The sink overflowed with my dreadlocks

Cut off the last four years of my life. Orange kitchen scissors snipped snipped snipped. Then Walmart razor buzz buzz buzz.

I look like a prisoner of war. Happy Hippie to Dachau.

Dizzy, nauseous, very dizzy. The sudden and drastic removal of hair weight disrupted my homeostatic sense of balance. People predicted I’d feel lighter. A sense of relief. My temples spun, clockwise, then counterclockwise.

I felt ravenously hungry. I couldn’t wait for the frozen bacon to thaw. Turned the stove on, filled the house with the smell of carnage. Ingested piece after piece of crisp pig belly. Normally I don’t eat much. After half a pound, I still felt empty. Drank a glass of water, gobbled down a coconut date bars. Stopped because I didn't want to hurt myself. I've heard some animals can gorge to death.

I can explain this only as body shock. Survival mode. Command control: what the hell is happening to the protective layer around the cerebral cortex? All systems: EAT!

I don’t regret cutting them. Not much. A little bit. 40%. I hear this as pessimism. And see it as the dominant voice in my head. I see this as attachment to image. Attachment to past. Attachment to being noticed.

The oracle said I’m moving in the right direction. Releasing what no longer serves me. I feel an uncomfortable mixture of nakedness and sharp cactus prickles all over. I don’t feel the euphoric sense of lightness some recently de-dreaded people report.

Of course I filmed it.