The Doctor of Persuasion

...the Doctor of Persuasion loathes perfection.

'If you can get your point across and live your life without being stopped by the occasional error,' he says behind his peach wood throne and shaded glasses tinted neon alabaster moon dust, 'then it is you who is flawed.' 

Flawed? What is flawed? Is it a clock off cue? Is it my lack of understanding or my mask of apathy? 

I leave the lecture and step outside into the cooling air, and light one.

Why, I ask and puff silently, why does there have to be uncontrollable factors such as flaws?

I walk with my face leveled to the horizon to the dorm room. The building is silhouetted before the setting sun. I slow my stride to offer my time to the only tolerable part of the day. The moon watches quietly in the bruised sky as the sun drowns in its own glory. I go into my room up the nineteen stair steps. The room is dark and empty. I toss the bag of books onto the floor and I fall into the couch stained with brew and bosh.

What the f**k is a flaw? She asked me once, not aware of the simple definition, unaware that She and I or Anybody else could be considered not good enough based solely on a simple flaw. But she, SHE was the Antonym of Flaw. She was ignorant of what perfection even was, or beauty, or GLASS eyes made of sawdust, impeccable, and toes like carrot roots. She was a sure thing,  a Girl of no judgment or discrimination. She flawed in her oblivious perception to her own perfection.

So I told her what a flaw was. Biggest f*****g mistake. 

[sic]

Into the fridge travels my weary hands and reveals after a mere reach into the frozen abyss a clouded bottle of BREW. I crack it open with my eyelid (F**K) and empty the contents into my table of contents (-- I am referring to my lack of holy bowels of steel and kidneys of concrete--)

On the television screams faces but I shut them off. On the couch is a cat I have never seen before and I go over to pick it up and put it in the hall hoping it will stray down the nineteen steps when it claws at my opened hands and paints three bleeding horizons across my palm. I scream at the damn thing and its ears bend backwards in fear and hisses in annoyance. It wings its paw at me and sprays a violent hiss. It gets me again but on the wrist and I give it one good punch in the head and it vomits an unholy scream. I grab the damn thing --I am a man, for Gods Sake -- and I carry its convulsing body to the window and throw it out. My hand and wrist burn and bleed and I pluck a black nail out of my soil skin and toss it onto the ground and go back to the fridge for another cold one and I get one, of course I do, and sit back on the scene of the crime and rest my head on a cactus feathered pillow and suck away at the bottle of BREW and think again of the Flawed World...

[so it goes the story stops here]

I told her what a flaw was, and she started to notice all of mine.

One 

two

three

four

five.

      Now I am the one who is flawed, who has been labeled.

I am more aware of her awareness to my my flaws and she is aware of my awareness to hers. She casts her eye of question over me. I remain horribly, uncomfortably aware of my eternal status of ME

What does she want?

NOTHING.

Not you. It was never about you. It was always about

HER

     ...and words will not get you over her when words is all but what you consume and s**t back out...

Your body becomes comfortable in the soil

Saturating skin like osmosis leaves from 

oiled trees and a wind with a foul breath

when a diamond cracks 

that is when you will silence your 

greed

walk on, walk on like you are right now, walk like you always have

keep up the pattern and keep the tires burning

Break tradition. 

   “I cut my fingers!”

[sic]

….

So then comes the sudden epiphany. It comes and continues throughout the span of consciousness and dies only when memories burst.

Outside. The Moon listens to me.

I walk into a cafe. I have a feeling, a tickle of a dream or a memory. I have been here before. I purchase the ginger ale in a can. Swallowing the ale outside in the salty breeze is sweet and serene as it dissolves into nothing inside my being.

In an alley I light a long red cigarette and I blow bloody clouds out of my face. A girl walks by, she has an unfamiliar face that I recognize. She stops and looks at me. I recognize her from my writing class and I smile and wave and continue to excrete pulmonary smoke.

“Hey” I spray the word, and smoke dissipates out of my orifice.

“Hello.”

[lapse]

...The Doctor of Influence loathes [everything]

I awaken from a ninety seven league deep sleep

upon the surface of the hardwood desk. 

The class is 

OVER.

I grab my notebook, glance at the only thing I wrote:

I have finally found you

but you are forever somewhere else

I dream of that place. . . 

I pour cement on your heart 

to maintain the illusion.

Outside, the film of my brain illuminates a lime colored green, O light, Sweet Lights o' Dawn drawn against the blooming grass, Green with Golden hues of the reflection of the Suns newly arrived presence. 

My thoughts become scrambled in the wake of the Sun. 

My dreams unscramble

themselves

like bruised purple veins under Jupiter's 

storm.

