My razor needs a new blade, the last 3 months has seen a notable speed decrease. What was once mach 3, is now about 30 miles an hour. It feels like I'm shaving with a cheese grater, or a Brillo pad made of twisted ring-pulls. I look forward to it though, growing anticipation has me misjudging brush strokes and white-washing the area around my mouth with Aquafresh.
The act itself is worth waiting for, every follicle on my chin and cheeks screaming in protest, demanding that i stop being such a cheap bastard as i crudely harvest my face. It's remarkable, it's like self-harm but condensed. I could market it to the nervous and self-deprecating, a means to feel alive for five minutes without following the path to exsanguination in a bath full of cloudy water.
I need a drink. I've spent most of this afternoon walking a mud-flecked path running parallel to a road. Seeing the same car go past 100 times only to realise that it wasn't the same car at all, but innumerable variations by different manufacturers.
Everything's the same. We pursue convenience only to be trapped by it. There's a sense of absolute, bland uniformity here now and It's depressing.
It almost makes me want to go out and buy a Twix, so i can hate myself for furthering the rampant propagation of 'same'.
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