ps. gravity. pps. 7″ (get it?)
ps. hey. at this point it had become quite clear that gravity had become too much for her startling physique. her gut hung deeply between her marbled, cold cut thighs. the muscles in her neck were unable to hold her head upright just as the muscles in her face could not keep her bottom lip attached to its upper sister – it reached downward like an obese uvula. she was a prisoner, gravity her guard; she a slave, gravity was her master. ** some people say what happened that day was a miracle handed down by god himself, some say it was a freak release of neurotransmitters bursting across synapses, distributed through all her body, while others say she just had “enough.” i know better though. ** although its just several pieces of light plastic and nylon sewn together the noise the cpap made when it bounced off the cool cement floor might as well have been thunder. everyone’s gaze turned toward her just in time to see s-waves course across the bun of fat that surrounded giant pillars of arms as she grounded both hands on her chair’s arm rests and began to lift herself upward. she groaned and lurched and inched forward, but refused the help of a potential friend in momentum. her bones creaked and flexed but held true as the full burden of gravity became apparent to her feet which had not known its immense weight in so long. imminent death that seemed to cushion her over sized chair receded and life pushed through her being. and she moved in a deliberate manner, a manner seen in children just learning to walk and those who must relearn such a basic skill. and she departed. and she was free. ** i’ll tell you what moved that montain: spirits. that’s what did it. spirits. the kind that reverberate through the air and everyone recognizes but only few truly hear. these are the kind of spirits that make people think there is a god, and the kind that make neurotransmitters fly through your being, and the kind that let you know that you’ve had “enough.” and they’re everywhere, you just have to listen. you have to let yourself hear. really, spirits.
pps. hey. 7″ (get it?)
ppps. hey. ty segall’s universal momma/86′d 7″ is now sold out. there were 500. so it goes.
pppps. hey. photo: claire marie vogel. ** formatting: dennis cooper.
