Doctor Derelict [part 3, a digression in spurts and furts]


[as u certainly&correctly noticed, long overdue]


They said that if every topic in the world is contained in a circle that I am an infinite tangent to that circle, touching it always only just in one point, never in danger of bending into circularity myself.


Back then my antenna were  uncrippled and what was being said came into me and caused me some definite inner warmth. Nowadays, the best approximation I have of this is when the sun shines upon my face in the middle of winter and I can feel something like a slight, blood-rushed tingle.


What am I talking about anyway? The day this mouth is filled with soil or grime or news paper everyone will be the better for it, at least some might be, though it will not make any difference, because really nobody will profit from or care or even know about my departure. Believe you me. So, yes or no, it is good to be dead, to make one’s grave in the gutter.


My opinion: a sudden bright blue glow in the streets, some folks moving towards it like… flies towards you-know-what, big damn mouth opens up beneath them, full of teeth, sharp, man-high teeth, I swear by the grave of my still-born wife and swallows them all up. Gaia Dentata, as the devil is my witness.


A cig, i need a cig, now. Cleans out the dereliction.


Facts! Whom I have let it be known I despise and should not even go on about, these self-aggrandizing splinters of reality. Clearly, it is hard to have any faith in facts. Facts and my faculties are on a similar level of unreliability. I do not even have antenna, is the truth, it was just a figure of speech. I have only words, you must know so I tend to bend them to my purpose.


Facts, pah! If my anus were not at the mercy of a most unreliable muscle I would laugh in their fractured faces. Me, I prefer open-hearted fraudulence, masterful forgery, cunning, baroque edificies of lies, white lies in pursuit of harmony and grand, lunatic schemes of world domination, if you don’t mind me telling the truth. And I mean lunatic in its proper sense: the best place to begin the takeover of this planet is on the moon, luna, where one can see it in total, plan wisely and then, in the middle of the night when everyone’s asleep, attack from above. Genius. How could our planet resist such a cunning attack? Don’t looks so surprised, sometimes I manage to think as though my brain were one long, straight, grey turd and everything follows in a direct line from the previous thing and I arrive at an impeccable logical result. Why the earth is not in my dominion then? You could say because there might be the experiencing of some significant problems of a stunted, homeless, unemployed, dirty cripple in trying to journey to the moon but no, that is just a minor matter.


I am content with my station in life, dead, stationed like a racket-launcher outside of varying establishments for the consumption of stimulating, liquid, dark-brown substances and with the plan of returning among the living. In comparison then, the moon is relatively close, too easily obtainable and not a worthy object of ambition for such a one as myself.


Racket-launcher extraordinaire, with an “e”.


Facts! In the end, the very end, the blissful, yellowing wasteland after all atomic bombs have been exploded, in the end, I can only trust my guts, which produce either a feeling of certainty or of distrust or, at least three or four times a day,  explosive flatulence. I fart, jup, I enjoy farting, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say farting is in a way my hobby. When the gases go out to mingle with the gases of the atmosphere, I feel connected with everything there is, that is, I go back into the cycle and stop pretending being only just myself. That is why I think of my words as verbal farts, vociferous flatulence. And so when my long-time-ago, alleged friends said “Great Digressor you spout so much verbal diarrhea” and meant to offend me or put me down or sound clever themselves or pass the time in talking rather than stunned silence, I always had to disappoint them with a smile of utter pride for having established some equivalence between my utterances and my feces.  Moreover, as concerns my not infrequent flatulence, among my blunted sensory channels, fortunately, my nose figures foremost.

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[ to be continued, or discontinued, or whatever]

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About tmabona

writer, reader [bolano, DW, bellow, deLillo], runner, badmintoneer
This entry was posted in Doctor Derelict, Everyday Polytricks, Poverty and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Doctor Derelict [part 3, a digression in spurts and furts]

  1. wrasseler says:

    Archimedes. “Give me one point on a circle and I will give you a tangent that can move the world.”

    Children are described by their toys. Men by their hobbies. Choose wisely. Don’t go omphalos on us.

    In a sea of need there is enough to feed the world. Mend your nets. Fear not the Deep. At Absolute Twisted Zero καιρός forms its own logic.

    Some Times Parallel. Some Times Syn Chronos. However you travel. Destination does not take place any place that is not a place. You Know you are running a human race when Time is Running Out,

    Out side where there are no sides. Ecstatic outlines. Back to the Escape of Pointless Tangents.

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