Naked Preamble (redux)

Juana weaves her homily—one uprise after another, unaware that she’s at the precipice of her irritating anecdotes.

Jean believes he deserves his honorific—the one Juana refuses to use when addressing him.

Gaffes occur in a world ruled by impertinences and reverberatory prayers.

I wish to crochet synchronized heartbeats for them, but my literary physics is pockmarked with black holes—letters and syntactic marks swept up beyond the event horizon.

But hold on, this isn’t about the serial graphemic elements indicating syntax—no, this is about love gone awry. Misanthropy, misogyny, miserliness, and misery. The human condition paradigm.

So why the tangent? 

(The tangential has potential, so we diverge.)

Now, Juana deconstructs Jean’s argument and shoves him in his place: You don’t blaspheme in here!

Jean retorts: Midriff-clavichords are the only way to go. Get behind thee, Satan!

Juana says: You know, I always thought clavichord should be spelled “clavychord”—it has a jauntier ring to it. It’s zingy and fun to say, say it with me “clavychord … clavychord …clavychord …”

Jean realizes his education was fraudulent. All is relative. There is no solid ground. Nothing to rely on. No exit.

There’s a naked preamble about the paradigm of the photocopier. Transient elation ensues.

One must imagine Juana and Jean happy.

What I’m Reading:

Life is not a dream. Careful! Careful! Careful!
We fall down the stairs in order to eat the moist earth
or we climb to the knife edge of the snow with the voices of the dead dahlias.
But forgetfulness does not exist, dreams do not exist;
flesh exists.

— Federico Garcia Lorca / “City That Does Not Sleep”