[All of this is but a story]

I stand up and humanize and harmonize with everything at once. The film of my brain glows red from the light of the brick walls being sucked into my pupil like a psychometric black hole. Thousands of misshaped bricks stacked and topped upon each other, growing bright in the ripening morning, alive with crimson influence. 

The flowers glow as well, their scent laced with sexual undertones 

of silent memory..

I walk back to the alley behind the dormitory building to get my pack of Crimson Cigs. I imagine them not being where I left them, and going on the next few days without them. I think also about the possibility of someone finding the CC's and give them to the police...

But alas their existence in the core of my buttered brain remains true, like a mirror in my mind, I move the stacked bricks and find the Cigs. I pop one in between my lips and light it. The blood clouds birth and then dissolve in the wind, the smoke sucked out the opposite end of the alleyway. The veins in my body swell with a memory. No, it is just a dream, not a memory. The dream flows through my body, and the Dream fills my lungs and pumps crimson clouds into my heart and I blow out the smoke. Red clouds, O sleepless red Clouds. They float toward the stratospheric ceiling Blue, and it is a great contrast of colors, Red and Blue.

And then the Sun casts its animated gaze upon me. . .

Bright " too bright, and I place my Ray Bans 

that I stole from the mall upon my nose,

(My Nose, My Nose, My Kingdom for a Nose) 

and I see an augmented reflection of my

gaping eye -- magnified by perhaps an ocular reticule of 7.

(Seven -- Sevin)

7777777

“Hello, Sevin.”

The voice floats into my right ear and dissolves out my left before my brain can register it; I am fascinated with this enhanced portrait of my eyeball right before my very eye, lost in wonder staring at this vague lens with my eye painted upon it, the vague lens and the vague detail of the lights

ghostly parallel.

I forget about the voice.

“Hey a*****e.”

I turn and flip her off. “WHAD'A'YA WANT?”

“Gimme a RED.”

I give her one, her her her her her, she she she she lights it with my my my

orange BIC lighter

Bloody clouds emanate around us, pouring like a fountain out of Mara's nostrils.

Her eyes become pregnant with Crimson Influence. 

Her lips swell in allergic Influence. 

Her  bosom SWELLS in tempting INFLUENCE. 

I scan my eyes all around her and at the Void around us. Damn, there are rats around us with little hearts in them and there are birds flying above us taking s***s and there are things Alive everywhere, a red ant crawls in a meaningless existence, but it Crawls God D****t, and there are People, precious and disgusting people [peep hole] everywhere, and I scan all of this with my 

synthetic eyes, 

authentic skies reflecting lens

O Cruel Valley 

The Sun 

grows hotter every second but 

we persist.

She says to “Say SOMETHING.”

My tongue dances, 

“I can't think of anything to say that is worth saying whenever you are around. I can't even breathe. You see through my black veil, you hammer my shell until it cracks. I want you here but I want to be alone so I can think of you. So I can imagine being sprawled out upon your mattress tongue, under the starlit sky, or is that just your teeth? O the galaxy of your breath, every Particle of Nonsense you call Words is artificial. You ask me if I want you [today] even though I wanted you (yesterday). My dreams surface to the iris of my ocean, they float there for you to find. I caught all of Her fish and set them free, but I am going to eat Yours, O Blonde shimmered Mara. In the evening I cast a line and hooked onto your sun, and I tugged and pulled with every fiber of my being until I reeled in the entire Universe, and you are in there, and I am in there, and everyone and everything is in there. Even though there are a trillion parallels to this life, I would still choose you over your reflection in the mirror. I will peel your skin off and layer by layer until I reach your beating heart so I can place my lips upon it and kiss your melody.”

She drops the Red and stomps on it with her decaying Converse until the 

light goes out.

“Lets go,” she says, and pulls my hand until I can't remember or even 

wake up.

Author's Note

Put your gloves on.

Reviews

[Beau Maysey]

Quite an experiment in artistic style here!
I love the abstraction of the entire piece, and it didn't impede my reading of it.
I felt there was nothing to entirely understand, so instead I reveled in its dark and quirky energy and writing.
Beautifully cryptic descriptions, a helluva lot of hidden meaning, and oodles of potential for a more coherent writing sample.
Good luck with whatever you decide to do with this work!

[LuLuIcey]

Are you talking about MPD(multiple personality disorder) in this story? I am a bit perplex with it...sorry...The middle part is confusing, but the opening is great so as the ending. I like the third last paragraph ("I can't think of ...) as I knew something about MPD. It is a unique experience and not much can feel it. Thanks that you share and submit your writing.

[Chadvonswan]

Haha I like your take on the story. Actually I think its just my own madness in the words. Thanks for reading!