Miss Mindthegap's day out

"Miss Mindthegap's day out

I don't know how I ended up under the sweating bodies of seven chefs I don't know I can't tell I don't remember I don't know if I ever remembered or if I ever knew so probably perhaps perhaps I don't know
with the grey colour of dawn carving gauzy figures on the walls in a grey kitchen the sun is hanging absolutely still outside the window it's flickering like a dyingneonlightbulb and the bodies of the seven chefs holding me tight tight down on the floor I don't know how I don't
the chief-chef is silent with a frozen grin on his lips nobody is talking nothing is moving my irises openandcloseopenandclose ceaselessly in remarkable speed they're reflected on the polished buttons of his surgeon's uniform he's bending over my head the grin is reflected on my irises and then on his buttons it stretchesandshrinksstretchesandshrinks in remarkable speed my sweat is mixed with something almost solid as it drips on the floor
ash
they want to skewer me alive
he raises the long razor blade the sun absolutely still what made them think I am a lamb? what made them think they can eat my flesh for lunch with the birds looking at them gullibly and they will lift the glasses with my blood to the sky laughing loudly
let me go
dawn has stopped happening I'm struggling to escape the razor blade penetrates the flesh and caresses it tenderly tough skin brown clay and then a layer of white caviar white like the salt that's laying on the sand of the most empty seashore the razor blade touches the bone tenderly tenderly the sun absolutely still the bone giggles the bone doesn't feel doesn't think it only exists at the moment it ends up nude alone shy like a feather in the flames oxygen oxygen ash I am not the lamb you are looking for I refuse to cry to bleed in this kitchen there is no sound not even the sound of breathing there is no pain the voices petrified just underneath the larynx
the seven chefs just want to skewer me they have no faces only hands they're full of hands made of razor blades tender tender after a while I think they emerge from my own body
and the sun recovers from its epileptic fit everything is moving again the voices of the birds surround me the shadows are dancing the chefs remain absolutely still light and dust and time piles up on them comfortably
I can go now
it's better outside outside it's better under the white sky at the moment the world has no outline its content is flowing into infinity I can't tell if I feel something something anything although it may sound funny or false no I can't say something like that it's not the way it was in the past I was so full of colourful rivers and oceans and scents they were flooding inside me it was almost painful sometimes and there was so much light under my eyelids that I could squeeze my eyes whenever I felt like it and I would float in shiny spires and in the past if I only suspected that somebody glanced at me with the corner of his third eye I would believe I fell in love with him but no no more since somebody shot the flock of birds that used to sing in my pillow pillowbillowpillow and now they are lying dead under my hair every night their blood spreads in my dream and the smell of dead birds rotting feathers sticks on my skin and I can smell nothing else than despair and indifference
not even the freshly-cut grass
and I don't care anymore neither if somebody smiles at me nor if he writes 100 sonnets for me nor if he sends me the gardens of Babylon with a pink label with my name written on it attached on them not even if he sings under my window in the moonlight
I am empty
like a well that used to be full of wishes but now is only full of rusty coins
however it's always better outside
I suppose it rained last night
I lean on the pine-tree I stick my fingers in the damp sand shells remains of stars and cigarettes someone was here before me
someone
the sea is breathing heavily it's still asleep the snores of fish mixed with the pine-needles cause microscopic blinding explosions
blood
dripping from my fingertips on the sand
this unusually red syrup blood blood
and something soft in the bottom of the small pit
something soft
red sand in my fingernails
this is a rather inappropriate moment for cosmetics
red nails beside this little sad sea in C# minor I don't think he will ever find me here the knight on the white horse-fish
something soft red bloody
familiar I suppose
a heart
in the sand
warm
under the flashing pine-needles
I ate a heart
the blood paints my lips
another inappropriate moment
but inescapable like many other things after all why should I be surprised?
it has the taste of metal a little bit of sand screeches between my teeth a tingling sense this heart tastes like an oxidizedironspring
and when the teeth slash it it surrenders tenderly and touches the tongue hesitantly and slides down to the amygdales violently and until it reaches the stomach my whole body is painted red
sticky flame
it's like swallowing rosebuds
with my back on the pine-tree
I close my eyes
someone was here before me he smoked a few cigarettes he counted the stars that fell on his hair feeling excited until he discovered whether it was a prime number he scribbled some hearts on the sand they were washed away by the wind and then he buried his heart under the pine-tree
and then what?
then
then
