Mass

[filip_piotr]

Mass


I sit in the third pew amongst the fur hats. Once filled with the bowels of creatures, now filled with something much more contemptible. They smell of perfumed corpses and they look like paralyzed squirrels. One of the squirrels collapses, but not by the force of my psycho-contextual sling, but by the heat created from the bodies that prey. They drag her by her feat outside, her dress lifts and covers her stupid hat. I wonder, how many Catholics squeezed out of that twat.

[filip_piotr]

Babel

Quacking. What are they quacking about? The glassing cling, their faces mulch, their throats gulp. They have that look about them, while the draft pours down their mouths. They look like prey. With a few more gulps, they will become predators.

What am I doing here, amongst predators and prey. What are we drinking for? A tower is being built, as they babel on. It is formed of bottles and shakers. Impressive. A ketchup packet gracefully balances at top, they all turn to cheer. I remain still, a tower of this size and confidence is not made to last. I give it a year.

Depressed, I zone out across the table, and my eyes draw focus on Lydia. She is slouched, and oblivious. She wants me but I find her repulsive, like a neanderthal amongst the higher hominids. I try to communicate my lack of affection with a stair but her brain is too small to have learned the language. I turn to the person rubbing my hair and thank them for having changed the subject. They understand completely.

[Logos]

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