Odd Normal

Sweet smells of tyranny cannot comfort the tyrannical-submissive – that is power that obstructs cannot truly build. It’s rocks shatter – it’s weeds wither and it’s flowers burned to blossoming suicides. The world does not expect the ordinary rather the novel is birthed in its inescapable womb expressing the world absolute.
He did not know that. Rather he would not. He had smelled like flowers but rubbed dirt to avert the stain. He cannot know less but knows more on nothingness. That nothingness devours him. He looks at clocks as his mistresses are too clock-like to be truly comforting. He likes these puppets better for they were all pretending.
When he was younger his mother cried on his shoulder. She now cried on his lap. Laps are easy. Shoulders are but more intoxicating close. They may mean romance or worse filial. She had rubbed out that stain. Men need to be immortal.
I was captured in a kiss
You said no
I agreed
but afraid to say so
His wife had told him that he must quit drinking. He had slapped her. She cried. Then they made love. Formulas handed by the gender mathematician.  But he had done so as he was taught. No less of the nothingness. He cried later. But those were not to be discussed.
He had slept with one of his mistresses. She keeps telling him to pay his rent. He keeps yelling and shouting. This is academic. She then apologizes. He does too. Then do business. The work hours were long and streneous. To his wife the assignments are a bit limited. He curses the air – the invisible – this bottle bed. Glass clouds his breathing. He sees an ant. He wonders if he is a favourite of the queen.
His other mistress calls him a lying bastard. He does not hit her. He hits her only with his tongue. You are only meant to beat up wives. You can’t beat up mistresses. They aren’t completely yours. Neither do you want them to be. He is not liking this. He feels like puking. He rushes past her. To her surprise. He pukes in her bathroom. She slowly approaches him. Asking him what is wrong.
The saliva of the girl in a blue dress stops him. She had licked a scar. Something he wished to do. Automatically his tongue licks his palm. He has no scar. She giggles – is he bathing himself like a pretty cat – pretty cat – no – bitch – it opens and closes like a hole of dirt. She is shocked. She is angry. She slaps him. He slaps her. Breathless. She goes to slap him again. He apologizes. She looks. He looks down. She looks down. She says he is odd. For a moment. He smiles.
His wife asks him if he will be home late. He doesn’t really respond. He mumbled. He does not need to be coherent. He knows the formula. Screw it. He tells her he is unfaithful. She starts crying. She calls him a bastard. She knows all of this. She tells him that she loves women. She tells him that she hates men. She tells him that he is bastard. He tells her he knows.
The girl drops a piece of ornamental jewellery. He picks it up for her. He comments his wife has a similar one. She tells him he is a whore. He says he knows that. She says she might be a whore too. He tells her that is not true. She then tells him he is not a whore. He starts to cry. She nestles him. He says he is too artificial. She agrees. He tells he writes poetry. She smiles.
His wife had left with one of his mistresses. He does not care. His other mistress is now leaving him and telling him that he can’t support her. He tells her that they were not in love so need to support is cancelled by corrupted fornication. She scowls and says his dick is stupid and leaves. He wonders at the intelligence of genitals and laughs. He hadn’t laughed in a long time.
The girl is scribbling. She is a columnist. She writes on the obsolete modes of expression – mainly flowers. She thinks flowers as courtship is silly. She says people are flowers. Thus added flowers are telling people things that they should already know. She speaks of Roland Barthes and how he adorns the normal with the hidden. He looks. She looks. He asks her what normal was. She laughed and said the flowerless courtships.
His wife had called and asked if he was alright. He asked if she was alright. She said she expected him to scream and shout at her. He said that was stupid. He asks if he would want to listen to his poem. She wonders of his poetry.
To be in love
not only a kiss
to love in paradoxes
is love of self
She comments that she likes it. She says that it is more true than anything he had ever done before. He is delighted.
The girl tells him to open eyes like wings. Lashes are feathers. The orbs fly. They are flower-seeds. Nectar are colours. She laughs. He laughs. He’s nervous. He knows he is odd. But would she – would she marry him?
She says of course only if he stops the dirt that covers his flowers.
He should be proud he smells like flowers.

One Reply to “Odd Normal”

  1. enjoyed reading this. the sentences strike me one after another like powerful bullets of images from a shotgun. It’s like watching one of those movies where you have images after images. There is no flow as per say but there is a flow of messages. Good piece.

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