exercise: N 3.2 – describe the mirror
I have a new scar on my forehead, above my right eye. It’s hook-shaped, like the discarded claw of a cat found with a bare foot in a shag rug. It’s still reddish-rose, such is its freshness. I got it from the corner of a wooden dresser. I stood up into it, sprung to my feet with my wrestled prize – a radio I was trying desperately, for some minutes, to unplug and untangle from an adjacent bookshelf – and cracked my skull on the wood’s corner. I bled, a good bit. Chose no stitches but I did stay home from work that day.
There’s a flesh wound on my left nostril, along the delicate rim, that I got from shaving recently. The shadow’s crawling back onto my chin and upper lip as the nostril wound goes rare-steak burgundy. it’s just an angled line fragment, cut it being careless, was frustrated with hacking away at the rest of my face that day. My beard had grown long but flimsy, practically diaphanous, and I’d been shaving a while already, a single-blade safety razor, all clean and clinical in its stainless silver form. Trouble is my weak technique – a few spots of scab along the throat will testify to this.
My cheeks are gaunt and pitted, thanks to veganism on one hand and a history of shit complexion on the other. Rough go with acne as a kid leaves me red and oily. The thinness I’m okay with, except the sharp planes of the face make the white-hot highlights – overblown, too hot, they’d say, the monitor zebra-striping like Samurai Jack back in time – all the more obvious.
I have a small brown bump behind my right earlobe, it’s like a mole or freckle I guess. Softish to the touch and unassuming. I’ve been asked what it is and I don’t know. I’ve never asked someone else what it is, that I know of. Maybe some doctor in the annals has run tests, or maybe that’s to come.