(no subject)
The intro to a short story that is going nowhere fast. But I like it nonetheless:
'She thought he was a tumorous growth: copulation spasming beyond control as cell after cancerous cell mutinously reproduced itself. To her, he was an object of shame projecting ever outward.
Of himself he thought 'I am an extra appendage miraculously growing on a drying body': an evolutionary breakthrough of ever-mounting proportions. Perhaps he considered himself a prehensile tale on man, or an opposable thumb on a wood block. Either way, he was certain that he dripped of revolution.
To me--the one who always gave perspective, except to herself--he appeared to be a child who had only just realized he could poke himself in the eye with his own index finger, but still felt a certain dissociation from the offending digit, whereby religious awe was born.'
'She thought he was a tumorous growth: copulation spasming beyond control as cell after cancerous cell mutinously reproduced itself. To her, he was an object of shame projecting ever outward.
Of himself he thought 'I am an extra appendage miraculously growing on a drying body': an evolutionary breakthrough of ever-mounting proportions. Perhaps he considered himself a prehensile tale on man, or an opposable thumb on a wood block. Either way, he was certain that he dripped of revolution.
To me--the one who always gave perspective, except to herself--he appeared to be a child who had only just realized he could poke himself in the eye with his own index finger, but still felt a certain dissociation from the offending digit, whereby religious awe was born.'