Screwed up lights

Love was an exception it seemed. He hadn’t thought about it but then again who did. He craved for a potency that he could call his own. A world narrated by his own logics. But that was senseless. He knew that there was once something that was possible – something that he could live by – but those were dramatic ideologies now and none he wished to follow anymore.

His job was not a stable one. He was a manager of a little convenience store. His boss who he favourably called “cock-sucker” only made his presence when his love for domination struck like a whip from a dominatrix’s nice love weaponry. Hell – he wasn’t sure if he had it all done. This life. He remembered those cartoons where skin were like laundry jackets that you could unzip you reveil your true face.

How would it be if one could peel skin off – when one decided to become something else – discarding of personalities. What if that was to be possible? That would makes sense.

The snake was the blessed. Able to take off her scales when she felt – so reasonable and poetic – that is so great – oh grand natural morphor please teach the art – oh wow how wondrous it would seem this scale-chosen existence of that cold-coloured reptile whose venom-kiss is both art and damnation. Oh yes that poison is better than these dull bones – snakes need no erectile architecture – no appendix – they are amorphous as earth-air cusps.

Or maybe a  butterfly-erotica – the pupa that asphyxiates life less paved with erotica. There the seasoned seed will grow wings and partake in glorious creation. If only the science of body-morphing was available – if only God did not design the stoned DNA of chemical-electrical codings – this map of true conservatism. Then rise he would from the nirvana stained prescribed biblical roots of a man-central to man-aero – so plain and simple was this equation so –

” You know what I hate are daydreamers.”

And it was the voice of the “cock-sucker” that betrayed his thesis-theatrical of evolution – his Pandora Salvation of bolts and knots to which tied were the fabrics of a greater civilization.

” Sorry Mr. Co- Mr. Din”

” What were you going to call me?”

” What do you mean sir?”

” My name is Mr. Din.”

” Yes sir. I called you your name sir.”

” And though you are trash you are aware that D comes after C in the alphabetical order?”

” Sir – why wouldn’t I know that sir?”

” Do you know that? – Asnswer my fucking question.”

” Yes Sir I do know that.”

” Then listen – I don’t think you are that retarded to call me a name that starts with a C.”

” I was mistakingly call you Mr Collin sir – he used to be a regular around here before he moved.”

” And when was that?”

” I think a month ago.”

” Well then you can think on how may days are there usually in a month if I decide to cut your pay.”

” Sir – you cannot – Sir I…”

” Drop it. You’ll work here after hours for a month – is that clear you retard?!”

” Yes…Yes…Sir….”

Where art thou Aphrodisiac – coiled in my tongue – please from my parted road of saliva come forth to kill this savage bastard who knows no life.

The moronic light of this cashed, packaged life seemed to dwindle. It is after regular hours. A customer peeps at him and then – as though he were not under surveillance from him – shoves a bunch of chocolate bars – yeah Mars – into his bag. The man looked aged. Is he a snake? His scales are wrinkled.

He ponders or pretends and is about to leave when he – so staggered by “cock-suck-sure’s” indulgences upon him states – ” If you are going to shoplift – I suggest taking more than candy bars…”

The man looks at him frightened and started shaking – “Oh c’mon Pops consider this your lucky day or night! Whatever the fucking term you prefer!”

But the old man starts to cry and drops the bars clumsily onto the floor and runs away. His venom foams. His tongue slithers – his pupa bursts and colours spill like blood-broth-pot of all eruptions.

Why the fuck did that fucker get emotional?

He picks up the bars and starts eating them. If retribution is not a karmic gig then he was sure to accomplish gigs by himself.

He cannot stay. His whole life seemed trivial. Not to mention. Not to mention. Everything.

He looks quietly at the store – could he just rob and leave – nah – too expected so was trashing. Suddenly – it came to his mind.

Couldn’t he be the customer for once – Think like them – maybe like once. He can close the store and go to another or just lie here helplessly like the man waiting to be caught lifting stuff he shouldn’t.

