krúcidúlla / by IKB

It’s time to shed the demure and almost unpalatable moroseness. Eject the dejected. Such seriousness is asphyxiating. Perhaps this time upon entering the periphery, the boundary that artfully delineates the form of the ever-shrinking, ever-changing sea of oscillating blades of grass, I shall venture on. I shall remove my shoes and enter step by step until these turn into galloping strokes upon this terrestrial canvas.

And each stroke upon my nakedness will send my body into a state of rapture; I shall swoon. Perhaps I shall collapse unto myself, compacted and stigmatized.

I will definitely giggle. Yes, I shall giggle and I shall wiggle! And if I can’t? if they will not allow me? Even if I can’t, I shall wiggle and with ardor I shall sniggle in the sea of potentiality until I am permitted to do as I please.

Perhaps it will all go above my head. No … am I sure? I don’t know. I don’t know! Was it not an exaggeration of stimuli that produced a hemorrhage of insanity, of a dementia that manifested and bled itself through your pores? I … er … I honestly don’t recall. Surely, it was not important!

Such is the naïveté.

Enough. Now is the time to put aside my rôle as the profaner, the apostate. The rite is safe, I shall not say anything, I shall not think. Yes I shall not think, I shall cease to be a criminal for an instant, just one insant! Nothing more and nothing less. Only an instant!