Probably, it was easier believed that the mountain could be lifted…why did she believe in dreaming?
She doesn’t remember when she stopped dreaming.
Her heart is a pinnacle of raw cold and raw heat: she is the incarnation of extremity. She cannot be nefarious nor nice with stability. When her heart needed something she wanted to ignore it. She didn’t like the idea of being wrought around desire though she was something of desire.
Numbness, numb fingers, flesh deceices flesh in an artificial dance; but, this is called the epitome of desire. The threads of the doll, with one unbuttoned eye blinks at her mercilessly; she thinks the inanimate could rush with animate tears but those are wild dreaming – works of an artist attempting to become God’s lover – but God cannot have a lover. The impossibility of the unbuttoned eye makes her want to know if her eyes could dream stringless or string-hanging – some sort of boudoir of luxury.
The Skin is raw here. She has de-virginized herself. She rubs the blood and sees blood in her eyes. The incubus smiles as he thinks he has called her into his scion of lust-carvers. She numbly sings a song.
She walks down her old school. She sees her ex-boyfriend. He doesn’t smile at her. Tragedy. In slow motion he is a canvas of blood; there, that is the cataract in her mind. Why should he smile at her? Wait, he smiles – he says something but she really doesn’t stay around. She’s afraid. She runs and runs until she stops near an ice-cream parlour. She orders his favourite flavour.
In the middle of the night the blood is licked by the incubus; she sheds some tears of blood and compliments her. She knows its rape.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
” Because you remind me of a bad dream.”
” Listen, we are older now and –
” Remember that time I had cut my finger and bled a lot?”
” Uh, yes..”
” The wound, I like licking it…”
” What do you mean?”
” It seems so ordinary but he likes it fine.”
” Uh, your new boyfriend…?”
” Better…he sleeps with me at night.”
Blood is something trans-experimental but also in the position of a embryo: experimental. When blood is smeared it is the initial stage for cosmetic-fineries. It is engaging, almost enchanting. It could mean a promise kept out in the garden that needs to poured some elixir of yourself. Blood is one’s own mortality thus it is the trans-experimental identity. The sucubus is She now and as skin clashes like metal the rape is galvanized by the voyeuristic incubus.
It tastes like opium. The opiate eyes look at the children and she wishes to cannabilize them. Because they are useless – they are not hers. They look like overgrown embryos and thus scissors are needed. But it is only the identity of the night-opiate: her true self, which is just jesting. She laughs with an edge:
” Do you want candy?”
The sugary delight of degradation calls her. She feels that the person’s flesh is too over-excited and she yearns the cacophony of the instrument to stop. She requests this but this breeds more restlessness but the climax is promising. She stabs him with scissors though.
When the woman came she requested an explanation:
” Why did you soak my kids in red paint?
” Well, they laughed – there wasn’t anything bad in it.”
” They look so dirty.”
” Blood is meant to be dirty at times.”
” What, what – what do you mean?”
” Can I smear you?”
” Did you…did you do something?”
The ex-boyfriend kisses her. He cradles her and then there was a startle. Then she thought of the iebriation. She could not coil so she screamed.
The Skin and flesh was of the innocent. An untamed hemisphere, an inexperienced curious – she told the wanderer that the edge was the alien. He complimented her by saying she reminded him of his ex-beau. He was the unaware; the incubus yearned this too. Blood boiling is the sweetest scent.
She could not see the children. So, she ate an apple instead and then got a call. Her ex-boyfriend wanted to give an apology but she countered by apologizing. She stated the best thing if exes stayed exes for a long time. The blood from the apple gave a sweet tint – his laugh was not her focus and what he said was not her importance – she smeared the apple with the blood. She laughed too.
The Skins were not the perfection. It incited. What purpose…what purpose? They are but puppets attempting to be puppeteers. So annoying. She wanted the climax in the precision of the desired ritual. Not the stagnation. A voice – not rogue, not in the party – a commodity? No, not a puppet.
The strings are lifted?
Puppets going haywire – no, no, they are already…or are they?