He looked at the goods – he saw them everyday – not as a buyer – but then he thought – it might help him pass this orgy of extreme dullness – where penises got mutilated and vaginas got annihilated – that was a funny thought. He might be coining funny thoughts. Make a line out of them. Sell them here – Get your funny thoughts here – get ’em – get ’em – get ’em while it’s hot – get him before this body rots and tongue and skin oozes poison-colour that’ll make you guys think that oil is more prettier than boiled failures.

He looked at a coke. He wanted a coke. He took out a coke. He drank the coke. He didn’t pay. He loved this scheme of being a buyer – of being able to enslave and never grieve of a claustrophic life – yes, he should bea buyer – but a buyer of what – well maybe a buyer of coke or sex or rum or cocksuck’s decapitated head. Why does that tongue flatter itself with its twisted logics? Maybe if he cut it – with a handy bar in its mouth as apples are so archaic – and sever it with a chainsaw it might look a pretty dinner to celebrate on.

His eyes were sleepy – no customers around. There is a lullaby going through like a needle on a pretty string. Strings on a girl’s dress or shirt or blouse or anything – does she want me to open them? He wants to think about sex as a pasttime but no pretty faces for this blasted overworked cashier – just a bunch of monologues of skin and dying and if that’s ain’t sexy to those bozos at the clinic then who knows what is art.

The Lights dance around. They march expertly as soldiers – left and right and dance around – it was a ballad and it was beautiful. He wished now to be those lights that one could switch on and off at will – no not just anyone – he wanted to switch himself on and off – but then he’s be faulty material and they would cast him aside – as if he wasn’t already now – and he would light no more.

He did not wish to cease to light up – or was it because there were switches because there were buttons – pushed up like cocksures that he wished to chop off! – He wanted to dance – a serenade – a beautiful serenade by himself.

It was morning. He had not closed the store. He had decided to unscrew the lights. Each and every one. Little by little they budged out of their hibernation. Fruits – electric – fleshy things to be plucked. He took them put them in a bag and brought them home. They were his pets now. They were his only his…yes…

He put them in his house. Lit them up. Put them in the bag once again. Then started to pack. He didn’t steal any money. Only what was his to take for the month. He packed. Looked at the apartment one last time.

Looked at the bulbs in his bag – time to go…

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.

The Office Whore

Sex was everywhere and it was written on her face. Everyone knew about it. She wasn’t happy. She had asked him to care but he hadn’t. She wanted to eat something.

Food was a remedy for regrets. The follower of ill-fortune. Why did God operate within paradoxes? Create a paradoxical plate of a world? Or was it round?

The office janitor had once asked if it was alright – the boss. She told him to shut his mouth.

The clerk was off again on how his wife whined after sex about his sexual conservatism and followed on how she should have married someone else. She only giggles. She only giggles because there is so much she seems to not know.

Her house smelled like a new coffin. Funny, there were many old things about. But – she had kept them well. There was a small little chair she had sex on one day with the boss. It belonged to her mother. Having sex there made her unpleasant. Made her feel very unpleasant.

Made her lonesome and scared. Made her feel she was wiping out her mother slowly like a putrid stain on some floor. Changing woods. She didn’t like it but he had so she allowed it for a while. She couldn’t orgasm and didn’t let him either. The boss was mad and was feeling so ANGRY!

She just told him it wasn’t right. The man had gone to hit her. A first time. He regained some composure and then left. Not after he pushed her and finished them off a bit – a bit because hers was a lousy orgasm. She could taste the failure in the mucus of a tainted love affair. Never sweet and caught between an egg-bombed dream and a coital damnation:

She wanted to clean the little chair. But for moments she was too ashamed to go near it.

After the shutting of mouths – the janitor would be glaring and caring less if her existence occurred in the third dimension. He resolved to be the quiet of the indifferent bystander. She resolved to be the apologetic understander. A coitus of empathy. She told him the sorry. He accepted. He apologized too. Stated that the boss-man was no good and would hurt her if the chance came to hurt or to care. She told him to shut his mouth. Playfully.

Her mother was not totally nice. She had gifted her azaleas when she comes to visit. But, this time there were white roses. A question might have come but it was dormant with the solution of changes happening and taking place. She wanted to cry for it felt wrong the world around. Hurt like fishes out to air. Combed out as bones in the archaeologist’s dish. It felt too stern to look at. Mirror-poked eyes bleeding the iridescence of twisted light. The mother carefully commented: “ I didn’t expected this from you Dehlia – you are too stoop so low.” She dropped the plate and looked angry for two moments then it was gone for the time.

