My hands are being disfigured, I have to make it stop. It’s not reasonable to be pulled and dragged by something I can’t see, every day
like this, sharp serrated strings scoring lines into each of my five fingers, creating three equal spaces, my palms, too; they’re no longer safe, they’re lined with the marks of the sharp serrated strings. Isn’t it incredible? I’m asking
you, honestly, in all seriousness, please don’t tell me it’s normal, it’s a natural thing. Stop telling me the story of creation, don’t tell me about how Adam met his Eve. Don’t tell me the one about the king’s wife, either,
the one who sliced her hands along with the apples, who was almost seduced and who made everyone like this. No. No. No, I won’t believe it for even one second; I’m wiser than that, I’m mature enough not to fall for that nonsense. You don’t
understand, you’ll never understand.
I told you, it’s not reasonable to be pulled and dragged by something I can’t see, every day like this, sharp serrated strings scoring lines into each of my five fingers, creating three
equal spaces, my palms, too; they aren’t safe either, don’t you think it’s incredible? I suffer endlessly from its pull, from the tightness of the sharp serrated strings. See what I mean? I’m not crazy, stop telling me your folktales!
I’ll never believe you because you don’t know how much it can hurt to have sharp strings digging into your hands. You couldn’t imagine it, it’s totally beyond you! So, then go live peacefully with your folktales … you fool! It
hurts, do you understand? Can you see what I mean?
The few times I’ve escaped from it – I don’t know how I managed – it slithered into my dreams and dragged me with its damned sharp strings. I feel like I’m being
insulted, ripped apart, sodomized, tortured, so I fill my throat with shouts and you! You naively assume I’ve completely lost my mind! You should be ashamed of yourself! You see me, clearly see the intense suffering twisting my face, hear my cries, my
groans that even God won’t deny. Look at me, I’m being yanked forward, I’m falling on my face, crawling across the ground on my belly, my hands in front of my face, screaming, badly hurt, and you just look at me blankly and pray for my safety
and repeat endless blessings for the health and prosperity of the nation. And I haven’t told you yet about how the unbearable pain caused by the growth of even a single one of my body’s hairs, oh, it’s indescribable! But what concerns me
right now, what hurts the most are the sharp serrated strings, the ones that score lines into each of my five fingers, creating three equal spaces.
I’ve been ignoring the pain caused by the growth of even a single one of my body’s hairs,
and the thing that’s really starting to drive me crazy is … What’s wrong with you? You’re completely unfeeling! It’s unbelievable! Well, don’t worry, my friend, I’ll try to teach you to feel pain. We’ll start
with the pain of growing body hairs. See the hairs growing above your knees? Choose one hair. It doesn’t matter which one, but just one, a single hair like this one on my chest, any one you like. Now bow your head toward them a little bit, focus your
eyes well, expand your pupils a little, and now focus your eyes on the descent, where the hair comes out. Look closely, look how deep the descent is, how the hair is sharper than a warrior’s sword. Can’t you feel it stabbing through your thin skin,
your naked, vulnerable skin? It penetrates you, injures you, hurts you, can’t you feel it? It stabs through your living skin so it can live, and you’ll die, it’s growing, it’s feeding on your blood, it’s breathing easy now and
you! For you death is inevitable! Don’t look at me like that! I didn’t lose my mind! Damn it, you son of "—"! You "—"! You‘re dying …or…maybe you’re already dead… or … I.