Thursday, May 3, 2012

3628. HOW TO PROFANE WHAT I SHOULD NOT DO

HOW TO PROFANE WHAT
 I SHOULD NOT DO
The cloth by the window edging was
piled up  -  colored cuttings, all bad
angles and leftover snips  -  the stuff
only a crafter could love : those crank
ladies who make their cast-off scrapbook
collages and the hobbyists of another
nature. Some six a.m. light was
struggling in  -  the room was flooded.
-
Glass in the door threw lines to the
wall  -  thinking of prism and color, I
thought to amend what I saw : a few
multi-colored flagons of life and love,
myriad markings leaving traces on
things we may have touched. Human
animal, with its tongue that never stops
talking. The twist of the story is the
twist of the end. They never tell the
little orphan his father is dead.
-
Multi-man, what have you bludgeoned today?
Cut? Ripped? Presumed to build? 'Even the
wreckage of old Europe is tempting to the
young. Creative. Contrary. Restless. ' I
took that line from Williams, with you to
guess the rest  - pompous, cast-off animal.
-
['I love my fellow creature. Jesus how I love
him : endways, sideways, frontways and
all the other ways  -  but he doesn't exist,
and neither does she. I do, but in
a bastardly sort of way.']
-
There is right now a quaint silence in
this very sick room  -  all things askew,
broken angles, no straight lines, piles
of papers and books. And I have to ask
(no, to no one) why am I here, how can
I be, where can I go? The wind has
breached the lintel, the clock on the
wall has stopped, and even the wires
atop the counter from the toaster are
frayed and severed. What next will be
coming? I have no one here to ask.
-
I need to be satisfied with substitutes, like
a really bad condensed milk when only
rich cream should do, or some false
glitter instead of the diamond of you.

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