Apropos of Nothing: Dollars for Dollops

Blindly devote yourself to formulary Z-074. Make triplicate copies send one to me, one to Human Resources, and one to the Department of Repressive Operations. Sing, glory be! Glorioles and halo benders and everything is ordinary until it is not. Then we’ll have to consider how I melt, multiphasic, multiplying the meaning of nothing—this is something unseen… what doesn’t kill you makes you spastic and ekphrastic. Please don’t embarrass me in front of the secular pilgrims, they’re in a hurry and frying fast. They’re fasting at the speed of light, gasping at the site of blight. Remember the feeling you had when your teeth were removed with a mallet. Remember the pity you felt at shaving your beard with a hatchet? The nicks and the deep lacerations from running in place with shaving cream in your eye sockets and one hand in your pocket? Well, that’s what I’m feeling now.

What I’m Reading:

“Today she was wearing an old flowered bathrobe with all the threads pulled out. For a split-second, my mother appeared to me wearing the pelt of a wild beast … All that I have standing between me and death is my demented mother.”

— Annie Ernaux / I Remain in Darkness