When you have a head cold and you blow snot out of each nostril until you think your head will explode like that politician in Scanners, then you grab your Neti pot and push the saline through with the blood-lined mucus, and you think of when you had corrective septum surgery and used the Neti pot every day until roughly a week afterward when you blew a chunk of scar tissue out that was so large, so pulsing that your wife asked you if you’d just blown a fetus out of your nose and you remember a satisfaction differing perhaps in scale but not in kind with childbirth, or the time you had an external ear infection the size of a globe grape on the left side of your head but you didn’t have health insurance at the time so you self-lanced it with a thumbtack and felt instant, glorious release as the blood and pus gushed down the side of your head and off your chin, and this memory makes you want to watch Youtube videos of botfly and mangoworm removals for the umpteenth time this week for the vicarious pleasure of watching these foreign bodies removed from just below the skin through a muchtoosmall hole, which makes you consider reverently the possibility that the greatest pleasures in life involve the expulsion, the ejaculation, the elimination of various substances—sweat, semen, shit, mucus, piss, pus, even blood—through muchtoosmall holes, and you think of how the body, in the hours and days after death, festers and swells with all the fluid just yearning for release, to expel the foreign bodies invading it, and you remember—vaguely, like a prenatal dream—the feel of yourself afloat, a paper-thin membrane separating the internal and external seas. Know, in this punctum, your greatest sensory goal: to explode and be alive to feel it.

What are the Sneaky Feels?

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AuthorJohn Proctor