Crumpled flowers on the floor – shredded flowers as if paper-cut had gone bad. It is an omen like her mother. An omen to jeer at for its correctness. The roses looked pink from her or were they once red and her mother had told them to be white or black or blue. Her mother had powers of seeing predicaments. The boss said the flowers looked too ugly – he tore them. She knew by then that it was the envy in its darkest-bleached white form. She had argued that her mother had given them to her and that they were special. He had her pick them up with the command to prick her fingers on them. Then he licked them up stating how he could clean her dirty blood. “ Mothers do not give daughters flowers such as these; it’s absurd that your mother does not follow the code.” And, what code would that be? She had asked and then he had ravaged her and she had ravaged him. Sexplay was becoming a boring potent burst of a star dying. The flowers were scattered like floodwater. Its vapours like the coffin filled. Earth has devoured its soulmate body.

The janitor roamed around the office after hours. He found her under the cubicle; perspiring and swollen. He immediately pulled her out.

When her mother had seen her angry she had just politely said that they should begin eating properly. The plate was broken and it could not fixed but another plate could replace it. The mistake could be resolved easily – that is if you wanted to buy a new plate. She asked her mother why she was all of a sudden talking about plates and new plates and broken plates. She stated that her mother always had a habit of talking about unnecessary things and that is why she never made a good debater in high school nor could she get her dream in becoming an owner of a book store. Her mother put down her fork and knife noisily and she stopped eating looking at her mother. Her mother had tears coming out of her eyes. She knew she had done wrong. But, her mother deserved it…right? Her mother took off the chair and stated she was done. She swallowed – her mother gone up – in silence.

Paper flowers can usually be white. That’s because white is usually the known colour of paper. She had cut out a paper rose – after much difficulty – in a detailed shape. It need not need water. She felt relieved. The paper rose seemed livelier than the actual white rose. If you shred real roses they can killed. Paper roses weren’t alive to begin with thus hurting them can make no sense. But is there anything of the paper rose that is real? There were smudges soon on the paper rose. Water dropped on it. It became crumpled. Why did it so matter these paper flowers?

The boss is screaming – paperwork undone oh no Dehlia! Why the fuck not! And don’t tell me you were busy! But she was busy with him. After sex they both got tired and he had told her how they were both enjoying life: together – what an understatement that was – what a false statement that was – Oh Dehlia! Aren’t you listening! Why the fuck not! Listen to me you dumb cunt I needed you to finish the proposal! You are being so stupid these days – he doesn’t say that when she had sucked him and she was sure he thought of her the brightest bulb in the world – Dehlia Oi! The boss, he throws a pencil at her face – Dehlia you fucking slut! Listen to me you lousy bitch I am talking to you! Can’t you listen! You stupid ass why aren’t you listening! You Dumb fuck! Finish the fucking assignment! Finish it! Finish it! And he throws papers at her and she gets so taken aback that she goes aback and stumbles at the door and falls down. Stupid Slut can’t even walk straight! Only good at lying down! Get this finished slut! Nor else it’s your job! Your ass is mine you little cunt! And while he is screaming she has managed to get up – stumbled – stumbled again – once more and rushes out of the room. She goes to the restroom and she breaks down in tears. It was…it was….it was…so…so….SO….AWFUL!!!!!!!!

There are papers all over the floor of her apartment. She snipped and snipped and there suddenly was paper on the floor. She didn’t want to clean up the paper though. She liked it there. Most people were covered in white in their coffins. Brain new coffins always looked snug and warm and peaceful. The paper made all that happen. She was getting these wrong – these flowers – so she decided to try and try again.  It cut her hand a few times the scissors – there was blood drops here and there – but she ignored that for now as it was unnecessary. Even if the corpse was bloody it was dressed up or covered or washed or burnt so it need not matter. Also the blood signified devouring. Of Red nice coffins. The earth was always to wait wasn’t it? Oh look! She got these paper roses right and they are already painted with her blood. She puts them in a vase intended for real flowers and WOLA! Miraculous red water and red colour for the flowers! And they say real flowers do wonders! Oh please! And look how easily you can format them to your interests! This was much better!

