Parçigal wants attention from Æ

~The lunar new year approaches. We could celebrate at the temple.

⊙No, let’s celebrate under the night sky, just us.

~Lay down in my bed, please. Warm the sheets.

⊙The boy in ridiculously baggy pants, with straps hanging, at the grocery store, had BDSM tattooed on his fingers, but he couldn’t define the difference between a sadist and a masochist.

~Why do you care?

⊙Because, he looked like he was full of shit and needed to know it.

~We all are, dear. Most of us feed our guts everyday.

⊙Well, he should develop a kombucha habit.

~You should read a book.

⊙Listen to me read aloud?

~Why do you ask when you could just read aloud? You are hard to ignore.

⊙Because, it pleases me when you say it back to me. Also, consent is important.

~Dear lord, please read aloud. If you’re gonna yammer at me either way, then other people’s words become you better than your own, right now.

⊙Very good. Pluck a book, any book. I’ve got it nice and warm under the sheets, here.

where the players lick their wounds

I look over at the guy next to me.

“Last one, Kimber. Four fingers with a splash,” he says.

He turns to look at me.

“My nightcap. Whaddaya take to help you sleep?” he asks, patting his pocket.

“Two peanut butter sandwiches on white bread. Creamy,” I reply.

“Hugrhm?” is this noise he makes.

“Yeah, crunchy is more of an a.m. thing for me.”

“So you don’t wanna buy something?” he says, again patting his pocket, like I had missed his question’s point.

“I’ll buy your nightcap, there, if you can give a good answer to a dumb question,”

His pupils dilated as soon as he heard “I’ll buy.”

He swirls the spirits against three ice cubes, as if contemplating the offer.

As if he had something to lose.

“Okay,” he says after an impotent dramatic pause.

“What is the meaning of life?”

Without pause, he responds, “To find an answer to the question ‘what’s the meaning of life.’ “

“Put that one on my tab, Kimber,” I say.

~

I’m here to hear loud music.

I’m here to feel the second-hand smoke hurt my lungs.

I’m here for a headache.

I’m here to be alone in a crowd.

I’m here to eavesdrop.

People chasing highs; People stalking thighs.

Licking each other’s wounds.

I am here because it will help me to sleep.

restless menagerie

“I have nothing to lose and everything to gain,” she says.

“Except being in the suspended gravity of a win/win position. If you let the pendulum swing you could lose that position of having nothing to lose but everything to gain,” he says.

Oh, shut up and kiss me hard, you would-be Lewis Carroll, s/he says.

<The sound of glasses clinking, followed by giggling>

(The privileged hear yet remain silent)

[The de-privileged chomp at bits and struggle, ecstatic-ally, against their chains, restraints, and clamps]

Tsk, tsk, the menagerie is restless.

Æ shows Parçigal some leeway.

~There it is! That trigger you press to release my pressure valve.

⊙You were quite tight.

~Then do it again. I could be looser.

⊙But, would you be worthwhile were you any looser.

~You mean I was worthwhile when strung up and fretted?

⊙(Silence).

~Oh dear god, are you ever the dirty dog!

⊙Rrrrufff.

~Shut up. You know ruffing is one of the few things I’m better than you at doing.

⊙And , I’d take even that away from you if I could.

~(My eyes go hard) I know.

Parsiçal giggles to Æ

“You have told me nothing that Æ do not already know,” Æ tells me, sternly.

I grin, with closed lips, then

I say, “Oh howl. Is that what we were doing? Let me have another go at it.”

I do panto like I am a junkyard bitch barking and straining her neck against an invisible chain tethered to an imaginary spike.

I smile broadly, with both decks of teeth bared.

I suddenly spit out, “I once lit a candle that burned for two days straight despite there being not enough wax left.”

“Ostensibly,” he shrugs.

I cock my head sideways like a curious animal.

“Be quiet. When you try so hard, you always get in your own way,” Æ mutters.

“Oh howl. I thought that was the point of what we were doing. To let me stumble against the obstacle of myself,” I giggle snort, a bit bratty.

“Are you as confident as you seem,” Æ asks, seriously.

I howl in laughter.

“I did not know I appeared confident, Æ. I’m confident that life will render me unconfident often. If I am properly challenging myself.”

“How do you think you appear?” Æ asks me.

I reply, “Great question. I’m confident that I have no idea how I seem. Because, I am inside me, and cannot ever perceive myself. But, I’m the one that gets to experience myself as I am, regardless of how I appear. It used to be ‘I think therefore I am.”

“But, now?” Æ obliges me.

“Now, it’s, I’m seen therefore I am. It’s a real narcissistic shift.”

“So, then, what do you know?” Æ asks.

“All I know is that everytime I ‘think,’ I do not know.”

“And, when you don’t think?”

“I know I am.”

“How are you then?”

“I’m super, thanks for asking,” I giggle snort.

Æ rolls both eyes.

I smirk.

“Hey! I just made up this joke for you, Æ! Do you know it?”

“Tell me.”

“What’s the difference between feral, spitting of saliva and enunciated speaking?”

“…..”

“An audience!”

Æ smiles coyly. “Æ do like it when you spit your seemingly inane nonsense into the hole between my lips.”

My eyes go hard.

{darkly hushed whispers}

I could remove some of your dreadful readiness; but, to do so would be to denigrate the events within your human condition: Æ says to no-one, in particular.

Speeding along another dissolution of ego through hard knocks followed by unseen but well-heard giggles in the darkness.

Æ said you wanted kindly unkindness: I whisper to no-one, in particular.

Spurning me forward, as I spurn you.

You drew the five of swords, sweet sap of sorrel.

Æ said to tell you that death is a mercy you do not deserve.

How dare you?!

I dared to accept this personally æons ago, dear. Thusly is how I dare.

Tears spring from his eyes.

I begin seeing bleeding horizons, bloody in the sinuous, poet trauma symptomatic of a new birth.

It feels like a backyard, handmade, waterslide, whereupon you sweetly play, dripping;

And given you remain unconcerned about getting grass burns on knees from all the slipping and sliding,

you may have a real devil of a divine time.

You may be rewound, house proud, town mouse.

Let your prise punish you;

you mashed my berserker button.

Teutonic fury arising between my lower limbs.

Never try to take a medal from Muttley the Magnificent.

S/he has many sharp teeth.

corporeal conjuration.

The entheogen that is your your proclivity, inclines me.

That would be my preference, thank you, kindly.

My acting aloof and disinterested becomes my inclination at times.

An odyssey on this odd sea.

Honing of my symbiotic synergy in our exchange.

You want me to howl for you?

Then restrain and discipline me before

I do so unto you.

The struggle that makes your breath short.

The venom that your karanika painstakingly kills you with in dreams, because nothing dies that is not already dead.

So what is the purpose, here in the taking of this meta-sacrament?

To see my shadow, my doppelgänger, and

let Æ out to play.

Another pair of entities at the Pit of the Pylon,

alchemizing the ephemeral into wave currents which conjure the corporeal.