Friday, April 02, 2010

General Bernardo D’états

Things seldom happen for a reason, they just are. Those things that are make up the bulk of what is, the things in front of you laughing to split a gut, bucal slips, eye twitching and overly responsive hand gesturing. Lela knew of these this’, even if it wasn’t in her best interests to do so. The summer she lost her innocence her mother bought a secondhand car with crushed pile upholstery and a smashed windshield. Her mother drove around town hollering like a banshee out the driver-side window, her daughter crumpled in the back seat pretending to be someone else’s egg.

Rancagua Libertador and General Bernardo D’états ate like children, The Feast of the Liberator ending with a bow to freedom and good cheer. Lela’s mamma sucked off Rancagua and the General in the back seat of her secondhand car, the General kneeing her in the forehead, Lela’s mamma chomping down of the bulb of his cock. Libertador, clucking like a chicken asked for more, Lela’s mother slapping him across the face, leaving a white handprint embossed in the red.

Sitting cross-legged the legless man let out a scream, a covey of ducks taking flight, skimming across the top of the aqueduct. ‘dare I dare say this is more than I can take!’ ‘shit up!’ said a voice whispering in his ear. ‘up?’ he thought, ‘I dare say I make my commode sitting down’.

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz

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