She had woken up in the morning. She had gone to mother’s room. She wanted to ask mother if it was going to be blueberry cupcakes or pancakes for breakfast. There wasn’t anyone in her room. She got frightened. She looked around but saw no one. There was no one besides her in the house. And the white roses were in the trash. She wanted to get them out but they were already dead with the dust and the filth. Their white had no colour now no matter how bright they still looked. White but dead. Like white fats away somewhere beside a carcass or on soap or roasting somewhere disgustingly diseased. White as blank slates of a bleached mind. She was seeing traces now of brownish-yellow. The signs of age-ful-decay, She sat down in the little chair. She sat there for moments. Then she got up and made blueberry cupcakes and some juice. She ate the two plates. Meant for two. Then she rushed to the bathroom and vomited. Then she went downstairs. Got the flowers out. Got them water. They refused to live. She sat on the chair and hummed to herself. She kept on humming away and just humming for some hours.

Her boss had come. The Boss commented on her apartment’s mess. The comment afterwards was that she was a slut who lived in dirt. She asked him nicely not to say things like that. The boss snickered and stated that she was a stupid slut who lived in dirt. He then grabbed her and said he wanted a good fuck with the slut of the house. She kept on telling him not to say that. He then apologized half-heartedly and began giving her, what did he say, a taste of him goodness. After the ordeal was over he looked at the red-tinted paper flowers and asked why she put her blood on them? What was she fucking crazy? She tells him that they are important and that she got them right after a long time and that the scissors cut her hand. He got up and started crumpling them and then before she could do anything; he threw them in the trash. “I don’t like seeing dirty things when I come over so clean up this whorehouse when I do come over ok – Oi Dehlia you listening you stupid bitch – c’mon honey Dehlia? Dehlia…?” She had begun screaming. Screaming so loud that he got scared and left. The boss wanted to leave before it attracted anyone else. Dehlia got the flowers out and looked at them. Crumpled and shredded. She started crying uncontrollably.

She was interrupted by her boss in the kitchen, “ Real cute, real cute slut… You are going to put me back from the line if you keep on working like a fucking retard…” she mumbled a sorry. He smiled and stated he is going to come over that night for some good time. He tells her to finish the proposal by then and that it should be meticulous and have no mistakes. She nods as to indicate her full understanding but then, “ Don’t come over tonight. I don’t want to tonight Ok. I’m not…I’ve not been feeling well ok. Try to understand.” The boss looks mad and screams – Oi Dehlia don’t be fucking frigid I’m coming and I’m coming – he then stormed off. She looked. She looked for a time. She then sipped her coffee but she still looked at his direction. She knew. The time she had gotten out of the office some of the people giggled, sighed or snorted. They knew. She knew that they knew. She then looked and saw the look. Her eyes were once again in the world and she saw the janitor looking at her. His eyes held a knowing. A compassion. An understanding. She wished she had those eyes for herself.

She coughs a bit. It’s cold. The window is open. She isn’t feeling well. She hadn’t eaten well. Actually – she had eaten well; she was eating for two in two plates. Then she would always vomit. She was eating portions her mother would have eaten. The portions her mother would have eaten if she stayed as planned. But, she didn’t. She had called her mother during the day and her mother had not picked up. Her mother didn’t carry a cell phone and she usually was at home. Then her mother did pick up and she told her mother that it’s her. “Oh, Dehlia…” her mother sounded impatient, “ What is it?” She told her mother that she was hoping that she would stay until the time was right like she usually did but her mother seemed she wanted to avoid that question. She asked again and then without any further avoidance her mother said, “ Dehlia – you know things best and I am not used to this kind of life where you can cater to the cock of your boss – baby, I didn’t raise you to do that. I didn’t raise you to be used and to be cruel. Now, if you don’t mind I am kinda busy.” She quickly stated that she knew her mother was home and that she wasn’t that busy as she couldn’t talk to her. Her mother yelled: “YES OF COURSE YOU’D THINK THAT! You think I’m nothing but a useless housewife don’t you?! You think your Mother ain’t nothing but a useless housewife!” Then the phone was disconnected by the slam of the machine being put down. She ate two plates. In fact she continued to do so even after the estimated period her mother was supposed to stay was over. She continued to vomit.

