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He looked at them and saw their faces did not fit. The skin on the skulls crawled and twitched like half-solid paste. All the heads in his angle of vision seemed irregular lumps, like potatoes but without a potato’s repose: potatoes with crawling surfaces punctured by holes which opened and shut, holes blocked with coloured jelly or fringed with bone stumps, elastic holes through which air was sucked or squirted, holes secreting salt, wax, spittle and snot. He grasped a pencil in his trouser pocket, wishing it were a knife he could thrust through his cheek and use to carve his face down to the clean bone. But that was foolish. Nothing clean lay under the face. He thought of sectioned brains, palettes, eyeballs and ears seen in medical diagrams and butcher’s shops. He thought of elastic muscle, pulsing tubes, gland sacks full of lukewarm fluid, the layers of cellular and fibrous and granular tissues inside a head. What was felt as tastes, caresses, dreams and thoughts could be seen as a cleverly articulated mass of garbage. ↗
Ashlei was free to spout off how much she loved her savior because Jesus was not about to rear back and tell her He did not quite feel the same way, that He had died for the sins of the world just because it was fun and did not want things to be too serious. He was only thirty-three, after all, and might want to martyr himself for other people. ↗
#christ #jesus #jesus-christ #love #martyr
I was pure, before you defiled me, and don't you forget it. As though the concept of purity is anything more than the construct of selfish, competitive men stampeding toward the women to call dibs. I'll be damned if I'm not worth stampeding toward, but the prize had better be me, hymen or no hymen. ↗
She did not arrive at Annandale without taking the chisel to herself more than once, without rubbing up against a few boys to smooth an edge or two. ↗
I can't help wanting. I want you to burn as I burn. I want you to lie awake at night thinking of me. If you sleep, I want you to dream of me. I want you to tell me that you can't stand the sight of me dancing with another woman. I want to know this last week has been as miserable for you as it has been for me. ↗
Hi Miss Alice With your glass eyes What kind of dream Can you see? Are you fascinated with? Stilll My heart tears And drifts Stuck in the patched crevices Are memories Hi Miss Alice With that fruitful lips To whom does love Is cast away? Is lamented? Already I spin my words Feverish tongue Has turned cold The song to love Can't be sung either Still you do not answer ↗
