Cackling within the foulest of tweaked chambers, I slather my head in drooling vicinities. Now refueled for slobbering eruptions of affection, my flinches turn gruesome as I observe unexpected visual cues. As moments recall emotions, the varied offspring of experiential muscle-lust will gather, and further inseminate for charged externalizations of misguided love.
Deep inside my rampaging corpse, thoroughly marred yet outwardly joyous, I reach for colorful objects and unassigned fluids. Still thirsting for an intake of thick and inky conviction, I brutishly and blindly slice into pristine surfaces. There is a rupture. Now I am paranoid. Permanently nude, grunting clumsily while seeking the relief offered by distraction, I scour the hourly updated headlines seeking fresh assaults. The threats must be collated. Who was the mother-of-four who pummeled her offspring with blunt-force trauma, and launched their immobilized forms into murky wetness? Was this most loathsome of acts borne of cold societal indifference, or was it merely a brief hereditarily hiccup? Or something else entirely, caused by an affliction far more sinister?
The cleanest receptacles, unscathed by the intrusive frictions of experience, scream to be masticated. Why? Tell me why the noisiest evaluators imitate the vivacious, yet lack the subtle scars etched by prolonged recovery. While sniveling, they furiously recoil upon weathering their own wretched embraces. Yet while empowered, they throb triumphantly, and are fierce with their promise of unabated babble.
Conversely, the true social irritant (self-loving and self-loathing in equal measure), knowingly desecrates its own nest. Invading with scalpel, claw, flame, fist, keychain, tooth, poison, or the smothering crotch, a halogen-Christened vomit enjoys its manifestation. A new litter of shapes shiver in neon sludges, forever dizzied by their birthing. Curiosity prods the small of my back. My absurd family must be shared! As each runt is jettisoned, one million soul-mates flail to intercept the spiraling organisms, ready to nurture their mirrored reflections with demented love. But for this spasm of flimsy recognition, I can only hope and dream.