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Wounded Child Prostitute

I like some people so much, their whole way, and being, that I can't say a word for fear of wrecking it. So if you see me standing across the room, not looking, I'm probably in love with you. Damaged, benzo surfer...

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The Red Tree

The Red Tree - Caitlín R. Kiernan September 11, 2012 (9:59 a.m.)When I finished 'The Red Tree', besides anything else I was feeling, I immediately had an imaginary scenario in my mind of butcher block that is evidently used for prepping various meats. The butcher block is covered with slash marks of different colors, shades and depths and there is a pretty good coating on it; a mixture of bloods and fatty fat fats. It is evident that someone has just finished a rather long session of working at this block and has, I am guessing, scraped the last of the bits and goos into a trap just beside the butcher block.The trap is a stainless steel rectangle built right into the wood on the surface of the block and has a handle made of a darker wood. The stainless rectangle is in the open position and the butcher person has finished clearing everythng into the dark shape there, but he is nowhere, that is, there are no hands shuffling around or cleaning or doing anything. He was never there; I just came upon this vision, this imaginary scenario, and it's just a scene.But then I realize that the block is really me. At first I thought the block and the whole scene was my stomach though, but then I realized it only felt like that for a moment because the stomach seems to be my vulnerable place where emotional and psychic tumults tend to aim themselves. At that first moment the block was everything that obsessed and possessed me in that moment, but then after, the block, the scene I am experiencing is everything that is me, all the physical parts of me and it/me has all been you know, butchered and taken away somewhere, I assume to be con-sumed, and the scraps and various juices and slick, pasty things have all been scraped into the hole. And that is the scene I see and what I feel immediately.Then in the next moment someone, I suppose the butcher person, pushes the dark wooden handle of the trap and slides it closed into place, although I still never see his hand, and actually I don't know if he is a he or a she for that matter. I'd like to think it was a she at least, but I know we don't have choices like that in scenarios like this.Right now, I still feel a bit numb, a bit shakey even, my jaw feels tight like I've been coming off of the effects of psilosybin for quite a while and am at that place where I want the last of it to bleed out of me, to allow me to go back to normal because I want one or the other of course, not just the remnants.alt cover from » http://caitlinrkiernan.comI know that 'The Red Tree' will reverberate inside me for a while, perhaps - no, not that perhaps shit, it WILL be there inside me mutating itself into my parts and even when the goo, the juices, all that stuff that is left over on the block after I've been taken away to be eaten is all that remains of me, even then 'The Red Tree' will coexist with me and together we'll be scraped into that hole with the stainless steel plate on top of the butcher block wood with the many colored slashes.If you've read this and it's a bit confusing, well, no exuses, most of my writing is that way, and right now I'm certainly not going over this to make sure it's sensible.