I have been writing this whole recollection in one of the few journals that didn't get destroyed during the Great Pigeon War of 2 Days Ago in my apartment. I don't think I'll continue to live here, though. Its fucking freezing in here. I put up the only blanket I have over the meteorite-sized hole in the side of my apartment to block out at least some of the breeze, but it's not too much help. The wind chill feels weird against my new skin. It's all in my head, I'm sure, but still, my mind has ALWAYS played tricks on my body, which I guess is obvious now, huh? When a small amount of congealed air slithers in through one of the small gaps that the blanket can't quite cover, it pokes my skin like a boiling syringe. The coldness seems to land on one spot on my skin, and sit there like a bleeding pen, quickly spreading out the stinging cold through the rest of my body. I must be more sensitive now. It's not just the coldness that feels different. My eyes seem even sharper than ever, and one of my ears can now pick up mundane albeit beautiful sounds that I have never even experienced before. Have you ever heard the sound of a fly falling in love? Or the excited, almost celebratory sound of a tungsten filament inside a light bulb waking up from a night of boring electric dreams, ready to lighten up the day the moment you flip a switch? These sounds are sublime. Even the horrifying sound of an itch getting scratched, where you can hear the screams from the microscopic nerve endings on the skin being shredded by the strength of a clumsy fingernail, somehow sounds beautiful, if only because I have NEVER before heard such a noise.
But the most important change though, is the headaches. I mean, it's only been a couple of days, 53 hours and 44 minutes to be exact, but ironically, I feel a huge weight has teleported out of my head. And it feels great.
I haven't had a chance to clean up. I've been writing nonstop. My apartment is still drenched in pigeon-shit, blood, feathers, drywall, thick pink box-discharge (ummm…yuck), and general disarray. Funny to think that up until a couple'a days ago, the furniture in this place hadn't even been rearranged for over 6 years. Most of my journals are torn up. The TV is smashed. It still turns on, which is amazing to me, but every channel that I switch it to looks like a collection of Sebastian Kruger caricatures with holes in their faces. I keep it off now. After all, I have plenty of new responsibilities.

It's hard to put myself back in that place, 2 days ago, down on all fours like a starving runaway, clueless, trying to fight off the tremendous hammering in my head that the box cursed me with, as it lay, facing away from me, exposing itself to the hallway. I mean, its not that hard to REMEMBER the events that occurred, but it's hard to go back into that state. A state of complete naivety and mystery. A state of knowledge depravity. Knowing what I know now, it's difficult describe the events that followed once the box was opened in a manner that is not biased toward what I learned on the rooftop soon after that. But I'll try..