Ants congregate in the corner daily; unquenched and slimy, clenched and unclenched, chaotic and proper. Enticed with a little sugar. Come little ones, little little childlike decay and rottener than pigs.
Jan is doggish – rests his head on my lap – loyal loyal Janny Jan, but, with a fisheye brain. Nothing has happened. No-happening escapes Jan’s fisheye. He leaps to his feet and walks backwards, back into his hole, back into hell, back to feed the monster that lives down there. I have never seen it, but, sometimes I hear a grumbling a rumbling a growling… sometimes I see a flickering a flash a fire… a foot an eye a finger. He has a devil down there in the cellar: all the Fs! Sing “all the F’s!”
Peeking through stone guts can wait. The insect supra-structure scrabbling about the skirting board folds and unfolds – breathes, unbreathes. A hole falls through the deep red mahogany desk sleeping under my elbows. Sleeping. Mouth Gapping. Bloody desk dripping dropping, solid vertical blood, four-legged open artery coagulated in suspension.
I fiscaus two cubes of dusty sugar – fisceye siceye – Jan our diabolical and opposite friend – and toss them into the corner. Wawl. Caterwaul. Circumambulator. Tiny dead ants. Circumambulator. Caterwaul, caterwaul, swelling up, engulfing, pushing. Caterwaul sucking, sucking, vacuuming. Ant-circumambulatorant. Corpses: food now. Not corpses, limbs. Amputated limbs. Scapes, funiculus’, tarus’, tarsal claws, tibias, tibia spurs, gasters… the dead ants are not corpses but useless limbs, eyes, ears, mouths. The living mouth eats the useless mouth. Ants, rope-like and smoke-like; whole worlds the size of eyelids; head in a basket. Head… in… a… bask-et. Hymenoptra. Hy-men-op-ter-a. More egged than wombed. More unfolded than born – humen, humen, humen! The screaming! The screaming! O for the oblivion of oblivion to stem this perpetual flow of words that are only spent when all our vegetable thinking is done and dust.
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