Unforgiving Symmetry
The piercing scream of a terror stricken woman can be heard from distances that are not scientifically feasible. Like a ripple sweeping through the skin of nature, small creatures are erected from their habitation like goosebumps. The birth of triplets has ignited all the deadly schemes and carnival superstition that can only be appeased by needless grief. Nobody understands why something must be read as a curse or blessing. What is the critical turn that makes a community pour out wine into bowls rather than sharpen their knives for unspeakable rituals of brute compensation? I can smell the chemical scent of ammonia and other like cleaning agents. It overpowers to the extent of expelling bugs we thought were seasonal. Women register the evil to so thoroughly it awakens illness within them, yet they cheerlead it the loudest. We are living souls baptized in the harmony of pairs. Two eyes, two legs, two arms, two ears, two nostrils, two hands, and two feet. That is no reason to obstruct the free course of wisdom. Nothing is made better by evening odds. It is butchery empowered by moral mutes. Dispite the overreach, patterns give vision a certain kind of relief. It is a masseur of predictability that sets off a chain reaction in our most intimate biology. Hormonal levels synchronize themselves into optimal function. Disturbance of continuity becomes sin upon discovery. If men are content to eat stone, do not introduce a potato. What frightening lottery will befall the numeric eye soar? Will it be lowered by rope into the town appointed conflagration, or will it be given a swimming lesson it can not pass? We have shown ourselves to be more incontinent in brutality than the jaguars that hide their faces behind shrubbery. Speak peaceably and you will be separated as a witch's familiar. Watch idly and heaven will repay without mitigation. The jaws of this dilemma will clamp down and divide you across the waist, or will remove the left analog from the right so that you can not clasp your hands or walk. Do not trouble me with talk of hiding the woman, she presently trembles before a plain faced doula who hates herself along equal to the moment that informs her duty. The men shake their heads as if they could not put an end to it with one command. They rather indulge the pantomime of righteous indignation. We are children animated by foggy correlations belched out of the mouths of panicked world builders. You would not fare any better in paving over chaos with thin social remedies. Yet we have sprinted far past our genesis of fear and stewardship that was plunged into darkness. So what binds us to the futherance of this psychotic episode? Every breakfast table is quiet. None will allow their children to play in the open. This preventable guilt that is hung upon a compulsory kill switch is a unique stupidity that we endure as slaves to omens. I guess we can breath easy now, a mother veiled in black prays with her twins for a better society.