Taking a walk in the street she found them – kissing like two shells of a nut – enjoined, hoping to create the fleshy orb of sex within – pearl philosophy. Kissing as if two magnets were renewed. Kissing as if they were joined bones. Kissing as if they were halves and the kiss the full. Kissing as if they were foams of foams in sea. Kissing as if they were halved and now the kiss is calling forth a full. Kissing as if they were two valleys rejoined. Kissing as if poison would melt in her veins if they would kiss. They found the secret. She dropped the groceries temporarily. She was dazed. Then she picked them up and ran. They continued kissing. She knew as she looked each step she took. Kissing as if two grasses in the same field. Kissing as if on the same sky. Kissing as if they were of two feathers of the same wing. She hit something or someone and she fell down. She picked herself up. Almost left her groceries. But she ran. She kept on running. Scared to look. But looked. Kissing as if they were two clouds going to make lovely rain. Kissing as if their sparks made the sun mad with dawn.

The Boss pushed her on to his desk. “ Why did you scream?” he was unfastening his belt and she shrieked, “ What are you doing?!” he slapped her for an answer. The boss was pulling her skirts down, “ Thought you were real cute you little slut! Thought you were so cute!” she started pushing and she started to yell: “STOP IT! STOP IT!” she pushed and he was surprised, “ You can’t do this!” he looked surprised, “ C’mon! You screamed! C’mon, let’s fuck! C’mon! C’mon!” She got up and picked up her skirts: “Here’s the proposal.” He looked as if he saw dysentery and looked too frustrated, “ C’mon! Who wants that now?!” he tears up the proposal to pieces, “I wanna Fuck!” She looks enraged. He had humiliated her for the proposal. Now – she screams and pushes him and leaves the office.

She is in the bath. She feels dizzy. The window is open. She is cold again. She can feel the air on her skin like little daggers. The water like a block of wet knife-steel. She is being cut – there will be more blood to colour the roses HURRAY! – and she didn’t have to try. She laughs a bit. The room feels dizzy. She feels like she’s fading in water. She can feel the draining. The water is easy to breathe in. Easy to swallow. Easy for comfort. Easy as blades on throat, lungs, capillaries – heart, brain, spine and in her whole….whol…WAIT! NO! NO! NO! She rises coughing – breathing – coughing –coughing – breathing – coughing- breathing – coughing – breathing – coughing – breathing – OH DEAR! She was almost going to drown! She coughed up more water and got out from the tub. But she tripped and fell on the mat. Weak. She shivered. She shivered. She laid there for a while. She shivered.

She encounters her boss. No one’s around. She didn’t know he was working late. The guy usually dumps all his work on her and leaves. She is surprised. But, she didn’t want to encounter him at all. He smiles at her, “ Let’s go; to your place – I hope you cleaned it as I wanted you to do nor else it’s a slut’s dump.” She looked livid, “ Don’t talk like that with me. I am not the girl you were kissy-kissy with the other day.” The man looked irritated and surprised too, “ So, what are you stalking me now?” She clenched her fists and looked at him directly, “ Who’s following anyone? – I just happened by you twosome while I was buying groceries and I wasn’t pleased.” The man just sighed, “ Whatever at least you know – so, is your place clean or not? Are we gonna go? I can’t wait my ass all night long and it better be clean your shithole of an apartment!” She grew upset and slowly looked glum – he smiled at her dismay – but then she launched with eyes soft-hard and tone resolved-maturing: “ I cannot see any further in this relationship than ‘now’ and I think this was a mistake to begin with. You needed someone to finish all the hard parts you couldn’t do and I needed that illusion that someone cared for me – as those parts are no longer going to have an equal setting let’s just break. I am not an office whore to be treated lightly but you are an office whore to think that you could just use me and leave me! I was a fool to come to you! And please don’t feel so proud – sex with you was B.A.D in the most original sense of the definition! So Yeah you can beat it and you won’t ever see my apartment again! You can bet your ass it’s not a slut’s dump! And your DICK IS A BIGGER DUMP THAN ANYTHING COMBINED! SO YEAH! BEAT IT!” The man, took time to understand what happened, then…his eyes grew dim…he snarled and gave a look of pure rage as he attacked her. She was shocked when he punched her in the face off-guard but she delivered a punch as well. She heard a crack. The man howled. But punched her again to which she punched him and he was so hurt he could not move. But she wasn’t going to risk it. She hit his face with a hardbound book nearby and pushed him to a retreat. He stumbled and was seemingly covered in blood. He coughed hoarsely. The man ran out. She got under the cubicle; a bit scared at what happened but sobbing due to closures and triumph.

