Post Mortem
***Autopsy, not biography.***
First object: great and complex tangle of beddings, pervasive tang of livestock and bourbon. Sensual warmth from the body still, and I’m not first to arrive on the scene. Past lovers have come to clip his grown-out toenails and poke at the bedsores. He kept his peace in the end, I’m sure, despite the haunted and hypochondriatic report of inner demons and vultures come to pick out his eyeballs. That ‘s a tall tale my boy, don’t forget it, and you look mighty large from behind. An accumulation of pounds of flesh. From here you look an awful corpulent bugger.
But the romance of entropy and leprous decay, and of starring out at the South China Sea: I understand. You’re a ghost of a ghost of a ghost of yourself.
Well I stayed well into the night attempting to fashion the case. Called the Scarlet Rose for advice. She said, “It’s the room, it’s the ROOM,” and unplugged the phone. Went in a metaphysical direction: you see we came from a place, and we came to a place, but then we come to another place. To other places. I had mixed up the corpse with my own, three times moreover.
Couldn’t figure out what to do just then. Pulled out my pocketknife, and then later, stuck a hand down my pants. None of this felt right. Walked around in the nude, pondered new hobbies. Howling at the moon. Showered, adjusted the lighting, and listened to records in the living room. Fell asleep, with my cheek against the floor, at precisely 3:23 am.
Stuart J. MINT
PERSONALITY CRISIS, you got it when it was hot! – New York Dolls.
Abominable. Let us start a new thread, let us turn a leaf. – Eds.
Blood ought to repost his report of self-immolation, in the interest of the narrative thread. This is a response piece. – Eds.
First object: great and complex tangle of beddings, pervasive tang of livestock and bourbon. Sensual warmth from the body still, and I’m not first to arrive on the scene. Past lovers have come to clip his grown-out toenails and poke at the bedsores. He kept his peace in the end, I’m sure, despite the haunted and hypochondriatic report of inner demons and vultures come to pick out his eyeballs. That ‘s a tall tale my boy, don’t forget it, and you look mighty large from behind. An accumulation of pounds of flesh. From here you look an awful corpulent bugger.
But the romance of entropy and leprous decay, and of starring out at the South China Sea: I understand. You’re a ghost of a ghost of a ghost of yourself.
Well I stayed well into the night attempting to fashion the case. Called the Scarlet Rose for advice. She said, “It’s the room, it’s the ROOM,” and unplugged the phone. Went in a metaphysical direction: you see we came from a place, and we came to a place, but then we come to another place. To other places. I had mixed up the corpse with my own, three times moreover.
Couldn’t figure out what to do just then. Pulled out my pocketknife, and then later, stuck a hand down my pants. None of this felt right. Walked around in the nude, pondered new hobbies. Howling at the moon. Showered, adjusted the lighting, and listened to records in the living room. Fell asleep, with my cheek against the floor, at precisely 3:23 am.
Stuart J. MINT
PERSONALITY CRISIS, you got it when it was hot! – New York Dolls.
Abominable. Let us start a new thread, let us turn a leaf. – Eds.
Blood ought to repost his report of self-immolation, in the interest of the narrative thread. This is a response piece. – Eds.
posted by Esoteric Clique at 3:23 AM
3 Comments:
Really this is just too much - blasphemy. First no Eds., then the author neglects to sign his work, and now an entire entry has been banished into the pit. This is not human, it is devo.
Enjoy your day in a million ways,
D
Mr. D., you can't see the forest for the trees. Why do you insist on detail? on mortified limbs, corpses, autotopsical evidence? Perhaps this rote form developed organically in the inscestuous womb (I am not sure)? Things change. The human evolves. Etc.
Adieu,
Opale de Feu.
Berate me if you will, with what was it again now, trees and forests, how quaint and curious. Still I concur with the Eds. – “Blood ought to repost his report of self-immolation, in the interest of the narrative thread.”, but for a different reason. That which once was but has now been banished was very good. It should have been left for the thrill of discovery, for one of the kindred to find, once born it should have been left alone to fend for itself.
A trinty, a trinty, we want a trinty,
D
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