In the moment she realized that the “dream world” was meant to fade, be corrupted and infected. But, where was the incubus? He was there…there…there! Why are these puppets so stagnant and why is he so impossible!
The staccato falling…the failing…oh, very very heartbreaking…
Can the heart break? Can it be like that ceramic inanimate beings? Is heart like a craftshop? Then why are there no customers! No! Wait! Why aren’t they any customers! No! Wait! Is She Ceramic! Is she! No…the bones are being bended…argh! Uh! So Painful! So Atrocious! Ceramic…it’s all glittering! It’s all being turned to ceramic! Ceramic! Ceramic! Like Plastic! Like glass-plastic! No the heart! The heart now! Why! Why does it become ceramic! No! Stop! See! It …it…Oh! It’s BREAKING!
BREAKING! BREAKING! BREAKING! BREAKING! BREAKING! BREAKING! BREAKING! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
In it the children. When they are red they look eaten. She ate crayons before – she ate them nicely. When she was younger she ate crayons. The pre-school teacher yelled sweetly, no, no angry. Just so scared. Oh look it looked like someone has mauled you, she use to say to her and wipe her mouth. But she smeared again. Again and Again. Hoping to hear what “maul” meant – was it some kind of beauty technique. Her mother made her beautiful and spoke that beauty is pretty. Red, Red, Red, Red: So like beautiful. So like blood. Blood is actual mortal beauty. No, No, No, ceramic is -so pour the blood on the ceramic. It looks pretty. It looks precise. Maybe, it was blood poured on the forbidden fruit – Eve grinded her blood and fed it to Adam then Adam did the same – the fruit was ceramic or was it glass? Nope, they overdosed and asphxiated that is why they fell off the flat world of Heaven. So philosophers and scientists got it wrong. The earth was round as the ceramic-blood fruit that pollinated it but the world of Eden was flat.
Flat.Flat. Flat. Flat as ballerina shows, Flat as the shoes she wore as a child; Flat as the shoes she wore now. How Flat was the Universe of Perfection?
So the heart that can break could not be round. It had to be flat. Flat as surfaces when they connected, flat as two little things moving; flat, flat – then everything was numb.
She woke up to the night of nights – the daylight burned her. It seems to want to maul her through the windows. But it was not red. Her room was ceramic too – so, this was Eden-white? Eden, was it here?
” Oh Thank God you woke up! I was so scared! Those men attacked you! Do you remember!” her ex.
” What men?”
” They were…nevermind they -”
” Where is he who sleeps with me…?”
” Listen, the doctor said -”
” Where is he?”
” He’s not real…the doctor said you should -”
She gets up and runs. She sees the incubus and he is standing, standing near the window, oh yes, the open window…he wants her…she jumps and crashes…to another floor…she runs and runs…ceramic is mixing with the forbidden fruit…voices are everywhere…is this where he makes ecstacies and keeps them so he can study them?
Running and Running and Running until she sees his face clearly. It looks different. Suddenly everything breaks and the blood, the ceramic they clash. The incubus looks so foreign…like every man whose skin…No, NO! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!
The ceramic-red heart finally must break.
” I don’t understand doctor, she lives such an ordinary life.”
” Well, that is why she kinda had a double life, she’s not well.”
” I should have known. I want to help her.”
” Does she have any family, relatives or anyone?”
” Doc, I really don’t know. She was always an enigma to me.”
” It is the extraordinary that can be mapped, the ordinary is the enigma.”
” Your belief?”
“Doc, until you find anyone can I stay with her?”
” You love her…?”
” Kinda I think. I wanna help.”
” Tell you what, sign these.”
” Anything you wanna tell me, anything she told you?”
” It was kinda disturbing but she said someone slept with her at night.”
The doctor looked upset then stated:
” I guess that’s how many people took advantage of her.”
Well, that’s the end of the story. I got ideas of various books and movies including anime notably Revolutionary Girl Utena.
I went to Victoria’s Secret site and saw some ballerina shows on a model posing for jeans so I guess the idea of flatness came from there.
Hope you like the weird tale