She knew he had asked her to make her place clean but she liked it this way – with all the paper trimmings. She also liked the blood bathed roses she was making. At first they were accidental scissor cuts – a novice’s work in progress procession – but now they seemed adept in the cut as well – as if she knew where to ‘accidentally’ cut on fingers to make the spurts more effective, more red and cloaked in her blood. She was happy in this state or red and white colours – a kind of a new take on black and white – if she did not fuck her boss then she won’t be happy because her boss controlled everything and the boss liking her meant a powerful person was liking her. If she didn’t she would not have anyone like her and it would be like school, junior high and high school and university all over. She didn’t apply for any of the other jobs – she had applied for this because she thought the other jobs needed other kinds of people – like those really pretty ones, smart ones who can get dates and be never ostracized. Thinking about it now – her first time was with this boss. She had had oral sex before but it was not with any true internal sex connection. She had had one hasty kiss from a foreign exchange student who was developing some affection on her but ended up with her friend – she recollected the night they did it – right next to her room – springing shouts and “Holy God!” and “Oh my!” racing from both lips – interconnected and overcome by same ecstasies despite of the varied sex and mitigating not – in a pendulous rage as if clockwork cogs are but axial devices and parameters are never decided. She listened with the teary eyes of an orgasm or ecstasy that would never arrive. These eyes cannot substitute lovemaking with their wet desires spilled. She knew that. The next morning the foreign student smiled at her and said how her friend was so beautifully engaged to the body and feelings. A waxing of poetic not akin to her magnetic instilling? She just stared and stared and scared him to ask, “ Dehlia, are you alright?” and she wept and wept and soon told, “ You kissed me, You kissed me!” causing the friend to think post-sex cheating and soon a little quarrel occurred to which it ended in a kiss of true understanding. The friend scowled: “Dehlia grow up!” and continued, “ If you don’t like it you can leave!” And so Dehlia changed houses and found out later that the relationship was severed after two years to which her friend contacted, “ Hey Dehlia – maybe we should start living together again. I mean we can get a better place and it might be bigger and better.” To which she stated, “ I don’t know. I really don’t think so…” and the friend continued, “ But Dehlia why?” to which she said, “ You didn’t understand me then and I don’t want the same disappointments again. I don’t want to see it happen again.” And the friend, “ Oh Dehlia…Dehlia I’m so sorry…I know I should be sorry but can’t we just –“ she interrupted with a permanent goodbye. And the lips and mouth of that genital move did not cause ample ecstasy and she only did it newly and found the mixing of such to be not to her contentment. She had done it at a slight fling of hormones and the man did not intrigue her anew for actual coital stimulation. The guy probably wanted a one-night stand as well for he was itching for a release and teased her that the best would come. The preliminary did not suit her. She left, with him couple of minutes later finding another one-night looker in the party and headed off for some esteemed temporariness. She had not really wanted that. She did not really want this. She didn’t like her boss. Cocky and dumb. She just didn’t know how to accept it. Sex with him was so scantily ecstatic and poorly done. It was not something of her type. She didn’t like the wild sans tenderness for it was too violent. She didn’t have the pleasure well. Then why was she doing this? She herself did not understand. But the blood and paper occupied her for now.

