Stickered tip to toe

Nothing fits, from dawn on through weary afternoon into still and sleepy dusk. I am out to visitors inside my own skin, since today I am an unwelcome guest myself.

Your face don’t fit, mate. You ain’t fackin’ comin’ in.

Frame cracked, smeared glass, imperfectly aligned and picture crooked. Up a bit, up a bit, down a bit, down, down. Yes. Just there. That’s it. No. No, you’ve lost it. Try again.

We could improve you with a snip, you know. Another snip, a tuck and a slice. We could tear you into jagged strips, rip you senseless, then lose crucial moments of your memory under the furniture, incinerate limbs in the ashtray, bleed your veins into screaming babies’ mouths, before trampling and scrunching your putrid leftovers into decomposing landfill under cover of night. Job done - a dirty one, but some unlucky bastard’s got to do it. We would be through by morning, ready to stick a red warning flag in any orifice you like, warning of poisons that may cause irritation and inflammation.

My hair is three sizes too loose. My scalp requires belting up. My cerebral cortex needs to be taken out back into a dark, wet alley and given a damn good kicking. My ears aren’t my own; never were, and never will be. My nose smells worse than it looks, my looks look worse through my eyes, and my eyes keep rolling out and falling into my lap at inopportune moments, coming to rest with one gazing heavenwards and the other praying desperately for a final resting place oozing between the floorboards. My fingers crack their knuckles menacingly, serving as a warning that my hands won’t ever stop itching for a chance to smack some sense into my face. My skin sweats, and a single drop of the sugar-salt moisture coaxes my tongue forth to taste. I am the living and dying, inhaling and exhaling image of a human-creature; a creature-human made flesh and bone.

From tip to toe and back again, nothing fits, nothing works.

This product contains moving parts. Maintenance should only be carried out by an authorised dealer. Warning: warranty void if removed.

Comments: 16

    I have a slightly unnerving feeling that you’ve been inside my head! I also have a strange curiosity to know what it sounds like when you read it: ironic or humorous maybe, or angrily and even a teensy bit aggressively, like it sounds in my head…

    Thank you, I enjoyed this VERY much.

    Stephanie | 02.25.08, 22:27

    Nothing fits, nothing works, it’s all too much! And then I have a good day, when everything fits and everything works, but again, it’s all too much!

    lillipilli | 02.26.08, 03:20

    Came via my friend’s(Goddamn Right) blog and have been reading through your archive for about 6 hours. I’m staying.

    - Ziv

    Ziv Catbee | 02.26.08, 10:49

    Thanks too, I needed that just as much, if not more

    Dr Zip | 02.26.08, 14:52

    My imperfect parts, in an imperfect life, in an imperfect world, fit just fine.

    blueseaurchin | 02.26.08, 15:19

    There, there. Bit of tape, fix that photograph right up. If you tart it up with a little glitter and glue, I’ll even put it up on the fridge door.

    Ani | 02.26.08, 16:43

    Very worth waiting for. This reminds me of the Tears song Imperfection. A little bit.

    (Do you grow your nails too long? Do you taste of orange chocolate?)

    goddamright | 02.26.08, 17:25

    Stephanie - Thank you for the thank you. I could tell what I sound like when I read it, but my almost impenetrable accent won’t allow me.

    Lillipilli - Oh yes, that’s my sort of drama queen moment. Right there.

    Ziv - Hello and welcome. I’m glad you’re staying. I hope you fixed yourself a stiff drink after six hours of these archives, that’s for certain.

    Dr Zip - My pleasure. We aim to help. (Well, I like to think I do, anyway).

    Blueseaurchin - Imperfection is not only good; it’s essential. If we were all perfect, where would be the variety?

    Ani - I would advise against putting this particular photo on any fridge door: not unless you want to curdle the milk. At the last count, this particular cut-up face had seventeen eyes, three mouths, two chins and some very peculiar noses.

    Goddamnright - And another welcome. I know that song. I do grow my nails too long, as a matter of fact. I’m not sure about the orange chocolate taste, but I can certainly say that my teeth aren’t straight and my mood swings oscillate.

    An Unreliable Witness | 02.26.08, 22:17

    I had 5 cups of coffee. Same effect really. Still alive as well.

    Ziv Catbee | 02.27.08, 07:36

    This is great - it sounds like my hangovers or just another bad day. This line is the one for me though - ‘lose crucial moments of your memory under the furniture’ - I need to go searching right this moment!

    jem | 02.27.08, 09:39

    many things in this world do not fit and do not work.

    your remarkable words are not one of them.

    mizyake | 02.28.08, 10:39

    If everything fitted and worked, would we even notice? Or would we find something else to question and deconstruct? I, too, am broken and ou of order. Until further notice.

    Ariel | 02.29.08, 19:11

    Why have you cut up my auntie Jean?” I asked her pathologist.

    He said, “She’d been falling to pieces for years.”

    NAGA | 03.02.08, 02:06

    *swoon*

    heh, haven’t done that in a while!

    peach | 03.03.08, 16:09

    Peach, I second that motion, whole-heartedly.

    Ani | 03.03.08, 17:37

    I wish I’d read this sitting by the window with a cup of coffee. Ideally out of a well thumbed and affectionately dog-eared paperback.

    Ben | 03.04.08, 11:04

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