This Week's Story
The Hungry
“So he lived for many years, with small regular intervals of recuperation, in visible glory, yet in spite of that troubled in spirit, and all the more troubled because no one would take his trouble seriously.” The Hunger Artist - Franz Kafka -
I do not mind not being acceptable. I am loved! This woman inhabits me, loving, teaching. Her wisdom grows, expanding in love. How brave is she, carrying out the tradition of mothers, sisters, daughters: to be beauty in a world spinning chaotically toward ugliness. How much there is to learn! I open the ventricular hole and worship. But the wet nourishment lay and the terminal appendages attached to the forearms hold tight to the cavity containing the viscera. Oh! I have learned already! How could I have hoped in the taking only? He sits, steadfastly ignoring the tradition of decades. He is the taking. He is the eternal grumble and cry. But she; she listens and teaches. No more will I worship him in the corridor before the Room. Now I turn, hide the retinae from his lies. I shall heed her wherever she goes.
My cousins pass on the street, bursting their boundaries of silk, cotton, synthetic. Quench me, lovely denizens of space; inhabiting form, function, volume, fill me, satiate me. But oh, I am loved! I stumbled, seeing him in their eyes, how I wished to cry out! He, who stirs the craving, suffocates. But my voice was stilled, she teaches and I learn. That, which I wished to masticate, soft wet, nourishing, is smothering the tradition of decades in pale globules of unused energy. They hover before me, sucking at the puckered cellular casing, betraying betrayal, how naked am I. Oh, but I am loved. I turn the retinae, close the cellular casings, ignore his moaning. It is softer already. Mammary glands lift, calcareous tissue encased in muscular tissue bound in cellular casing swings, firm, oh so firm, soft as feather, light as bone. Skeletal muscle, bursting out of boundaries, becomes more than frame, becomes shape, and muscular tissue becomes voluptuousness. I learn even as I turn away.
She has invisible bands, strong as steel, across the tubular passage from the ventricular hole, controlling the terminal appendages on the forearm, the flesh of the ventricular hole, the function of the ventricular hole. She, in loving caresses, wraps me swiftly. Before the holy reflection I see, cloaked in black shimmering irritation, shivering chill, clinging translucent suffocation, how lovely am I!
The sweet has become as sour, the savoury as bitter. Soft cakes, strong ripe meats, steam rising from piles of white and yellow potatoes. Butter placed carefully aside in small porcelain bowls. My plate lays, the retinae squint, filled with cold green, there is no sent, no odour to help anticipate the touch on the flesh of the ventricular hole. But I am loved!
She is not enmity. The flesh contained within this cellular casing, lies down on sheets, socoldsocoldsocoldsocold. Calcareous tissue protrudes, mammary glands slide away to sacs of viscous liquid men press into their hands and squeeze as if flesh. Limbs spread, terminal portions of each vertebrate leg poke the air, delicate, fragile. Chastity of calcareous tissue, muscular tissue, soft vascular modified tissue, light as feather, clean as bone, curves under terse cellular casing. Running, climbing, stretching, the cellular casing shrinks, taut. Muscular tissue gasps, lusting for pale remnants of energy, lovely yellow globules. Warm, cosy, generous. But, oh, I am loved!
Oh, the bodies! On the street, pushing, touching, aberrant flesh, noisy bulk, take me, satiate the taking greed. To burrow the cartilaginous rods protecting the viscera, so light, so soft, in mounds of soft yellow unused energy. Devour, create, touch me in warmth. She teaches and I learn. There are innumerable classes of female: smart, fat, cold, lovely, translucent, thin, dark, rich, sad, joyful, satiated, pale, tired, wistful, warm, broken, healthy, opaque, hungry, stupid, strong, full, pregnant, happy, empty, ignorant, light, wise, poor but only two: desired and undesired. Oh but I am loved.
She calls, he moans, I cry. There is no room to breathe under the pressure of cartilaginous rods protecting the viscera pressed, straining, against the tightness of cellular casing. Swollen in lust, tight to calcareous tissue. Light as feather, soft as bone. As she walks other bodies walk abreast. I am slender, twig, willowy among the bloated islands. How lovely am I. I learn even as she walks. Muscular tissue fades to light, calcareous tissue lays smooth against the cellular casing. The terminal appendages of each forearm touch lightly the cellular casing. Sensation touches nerves. I lay tight to the floor, wood merging with calcareous tissue, seeping through the cellular casing. Nothing to suffocate, soft as feather, light as bone. But oh, the bodies! Voluminous voluptuaries surround me, create the yellow globules of unused energy, warmcosygenerous, that lovely delectable, to crawl inside and melt. Calcareous tissue buried until flesh merges with volume, form, function. Oh! But I am loved.
Muscular tissue gasps for breath, trembles, crumbles. I eat myself. Carrying on the tradition of generations, creating beauty in a world spinning chaotically toward ugliness. His voice is a dim memory within the synapses. I gnaw the curves straining against tissues of cellular casing; no sweet globules of unused yellow energy. I learn even as I eat. She teaches; it is a sign, the dry, the bitter, how close we are to the pure! Clinging, shimmering irritation covers cartilaginous rods protecting the viscera stretched tightly against the cellular casing. Against sacs of viscous liquid men press in their palms, squeezing as if mammary glands surrounded by pockets of yellow globule energy. Tight, clinging translucency suffocates calcareous tissue, touching, through the ragged film of muscular tissue, cellular casing. Light as feather, soft as bone. Above, twitching appendages, light as bone, soft as flesh, rub between greedy fingers, cellular casing against vascular modified tissue. Benevolent yellow globules of unused energy eat me; nestle between calcareous tissue, muscular tissue, cellular casing, cosygenerouswarm. Sacs of viscous liquid, almost, in the hands of men, like flesh, touch muscular tissue pressed tight against the paper of cellular casing. There are others; harder, smoother, without defect; mammary glands soft yet hard, high and firm. But oh, I am loved! Bodies surround, on a crowded boulevard, pushing tight, suffocating until I am dissolving into flesh. How warm! How soft! Like a child, before the uterus stretches. It is flesh, which cries and rejoices. Oh voluminous bodies, I could swallow you whole.
It is a business. Globules of unused yellow energy from one place, move, through the tube attached to the deadly pole, oh the pain, thrust, between the layers of muscular tissue stretched tight against the cellular casing. Thrust, suck, thrust, like the man desperate and naked, like the infant suckling the mammary glands now sacs of viscous liquid men hold in their palms like flesh. Thrust, suck, pat, tuck, stitch, with violent hands, creating, loving. How disguised is beauty. I learn even as I suppurate, leaking thick yellow fluid to heal the tradition of decades; beauty in a world spinning chaotically toward ugliness. How men stare, their hands involuntarily cup around sacs of viscous liquid, imagining flesh, joyfully resistant. Thrust, pain, curse, blessed, lovely, benevolent yellow globules of unused energy fade into generous dream. It is calcareous tissue, light as feather, soft as life, which constitutes desire. Cartilaginous rods protecting the viscera press tissues of cellular casing, pushing tight against saccular thoracic organs gasping air in the soft, fine purity of black shimmering irritation. Through the light calcareous tissue comes the soft voluptuousness of vascular modified tissue. Nothing between calcareous tissue, muscular tissue, vascular modified tissue; red pockets no longer protected by globules of unused yellow benevolence, perversity ebbs away. I am the tradition of generations, beauty in a world spinning chaotically toward ugliness. Voluptuous calcareous tissue, muscular tissue, created under tender violent hands, disguised, eternal. Soft as light, light as death. I am loved.
But oh, the bodies!