barking has been a guilty pleasure despite the sporadic pain it brings the chest. it is a form of freedom, a form of release that we have been doing since we were kids but we’re not aware of until we felt the immediate transition of the pleasure of barking from the pain of containing the tickling sensation of the throat.
for weeks i have been barking wildly from the moment i wake up till the second i drown myself under the pool of my thoughts. during the day, i try to repress my bark, which is sometimes mistaken as a growl, to avoid the judging stares of the people from the bus and from the train. i would hold back as long as i can to keep myself from barking into people, but that leak somewhere in my throat that sends droplets of water-like mucus to my esophagus forced me to release what everyone else would normally call a severe cough.
at night my barks break the symphony of the choir of snores that dominate the empty spaces of the house. during the day it marks my presence in the streets, in the subway, in the office and in the house.
if only i haven’t felt like a canine for weeks, i would have called it a simple cough that is chronic and triggered by seemingly micro fibered organisms that tickles and trickle down the walls of the esophagus.
barking has been my new language for days. it sends out my longing for flesh, and my sharp smell for fear. it is my call for companion, my invitation for a meaningful conversation, my request for intimacy.
i kill time by chasing pussies along the way. but pussies are swift to run away from canines, especially when they hear your barks. maybe pussies are meant to react that way. they must have been born scared of barks before knowing that not all that barks bite.