She didn’t want to retype the proposal. The boss made her. After sex in her apartment. He liked licking her while she worked and saying that her breasts were so nice. She would interrupt and state that she was working and that it needed concentration. He would frown and still try to grope her about or disrobe her and state that she could work naked but she declined the prospects of working nude. She told him that as the proposal was important to him she would get it done. But right now he looked bored and still licked her neck – which was starting to annoy her extremely. She was attempting to explain him some things but he wanted her to stay quiet. This obviously did not suit her. She kept on telling him that he should know her work as she is the boss and that it is important that he knew of such things. He told her to shut up again almost biting too hard on her neck. She lost interest. She said she would work on the retype later. He looked angry and stated that she must finish the proposal nor else it’s her ass and she looked annoyed: “ How can I work when you, yourself, aren’t serious?” The boss got up, “ When I leave you whore no one will want you!” and he turned to leave. She on the other hand couldn’t care less. She deleted the proposal and got into her bath.

It was when she got home that she saw herself in the mirror. She started crying. No wonder he was with the other girl. She had become anorexic – all those double plates and vomiting – she was fat before and now she was uglier still – she was anorexic-thin. And she looked ugly. She was ugly, she was ugly, SHE WAS UGLY! UGLY! No wonder he didn’t want her anymore! She misbehaved with him. She didn’t listen to him – she was cutting paper roses now furiously and thinking it was best to slash the wrists. The roses were no longer a comfort! No longer! And her mother was beginning something – a book store without her – somewhere! And she was all alone! All alone! All alone! All alone! – Why? She stopped cutting and sat down blood still falling.  Was it really that bad? Why did she care when in actuality she didn’t? It wasn’t her – it was life – always telling people like her to submit to the domineering asshole. No more. She can’t. She won’t. Be a slave to someone who never cared. Only pretended for a fuck. She slowly drank some milk. Then she started eating. One plate.

Dehlia looked at the janitor helping her clean up. “By the way you do know I’m Alex right?” he spoke thoughtfully as if she didn’t know – “Hey I do know!” He smiled, “ Well a lot of people accidentally-with-intentions forget my name, you know what I’m saying?” She thought of her accidentally-with-intentions forgetting a lot of things and feeling very unhappy about it as well. “Maybe…” it was a sad smile that was on her face. She started crying again. “ Wow – you don’t look like a person who should be crying.” He smiled, “ I liked the fact that you could handle the gossip so well – even when they made fun of you and your sexual relationship. Thought that’s the way you liked it so I didn’t say anything else.” She knew this was going to disappointing to him but – “ I thought he cared about me…” He looked puzzled, “ I know you are not stupid so why did you do such a dumb thing? Do you know he loves fucking around – he has a girlfriend who does everything for him but that’s because she’s a dumb bitch. She thinks he cares for her too though she is fucking stupid – the bastard calls her a ‘slut’ and a ‘whore’ in public if he’s pissed at her. I mean what sort of person who isn’t a dumb fuck would want to stomach that? I know you are different so why did you put yourself with this fucktard?” She thought for a moment and then answered truthfully: “ Have you ever felt you wanted attention and love?” He smiled, “ Well, yes, but I don’t get much ‘cause everyone thinks I’m incompetent and dumb because I am a janitor.” She smiles at him, “ Then you know how I feel – I have never been accepted anywhere thus I felt this was it – my ticket to escape this – but you know I knew something about this is wrong and that’s why I started distancing myself from him; I just wanted out – now, I have that.” He starts to laugh, and she is not impressed – is he mocking me? – Why wouldn’t he? – I had done something so low and stupid and completely careless – Why wouldn’t I be unhappy now – people are bound to jeer at me and – She doesn’t know how strong she is – She is quite  beautiful – both outside and in – I don’t always care for the outside – I’ve seen too much happen to others when they only go for the outside – I thought she was just sexing up at first – But she isn’t like the boss at all – She isn’t like the other dumb bitch he fucks – She’s got intelligence and a personality and I love that – it’s nice to see a girl like her – I mean it’s nice to see a person like her – She doesn’t know but she is quite different and quite rare too – I mean she’s absolutely cool and confessing this to me of all people – I know she’s in a fix but she could have avoided this if she wanted and that’s – “ I’m going.” She was irritated by all of this but then he “Hey! Wait! Miss Dehlia I’m not laughing at you!” She turned. “ Miss Dehlia – I think you are strong to realise your errors and I really admire that.” She laughed, “ You are strong too why not try something else – this role of being a janitor doesn’t suit you besides everyone’s got to try something they are good at. Look at me – I didn’t want to just be a secretary.” He smiled. She looked at him and waved. He waved back.