he dived in the sea perhaps
perhaps he is drowned
perhaps not
perhaps the mermaid he fell in love with rejected him and perhaps he will come back to the pine-tree any minute now to unbury the heart just in case he needs it again you never know there are enough monsters in the world to fall for
perhaps I should leave my heart in its place it's green and it tastes like absinth and whoever wears it dreams of dragonsdancingonthewind in their ballet-shoes
I think it would be a fair trade although the heart I ate had a more interesting taste and I've never enjoyed the dancing part anyway
but maybe whoever finds it will think it's his heart and that it just got mouldy
what a strange thought
that
perhaps memory doesn't really exist and if it exists it does so only in my head this head in this reality or perhaps it's only a device that just selects which of the worlds I havelivedlivewilllive in is actually real but if I control this device strange thought absolutely inappropriate again again if I control this device why do I choose this world what do I want what
do I want
no it's too early in the morning for such thoughts
inappropriate thoughts
what do I want
no
the pedal of inhaling and exhaling can be very annoying sometimes above the white noise of the rotating world
no
over the sound of bodies touching each other in the gelatinous air
no
when the watery surface is sealed above my eyes I'm in the other side it's much better it's a great relief the relief of silence the bottom of the sea appearsanddisappearsappearsanddisappears I'm blue again just like the day I was born you can even dive in me if you like
this is so inappropriate as well talking to someone when there is nobody around in the radius of a whole personal universe
just like it's inappropriate to talk about silence at the moment I can hear a piece of music written by a lovesick man hundreds of years ago this sound melting like butter on four strings it's again again the sound of bodies touching each other no no it's the sound the traces of touch leave behind them it's again again again the pedal of inhaling and exhaling it's coming close
a wide open mouth full of darkness swallows me indifferently now darkness is crowded by the sound it embraces me tight tight I'm standing on my feet again I'm walking again how disappointing
no I'm not afraid of the dark I was never afraid of it what could happen in the dark what nothing more dreadful than what happened after a ninemonthdarkness no nothing can happen in the dark all the dreadful things happen in the light and it's even more dreadful that one can survive these dreadful things but no no nothing dreadful can happen in this darkness in the mouth of a fish with the violin sound appearinganddisappearingappearinganddisappearing in the air no I'm not afraid of the dark I'm walking very calmly and steadily on the soft flesh of the fish I follow its heartbeat in the veins that run through it I follow the violin sound
I follow
a flickering scarlet light somewhere in the distance
I stumble on something cold and slippery something white full of thorny wrinkles scratching my palms
"it died three days ago
I bring my fingers on my mouth moist from the skin of the horse-fish saltysaltysalty like tears is the sea
unless this horse-fish died of crying
"what have you got in the fridge?
"nothing
I open the fridge and countless frozen daisies fall on the floor
"you've been expecting me
"yes
I buried my heart under the pine-tree and I was waiting for you to find it
his violin is blue with yellow strings
he's left it on his knees
he's sitting on a double bed with white sheets and rusty bars
an open chessboard probably when he gets tired of playing the violin he plays chess against himself
my irises openandcloseopenandclose ceaselessly in remarkable speed they are reflected on his white polished armour
"how did you know I would come?
"my heart would lead you here
"who are the daisies for?
"I've been waiting for you for so long they would die if¦
"how do you know I found your heart?
his finger slides slowly on the G string
"only you could find it
the eye of the horse-fish is staring at me
empty
it has no eyelids
how sad
"I ate it I ate your heart
how sad fortunately it's empty
"it's alright
I don't know if he means that
with his two fingers he has grabbed the G string as if he's trying to strangle it
"I can love you without it
"I ate it and I left mine in its place
listen¦
perhaps you are a knight with your white armour your daisies in the freezer and your blue violin with the strangulated G string perhaps you have eaten immense amounts of oysters and your heart has left a scent of rosebuds in your chest but I ¦
"we can replace it with something else¦ something red¦. a crab maybe¦ it's very easy to find something redintheshapeofaheart around here¦ crabs red-herrings baby-lobsters prawns...
"I'm sorry¦
inappropriate again
"¦ I'm sorry¦ my heart is green¦ I don't think you can find something similar in here¦ I'm sorry
inappropriate inappropriate inappropriate
the knight with the white horse-fish shakes his head leaves a sigh the violin cracks with a sound more terrifying than the sound of all the clocks in the world ticking in unison
"I saw your fingernails painted red your lips painted red I thought¦
"it's the blood¦ don't cry¦ it will end someday¦ until then¦ we can play chess

Andriana Minou