18 June 2019 

I once was 16 and I felt people (mainly boys) were hurting me. And most importantly I was letting them. And I just happened to have a dream I probably won’t forget. It was about Corallo, il Pesciolino Giallo (in Italian, that’s a yellow fish). It rhymes. The whole thing rhymed. Like a shitty poem written by my subconscious. I woke up and chose not to write it down. The habit of writing down dreams was getting me to have lucid dreams, and that was weirding me out. But most importantly I was a little too weirded out by the dream itself.

Corallo il Pesciolino Giallo was obviously a yellow fish. Corallo loved to play with monsters. The monsters were big, colourful and friendly, a friendly devil in their eyes. Each time Corallo played with the monsters, the monsters cut off his left arm (I’m a very proud lefty). I could then see a pointy amorphous thing growing back in the place where Corallo’s arm used to be. But Corallo loved playing with the monsters, and so he’d play with them again, and again, each time seeing its left arm being swallowed by the depths of my trippy subconscious ocean.

Then Corallo found a solution to its frustrations. If he put a mask the face of the monsters, then they couldn’t cut off its arm anymore. So, Corallo and the monster were playing harmoniously, only for a few seconds, until the mask slipped off, swallowed too by the depths of the ocean. So the monster cut off Corallo’s arm, again.

This beautiful poster of self harm and loss of control caused by really really liking to play with the monsters came back to me when I accidentally got a yellow fish tattooed. Awfully recently. And now too I struggle to stop playing with the monsters. And my left arm keeps falling in the ocean, over and over. But I guess I’m okay enough to write this over here, as a desperate open wish to make it stop and give my arm the time to fully grow back. Don’t worry, I’m fine.

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