Apricity Press Issue 2 March 2017 - Page 36



I want to write but my mind is somewhere else. I have this thought that I would like to take a dictation device and implant it in my head and have my thoughts automatically downloaded to a hard drive during the ecstasy. I want to appropriate the language from my psychic body and

repurpose it for the the order of the waking world, an exquisite pulsing corpse. But that’s just the thing. During the ecstasy, the elusive, slippery mind. Oh how it’s scales glint in changing light as it hops from one’s hands, splashing into the distant gloaming.

What if I covered every inch of my skin with electrodes and created a virtual map of the body. The image presents itself as a constellation of points, color coded to indicate the different types of energetic production and release, the size of the dot corresponding to the intensity of the energy. A Light Brite. Like in the way when the slow huff of his hot breath teases my lips and its surrounding skin carmine. His tongue playing to enter my mouth while frolicking in the warm, metallic taste of entering that color. I can feel his psychogenic pigment strike a chord then bleed

deep inside the void in my cunt. The alluvial base note of monkish cunt-singing provides a foundation for the whimsy lark of the kiss. Upon the careful entering of his tongue, I can feel the orchestra of every time he’s been inside me drone. This is carmine on the key of this map.