be free be

Impingements

A stomach churning invasion of impingements on the ears and the inner alcoves of the cranium.

Akin to a machine spitting out screws ricocheting off the floors and tinkling in circles, in counterpoint, to the scraping of chairs and metal boxes 12 feet above your head.

As a banana might be injected with bromated flours just to make it softer, more malleable, mush—are the interior contents of the skull of the Cro-Magnon that lives in the apartment above you.

Free writing, while certainly free, takes a toll on the psyche, but in this case, it’s quite expensive—and unusually difficult to exorcise once you’ve lost all your senses—in the auditory version of the death of a thousand cuts.

Except this is a lot less fun.

Like punching a nest full of wasps inside your head.

Be free. Be free.

image: p. remer

What I’m Reading:

“Loneliness arrives on a leash of scorpions.
In my skull, loneliness opens like a parachute.”

—Eduardo C. Corral / “Lines Written During My Second Pandemic”

About istsfor manity

i'm a truncated word-person looking for an assemblage of extracted teeth in a tent full of mosquitoes (and currently writing a novel without writing a novel word) and pulling nothing but the difficult out of the top hat while the bunny munches grass in the hallway. you might say: i’m thee asynchronous voice over in search of a film....
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