She may not have kept the exterior of the house up, but Enid is all about self-maintenance. She has had work done, eyes and boobs and lip plumping. The long nails are her own, immaculately manicured and bright magenta. She’s tan without any lines. Her hair, a chestnut cloud with copper highlights. Rail thin and wearing white. She’s still beautiful–not genuine, not natural–but certainly a gorgeous, well-preserved shell without a single drop of love in her. Hollow as a cheap chocolate bunny.
It’s human nature and maybe human nurture – we cling so tightly to our beliefs. After all, we have invested a LOT of time and energy to keep them right where we are. We claim they protect us, give us a solid foundation. But this past Thursday, two deeply rooted truths of mine were dug out and destroyed. How deep? Oh Mama, you can’t even guess.
I am fortunate to have both high-functioning autism AND really bad eyesight. My whole life, I have seen the world differently. I have to get close up to truly see. I find a lot of beauty in the world. I LOVE color. I appreciate that we have the technology to capture a moment of natural perfection and hold it and share it. We are given the gifts of changing light, the illumination and shadow. Very few of my photos are […]
Ignatio Ormonza, a grimy, rabid wolf, in his soiled flamingo underwear, black dress socks, and patent leather shoes, wispy hair drawn wild by static, eyes black and shining, raised his cattle prod above his head and grinned.
I suddenly felt dizzy, like my head was full of sawdust. The lights in my room grew dim and flickered. My eyes were locked with the reddish black eyes of the speaking mummy. He was glaring at my forehead, raking a trowel through my memory. IT felt like all the blood in my body was being pulled through my skin. Felix Arjona was an ancient dark vortex, sucking the life out of the room, out of the gendarmes, out of me.
I should have heard Enid’s voice coming down the hallway, but I was still in my cloud of bliss. My head felt full of cotton, my limbs heavy with spent desire. If I moved, the moment would change, the warmth would be gone. Louis might disappear.
I opened my eyes, wondering at a star shaped mole on his nape. I was unable to gauge time or logic because it did not exist for me outside this bed.