the whirl (parataxis)
April 9, 2014 § Leave a comment
exercise written in parataxis, where sentences do not connect to each other coherently.
I ended up walking alone again. The sun seems closer than normal. Why do my underarms smell like old shoes? I have never understood that smell. I will have to buy a new shirt again. A car honks again. I keep walking straight, pretending I am being tested for a DUI. The honk sounded aggressive and cruel. I should pretend to talk on my phone. I pat the outside of my purse. I don’t even like this purse. There’s something stuck in my tooth. I see a car coming the opposite way, dark dark blue with a mismatched door. I have always admired the courage of those who can go on with a mismatched door. Someday I will go out with two different socks. The smell comes back to remind me that it is there and that I should not forget it. I am not feeling sorry for myself. The smell is my only friend on this trip. I thought I could never get used to being alone. Overall I was correct. Sometimes I turn my head as if someone just said something that I missed. I need to ask someone about this bra. I can’t ask the smell about it. I feel warm. I think I could enjoy living here. There are times when it’s too sad. Everything gets more and more beautiful. Everything gets sadder. People insist upon the beauty here. I can go anywhere and buy a t-shirt or an ashtray reminding me. It seems ridiculous that anyone would forget. I temporarily forgot where I’m walking. My second grade teacher told me if I could make my handwriting as good as my walk then I would stop getting C’s. It might’ve been the other way around. I see three dead lizards on the sidewalk. They look like they were gunned down after escaping a jail. The 7-11 ascends like a temple. I hear the ding on the door, in my head, before I get there. I push on the door. The real life DING is exactly as I imagined it. I have never been happier. The air conditioning travels directly up my shorts. The man behind the counter looks like my high school chemistry teacher. His name was Mr. Dirvish. He smiles at me. Maybe it is him. I try not to look at him. In 7-11 there are always multiple beverage wall cases. I decide to go towards the water wall cases. I press my palm up against the glass. It makes a tiny microscopic splintering sound that can only be heard with a stethoscope. Sideways I watch Mr. Dirvish. He is watching me. 7-11 men do a lot of watching. He may not be the real Mr. Dirvish. I’m trying not to be racist here.