Paul Parillo Free Association: Breasts

Sometimes it’s good to have a mental spring cleaning – there are so many ideas that collect within the psyche on a day to day basis that once and a while it’s prudent to release the formality and banality of these old thoughts and simply, express. My intention is to play some music for myself, employ some controlled free association, and see what happens. Note: the idea of control is to ensure it remains somewhat topical and not just some “journal entry”. For point of reference, the music is collection of classical songs on internet radio (random and unselected by me). Begin.

Breasts can seem so sad from time to time. Even sitting on the subway, one can creepily peer at the variety of mammary glands suffering, crying. Why are they sad? Do they not recognize the praise and adulation shared by the many men and women who attest to their beauty, shape and uniqueness? Yet, there they are, gently bumping the walls of their misshaped bras waiting until the day they’ll be happy again.

Every breast, from the weathered veteran to the perky chest soldier, asks to be freed from their cages to be released into a world where the desperate need to witness their happiness hold precedence over most things. Wars are said to be fought by people for politics, justice, money, religion, or all of the above, but rarely does anyone admit to why they really feel the need to fight.  

Just one tit, every now and again, from a complete stranger can and will improve the lives of every individual on earth. Famine stricken crops will grow, drought infested villages will once again see their wells filled with water – like the sacrificial mythologies of yore, breasts will appease the many gods and satiate the world created by them. And as I watch each breast rocking sadly to and fro, I know our world is far from this immaculate reality.

I feel as though I’ve been charged by the mythical gods to begin the genesis of the breast revolution; communication and an understanding must be made between myself and the quarantined tits or else all will be lost. All I have is my breast telepathy, my large palms and my sleight of hand technique. One day, the breasts will see their freedom at last, and the road to revolution will be paved for generations to come. No longer will breasts remain sad and unused, they will see their potential fulfilled, and I, Paul Parillo, will hopefully not go to jail.  

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