The Devil She was having trouble with specifics. Or, more accurately, the transition something would
The Devil She was having trouble with specifics. Or, more accurately, the transition something would make from an idea to a reality, from the instant it was occuring to the greater context. She was having trouble with separating an action from the one doing the acting. Although she was having a bit of trouble with the acting, too. One could say she was in a quagmire. Figuratively speaking. Probably. Childhood has a habit of leaving clues behind, dozens of little moments spread out like breadcrumbs through the years, so that by the time you realise what you are, what you’ve been all along, you can trace the lineage back through cartoons and magazines, those awkward moments where you watched a couple holding hands just so without knowing why it was so fascinating. They grow with hindsight, retrospect lending them roots, until they’re looming, dozens of facets of the personality with their own specific moments that brought them into being. Unless that was all just attribution, her way of making sense of the things that couldn’t possibly make sense. It meant she obsessed over the how rather than the why, thinking about hands raining down on her, in the sensitive areas, grasping her hard, turning her head this way and that as if inspecting. She focused on how the words would feel as they came down with just as much force, or how it might feel to be forced to choke, the how, the why, slipping back into the unimportant. But they were disembodied acts, a fantasia of fantasies, the inanimate personified so that she didn’t have to put a face to the exquisite torments, just let the brooms do the mopping without anyone making sure the room didn’t flood. It works for so long, but it only works for so long. And now here she was, trying to rectify one with the other, and she was at an impasse. Surround herself with anonymous hands, doing anonymous things to her that she could enjoy in that very moment, and no further, or find one person, one set of fingers and one set of toes, one mind, and put a little context on the hows, load them with a few whys. Which was all well and good, but the saying was a little more simple than the doing. Anonymous hands and anonymous things seemed so much more… easy. -- source link
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