Dehlia was reading a book. But, she guessed everyone did that at a book store. Her mother lived with her now full time. She got the store here. Of course, after that fight – Dehlia got fired – more like an attack. When his kissy-kissy girlfriend made a fuss over what happened – he beat her to shut her up. Dehlia could see them walking past at times. The woman looked wounded and her boss ever cocky but giving her looks of surprise. At times Dehlia could see a fear in his eyes when he looked at her and told the ‘bitch’ to walk fast as he was – then she would look at me and realize who I am – at times, before, she would scowl at me for hurting her – but then she looked so weary – with more marks on her arms, some on her face – she would smile at me. Then one day she burst out crying and ran into the store and looked at me, while she clung to me: “ How did you do it? How did you do it?!” The man walked in grabbed her roughly and looked at me as he exited the store – looked at me with surprise and…was it sadness? The next times I saw her I saw that she looked mute and looked extremely depressed – the man kept on talking but she seemed unresponsive. I heard that she broke down. The guy had to take her to a hospital. I think there might be some court cases – who knows? – and – Dehlia hadn’t realized it but the janitor was looking at her – he actually got a job in small new coming magazine – he was no longer a janitor – but he felt she still remembered him as one –Walking around and cleaning stuff whenever it was needed and drinking coke – I think she remembers me like that – she remembers me like that – I like drawing cartoons, they say they might make the magazine manga-like or Marvel-like with illustrations and comic relief – I like the concept very much. I wonder if she knows that I want to talk to her more and that I wish we can grow together and – “ Alex, stop staring at me and say what you wanna say…” Dehlia giggles and Alex stumbles, “ So, do you wanna run the bookstore with your mother?” She smiles, “ Well yeah. But I also want to – I don’t know – see if I can work in the newspapers or something. I have always was interested in journalism and art so yeah.” He looks keen, “ Then, why didn’t you go for it before? You could –“ She laughs, “ I didn’t think I was capable of doing it before – I know bad self-image.” He laughs, “Well, at least that’s gone now.” She fixes some white roses and puts water in the vase – only real things grow in these waters, paper-artificial doesn’t – even if you cried on them they wouldn’t – “I guess yes. I can look forward now and congratulations on your new job Alex.” Alex looks radiant, “Maybe you and your mom would like to have dinner with me to celebrate it? Like if you want…that is…” She smiles, “ Sure Alex why not? But I’m treating you for your accomplishments.” Alex laughs, “ Ok, Ok.” Alex tells he’s out to get some coffee and if she would like some – “I do” but then she gets out with him. “I wanna buy some new flowers for myself.” Then Dehlia adds, “Don’t worry, I’ll be back for the coffee and thanks for the offer – I’ll pay you back.” Alex beams, “ You are with the dinner Dehlia.” And at first she doesn’t understand – Why would he say that? – Oh well I’m treating him so he is treating me – it’s not he likes me or something. Dehlia picks up white roses and Azaleas and thinks how her mother would love them. How she loved them. The two flowers kiss, as their stems get close, kissing like two bodies in nature caught in a wondrous reunion. Kissing as if the world became zygotic-sphere due to their kiss. Kissing as if they were shells entwined with pearl-flesh inside and out. Kissing as if the stars formed in a constellation. Kissing as if earth could mix with muddy nectars. Kissing as if the cosmos merged within with their petals. Kissing as if they were peeling off to some tasty dish of taste and pines, hunger and satiation. Kissing as if winds were the new. Kissing as if sperm-egg creates the breed. Kissing as if the pairs could cross and become aligned. Kissing if the pairs were to be united new vessel. Kissing as if the earth would know of space and water. Kissing in a universe with the harmony of beating, coursing, experimenting, saddening, clipped, winged, thrown, landed, watery, earthen, encrusted, open, cold, warm, stagnant, adrenaline life.