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Alternate readings, from May 11.
i. within
“Inside” was in fact also lacking quotational irony because well that’s what we knew.
Inside.
Coagulating, generous, complete maybe: the tune you loved then and still hum. Sour patches (except the blue ones), papaya slices, tapioca balls, mango pudding after cooked before it sets. Soufflés, curried sauces, the interiors of ears and ends and beginnings.
You got it.
About were the breaths of borders so porous and inviting, you'd see the microscopic reels of neon lime lights running like ants between the deck boards. Particles formed every such surface within and without of the capacious I-ness.
ii. shutter
Reliable tube belly gyrates from far off a valve’s shutter. Fullness. Pleasure sufficient to palliate the unsureness at these mucoid slipperies. Behind Middle clunking every three matches, yours, bigger, boomier, bohm.
BOHM. [Reassurance.] Familiarity demarcating syncopations the hour.
The top wherein the seeingness begins to pucker stretches towards dark. Interior pops, flatulates, gummy, pinched, squeezing.
iii. shafts
“God is Gracious,” I hear the voices echo up the canal shaft in bursts inflating this goddam rubber contraption they got me in. Apparently that’s what they’re calling me once I bounce.
“God is Gracious.” Fuck.
It doesn’t matter.
Where to hang the shelves along the twisted fibrin walls?
None of this is permanent.
Implant them .7 instead of .82 centimeters apart so that the feng shui “feels right?” There isn’t a proper stud in here anyway.
As if. Nothing fucking matters. We’ll succumb to the conditions and be out soon enough. They got me workin constantly, poundin away at my heart and head and lungs. Every puffy-eyed attempt a sweltering blink in this viscous quagmire is another opportunity to usurp the System.
Even if we do get out, the Climate will get us: the echoes, the fingers, the voyeured lights up the goddam canals, so many, the clattered laughter the walls fucking eager to respond to every incidental goddam fucking kick klack. All of it.
What about “I’m stuck in here, fucking altering, leave me alone” don’t you understand? No, don’t whisper my fucking name through the vents coo “I love you” vaguely deciphered in muted delays through this oppressive muck of chunky flesh, coherence, snot waterfalls steamy fuck boogers scab paths shit, go away.
I don’t fuckin care.
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