In Your Head

A Story by Degare

What’s least in pure absurdity was the very singleton, Mr Rosenberg in a bus, candles do stand out, insanely they were, for they all knew his hand, and wavering art, how unearthed can one’s dear humanoid be.

What is possessed in any humanitarian is an equilateral tenet, a universal affirmation of any void spawn in a self immersed sphere of absolute reminiscing.

A long corridor, BRIGHTLY two men substantiate in silence, no amount of human to abuse either then, which was only what the corridor said, nothing else ofcourse.

MR ROULINESXHE

What's the watch about

The watch seemed then to have two minute hands, one proper and one made of liquid.

The anarchist kind

MR ROSENBERG

My daughter got me this last Christmas. Quite a cheerful young lady

ROULINESXHE

One that died last September?

MR ROSENBERG

Yes

MR ROULINESXHE

My apologies, she really was a lovely girl.

MR ROSENBERG

She was. She was my lovely…

Looks down

MR ROULINESXHE

A much terrible accord it was. My wife, you might not remember her name. She’d speak of dear Ezra every night, this girl she had never met before, I say you, every night, thinking of her as such a proper extension of your feminine self.

MR ROSENBERG

That's by the least extremely thoughtful of your wife, yet you are nevertheless wrong in this particular subdual, dear friend, for it's quite possible that I do know your wife’s name.

MR ROULINESXHE

I suppose it's indeed excessively difficult on someone to think of a particular man, conflated in any particulars of such kinds of knowledge, especially the most obvious ones, my apologies again.

MR ROSENBERG

Ofcourse. I absolutely understand the sentiment

MR ROULINESXHE

You never quite did tell me what the watch was about

MR ROSENBERG

The watch indeed. It should be known that the watch and my daughter never existed together in a single frame.

MR ROULINESXHE

Her culinary voyage in France, she never did quite come back home did she.

MR ROSENBERG

Yet it meant ten folds, not being able to dwell with her, the exactitude of her intentions, though she’d tell me, much much before the war, that I was but two beings, one of tautologies and work, and other as her father, where time was neither fleeting nor seizing.

MR ROULINESXHE

Do you then think of her often, I'd imagine the painful passing re-elect itself every moment, you yearned for the simplest animal in time.

MR ROSENBERG

Indeed so, a self inventing obscurity that made itself known when out of a heavy blue, one would slip his mind into the perplex of the liquid , a quiet deterrence of activity, I would feel, seeing the watch, gazing upon it in unreasonable consciousness.

MR ROULINESXHE

I think I understand what you mean, infact, my own dear beloved had explained to me such a phenomenon once, after day has breached us both by its own tyrants and alchemists, and indeed we were apart in work, so apart that the only thing we ever could really share, was an internalized acceptance of the tables we were being dealt with. In night's, not of my own, she would speak of such eerie fear that occured, the split she sees my face as I approach the door, a man she was born into, must be some kind of alienation,I thought,a certain prosopagnosia.

MR ROSENBERG

My daughter had envisioned it herself, to grow old as her papa, she would have a look, one would consider almost sinister in a child, to see my dilution into the walls of home as day ceased to remain. Her eyes would but brighten up as my own withered self would coil round twitching in imbalance as I made way for the waters

MR ROULINESXHE

Ezra was married wasn't she

MR ROSENBERG

No,but she was engaged I believe to one Mrs Aubert, a daughter of a friend of mine

MR ROULINESXHE

My wife was herself in her late thirties when she married me, an uprising or riot,we met in one of those, by pure slip of fate, for I was never wasted in that sort of degeneracy

MR ROSENBERG

I remember, she would, with fire for eyes pedal to home’s door to greet her father, to look him upon with such tender love,for this was a man of living, the vines did grow over him, the reptiles had forever walk under his realm, and yet he is the ache of all tiring flame and the soul of every toneless suffering. In her eyes were such acceptance of the human condition that she like her mother, would infinitely affirm it in all regard.

MR ROULINESXHE

You said you knew my wife’s name

MR ROSENBERG

Is it a miss Poicurene

MR ROULINESXHE

No…

MR ROSENBERG

A miss Arntzen?, with long blondes and under scent of leukemia.

MR ROULINESXHE

Neither, slick curls and a host of hydrangea

MR ROSENBERG

Helmi Haikinnen?, wearing orange on April 12th in lifeless rain, a funeral of a Lord then, Lord Tryptophan?

MR ROULINESXHE

She would not speak if you’d remember and people would stare at her, confirming her mooty.

MR ROSENBERG

Never did quite catch that, it was such terrible weather. Do remember the orange sunbreak coddled to herself.

MR ROULINESXHE

Go on

MR ROSENBERG

She stood apart like gold flannels in depth of ocean ring. Her eyes were hazel blink and her hair, winter in Vikurfjara.

MR ROULINESXHE

Ezra herself was born of the very same snow wasn't she?

MR ROSENBERG

Her eyes pierced every man that walked without air of folly, and so soon we’d remember of times, much much before the war, where the sun was still god, and man died for love.

MR ROULINESXHE

I said, is EZRA not made of gold herself?

MR ROSENBERG

Her breath, we’d remember was neither fruit nor bitter, and her lips, that would once have died for smelt of basic hue… she was woman and she was immortal

Mr Roulinesxhe, now tearing alkaline, a man of short tide, wide moss and red ties, and dark Rosenberg skim, and slim, to point break, he was what human would with bamboos

MR ROULINESXHE

EZRA’s were mirage blue and of undying fear, she had scars to speak of, unburdened soul. Her eyes, light of life, fire of loins, o

Corridor and its transpose

The man of short tide

Wide moss

Red ties

Spirit hang now moving in its celestial

His hands like blind men

Find bamboo throat

DO AWAY

kill no sphynx

But