bones. I have to escape it – this feeling, this pain, this pleasure. I’m prone to combat these, although I don’t condone, trazodone until I’m monotone.