Secret Mojo Dumbs It Down for You

July 18, 2006

May I play with your amygdala?

Filed under: Fiction,Naked Crunch — secretmojo @ 3:01 pm

No sunrise today. An overcast blanket deprives the grass of color. But the robins still arise, naïvely chirping in the trees; early birds appetent upon the day.

Out there, on your grass, lies dew. Her dayspring glister begs for contact of feet. There is no reason for it; life is the reason. Dew was meant to be felt by feet. This, your dew. These, your toes. Call it fate, impulse, or the temptation of primordial nature: urge becomes will becomes action, and you are out the door heedless, torso slave to legs.

With a spritz, cool wetness—earth alive—nestles between your toes; a friendly caress from the carpet of green turns your morning muscles blithe. A zephyr tickles your ear, and birds gather their babble in staccato-tat cacophony. Do they notice you, a wingless animal enjoying the grass? And what is this interest they have in you? Chirps become gurgles turn hunger into rapture.

The turbid worms beneath your feet find purchase in your toes. Your back reclines like feathers to sleep as wet sounds crawl your face; you have no voice, the birds swoop in, and your sunless dawn in spurning motion heaves itself away.

* * *

Awake! A child. Not yours, but everyone’s. Eyebrows not developed, a head too big for shoulders. Eyes preternaturally wide, and her lips, his lips, quiver from a terror: she and he with halting motion raises two hands to plea for help; but you’re busy with yourself, ego stroking ego, too slow to enter the now. Before you reach to touch his finger, or hold her hand to stop her weeping, he effervesces: confetti into the sky. She drifts as mist to cool the day and through her, for him, a rainbow brightens, shimmers, and melts towards the ground.

* * *

I saw my friend, distraught from love, sitting and slouched upon the floor. She was sixteen or so, as I was then, and stoically showed no tears. I doubt she knew I was in the room, because she produced her dad’s revolver and stuck the barrel in her eye. Between squeeze and blast, she flipped one eye open; she recognized my bent-up hopeless face, and seemed to wonder, in her slow-motion “whoopsie daisy” way, if I’d mind stopping the bullet so she could have more time to explain.

I’d rather she had cried.

* * *

My ears started ringing thee days ago. But onlyu when the world got qwuiet. Yesterday, the knormal sounds of of my day wer overshadowed by this piercing, horrendous noise; I should’ve seen a cdotor, but I was stubborn and afraid. I couldn’t sleep from the nausea and the high fucking pitch ascreaming in my head. until it finally gave up its torture upon me and dealt me silenc. Full silence.

and just this morning, my eyes began to fail; i could not find my way aruond and i coudnt call noone because i couldn’t heare in the phone. i guess i couldn’ve called 911, but it passed my attention at hte time. So now i write to taell anyone who gets this that i cannot see eithe, and i am having trouble typing or finding the phoneeeee; theresmi,bmess in my fingers, butt i am every much alive; is ihjusatq canm t feerl anhythiiiiiiiiiiinggggggg


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