Diminishing Returns

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
words and words and words and then a dot

Submitted: April 09, 2007

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Submitted: April 09, 2007

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how very taboo, what a very abstract expressionistic pile of shit. His voice dropped at the half way point two octaves closer to the pit. the bile he was spewing rotted his teeth to the state of a 4 stone cheerleaders adding further to his negative temperament, but then, you knew that already didn't you? have it removed and destroyed, I don't wish to inflict this on some home county, olympic crippled art school's corridor, god knows they've got enough on their plates at the moment. sir don't you think a little tact would be appropriate..., she whispered into his ear as if they were about to have, do, make or become what she didn't want to, not in front of all these people, not tonight dear, not ever just stop calling, just stop. he reconsidered, or looked down for a fragment too short of an acceptable action without troubling any facial muscles to express remorse or, well, anything much at all. It was a pop art denial, the only substance to it a drab red hate, straight out the tin, then his head rose, though still drooped condescendingly over the rest of the garden, his will had hardened to stone and now nothing would be able to change it, as if we ever could you and I, with dreams so fragmented by advert breaks and all it takes is a drop or two of mounting dew to break out spirits 2 for 79p all this week only, not next week, never again, then over and over again with slight differences, tiny changes, little edits the radio edit of the single that was once a double A, two cheaper than one, better, more fun, spare for a rainy day, not today, the end was yesterday, or tomorrow, maybe some time last week or next year or you, probably it was you sitting there passively breaking all your toys so none of the others could play with them. She realized that she had said the last bit out loud. It was not supposed to have left her head, they told her that in there, keep it locked up, hide it away and no-one will see, frown a little more, keep your head to the ground, scuffle your shoes with each other, not with the other shoes always two the same, then they match, fit in, other people look the same as you, pairs and pairs and pairs of pairs till everything fits a big jigsaw puzzle for the baby, missing pieces make it cry. Never make the baby cry, whisper to it happy thoughts, shiny candy for the ears and crushed glass for glitter in the sun, rub it under the eyes and the little baby cries different, shiny tears of womanhood, thirteen years too early fickle girlie, don't you know it's rude to get too far ahead... he looked confused at what she was saying, as if she had broken down or broken the rules, all of them even the ones that don't need to be explained in the instructions, no of course you can't rob the banker, you can't build hotels in jail, don't run over the dog it's just not on. Yes darling, but is it art? thats the question he should always ask: art? it was nonsense but was it compelling nonsense, would people pay? aRTq/UESTIONm//ARK. It might as well be as that last one, the one with the tent. people thought didn't think that was shit, they knew so and so it was giving them knowledge. this woman he had known for the years she followed him around or led him around or dragged, carried and pushed him around was wrong, the way she was talking wasn't right at all, it was distinctly wrong and if other people saw it they too would see it to be wrong, it would teach them what was wrong and they'd hate it, they'd come from miles around to hate it and be vocal in their disgust until the disgust would disgust yet others who would defend it their saviour and in the end it would all boil over and become passe leaving behind a great big pile of money which could then be burnt to repeat the whole procedure. by 5pm she was sealed in a Plexiglas box and by six she was famous. diminishing


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