June 4, 2012

(On Friday, I rediscovered tabbing. It was a small triumph. For a while, I shunned the tab. But I’ve returned to it, mostly because it makes the paragraph cube look I’m going for a bit neater. It’s the little things. Also, the novel is nearing completion. There’s about 1/3 left and luckily, I have the full week to finish.)

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     there must be a sacrifice. MRS. SILK knows this. she keeps a dish of gray skin beneath the rusted sink and smacks her hands against the yellow fat. [here, fat. here, MRS. SILK shouts.] she giggles and bites her tongue tip. the meat swivels on the dish. gray grease pools around the edges. she pecks the dish. MRS. SILK pretends she is a chicken and pecks her mouth against the porcelain. the glass cracks. grease spills onto the counter. it puddles up on the floor. [where is the monster god, MRS. SILK shouts.] she tilts her head to the side and sighs loudly. [come here, monster, MRS. SILK shouts.] she runs her nails over the railing and slices the wood into thin slivers. [where is the piece of skin hanging from the rotten tongue, she asks.] she pokes her head into the space beneath the stairs and rolls her eyes around. [i see you, MRS. SILK calls. i see you. and you are so lovely. you are the loveliest little piece of skin. where is your face? do you keep your skin rearranged? what kind of skin do you want to wear across your mouth? it is a leather skin. it is a plastic skin.] MRS. SILK bites the bottom of her lip and moves the skin around in circles. she giggles loudly. [i brought you some grease, she says. i brought you so much grease, your arteries will clog. that is the way the fat offering should be. do you like the grease? i made certain it was gray instead of brown. i kept the gray against my skin. it was wonderful. it was the greatest fat in the world. i wish i could eat the entire dish but i'm not allowed. you want to keep the skin close to your body parts. you want to hold the skin on your mouth. stop crying. just stop crying.] MRS. SILK sinks to the floor. she pushes her fingers against the mouth. she prods the muscle in rotating circles, milking the fat out of the meat grains. YOU ARE VERY DRY, the faceless muscle whispers. YOU ARE VERY, VERY DRY. WHAT KIND OF SKIN DO YOU WANT TO KEEP NEAR ME? DO YOU THINK THE FAT SHOULD BE LEFT NEAR THE CHIMNEY? IT WILL GROW COLD. IT WILL BECOME GRAY BUTTER. IT WILL TURN INTO CHURNED DAIRY. HERE, FAT. GOODBYE, FAT. IF YOU ARE A TERRIBLE PIECE OF FAT, YOU WILL SLICK THE WALLS. the faceless flesh burrows in the spinal cord. it tucks its body parts into its thighs and hums until fat secretes from its pores. WHERE IS MY OFFERING, the faceless entity whispers. WHERE IS MY PIECE OF FAT? I WANT THE CURDLED FLESH. IF YOU REFUSE TO GIVE IT TO ME, I WILL BITE YOUR MOUTH OFF. DO YOU WANT TO LOSE YOUR SKIN GLANDS? BECAUSE I WILL TAKE THEM IF I DO NOT RECEIVE THE MEAT. a long hand, yellow around the edges, curdled near the wrist break, extends out of the staircase and smacks MRS. SILK against her knees. she giggles frantically and shoves the meat towards the space. the hand smacks against the meat. grease splatters the walls. it sticks to her face. she moves her hands over her cheeks and wipes the grease away. her tongue slicks over her lips, pulling the fat into her mouth. [are you satisfied, MRS. SILK asks. was this the right sacrifice? i could have made it fattier, i think. there could have been much more fat. yellow fat, brown fat, and red fat. all the kinds of fat in the world. especially the gray fat. i can give you more gray fat. there must be some in the faucet. there must be so much more in the pipes.] MRS. SILK rolls her eyes. she smacks the floor with her palms. slap. slap. the hands push through the meat, mashing the muscle into pulp, moving it around until it is thick soup. [what delicious meat, MRS. SILK says. what perfect meat. it was the best i could find for you.] the hand lifts off the plate. it touches MRS. SILK’s face. GOOD MEAT, it whispers, the skin dissolving into its nails. VERY GOOD MEAT. GRAYEST OF THE FAT.

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