BLACK METAL BRUNCH: A VERY DREX MOTHER’S DAY
M IS FOR THE WAY I #HATE YOU. ON A DRY SUMMER NIGHT YOU CONCEIVED ME THROUGH SAD SWEATY THRUSTS ON A #TRUENORWEGIANMATRESS, SINCE LOST TO #ROT AND RUST AND A FLOOD OF PALTRY #IKEAN IMPORTS. AND DID THE SPRINGS SING, OR DID THEY CRY? DID THEY NOTE IN THEIR COILS FRICTION’S PROTEST? IN THE STANK MIST OF THAT SMALL ROOM, WITH THE YELLOWED WALLPAPER THAT SEEMED TO CURL WITH YOUR RED PAINTED TOES, NATURE WAS SO OFFENDED THAT BOTH PHYSICAL OBJECTS AND THEIR UNDERLYING PRINCIPLES PONDERED A RETURN TO THE PURPLING BRUISE OF DISJUNCTIVE MORASS. THEY FOUND OBLIVION PREFERABLE. AN IMPRESSION OF TERROR OBTAINED IN THE ATTIC OF THAT #FJORDLAND BOARDING HOUSE. A PLACE REMEMBERS. #DREXTHECHILD CERTAINLY DID. IN PROXIMITY A DEEP MEMORY SENTIMENT FORMULIZED, A NAUSEATING IDEATION OF MAWING #LUSTCRIES, AND THE CONVULSIVE MUTTERED OBSCENITIES OF #HIM WHO I WILL NEVER KNOW. YOU TWO PLAYING #ALCHEMIST, JOINING THE EXHAULTED COMPANY OF MESSIEURS #FAUST AND #FRANKENSTEIN. THE SEED QUICKENED, HATRED’S OVUM OBTAINED, AND DREX BECAME THE #BLACKPEARL IN THE #UTERANOYSTER.
O IS FOR THE MEMORY OF MY BIRTH. MY WARRIOR’S HEAD, SQUEEZED OUT TO THE WAILING SOUNDTRACK OF YOUR CONTEMPT:
“JEG HATER DU GJØR FOR MEG, JEG HATER AT JEG FØRTE DEG TIL DENNE VERDEN, DU ER MIN STØRSTE ANGER, SÅDD FRØET AV ELENDIGHET I GARDEN OFMIN UNGDOM”
AND OH, THE #SHAME, FOR BEING NAKED BEFORE #YOU AND THE #LOCALVETERINARIAN WHO BIRTHED ME, THE #VILLAGEMAYOR AND HIS ONE LEGGED WIFE, THOSE #JAPANESEEXCHANGESTUDENTS DRAWING SKETCHES OF MY #YUCKSLICK CROWNING, THE #FISHMONGER HOCKING HIS DRIED MACKERELS, AND THREE GENERATIONS OF MOIST MOUTHED LOCAL PERVERT #CLERGY. I FELT SHAME FOR MY #CORPSEPAINT, SMEARED IN SAUCES FLAVORED BY SWEAT AND PLANCENTIA. I FELT SHAME FOR MY ALIEN NUTRAMENT TUBE, SNAPCUT LIKE THE RIBBON OF A NEW #SUBURBANBUSINESSPARK BY A LOCAL POLITICIAN, AND FOR MY WARRIOR’S DONG, CLAMPED AND CUT. YET SHAME WOULD GIVE WAY TO HATE, AND THAT HATRED WILL NOW NOT GIVE A #CENTIMETRIC.
T IS FOR TRAUMA. I COULD CHANGE MY OWN DIAPERS, AND CHOP MY OWN WOOD, LIKE MOST #NORWEGIAN TODDLERS, BUT THERE IS NOT ENOUGH WOOD TO CHUCK IN ALL THE #FORESTLUJND TO FILL A LITTLE WARRIOR’S BELLY. FOR THAT I REQUIRED HER: HER, DOWN IN THE VILLAGE MILKING COWS, GOATS, AND #LOCALMEN, TO BRING HOME THE BACON IN FORM OF DRIED FISH WITH CRACKED PLASTIC SKIN AND A #FREESIDEOFFLIES. SHE LEFT ME TO MY OWN DEVICES WITH AN OLD HORSE NAMED #SORROW. I WOULD ROMP AND TROMP THROUGH THE TALL GRASS WITH GOOD NATURED #SORROW, THROUGH THE HIGH SUN SUMMER, UNIMPEDED BY #MATERNAL HASSLINGS AND DEGRADATIONS (#DUERSTYGG #DUERDUM #DUHARENLITTENPENNER #ETC).
THEN FELL THE FALL, AND MOTHER RETURNED TO THE SHACK, #DEADEYED, UTTERLY CALLOUSED, #FUCKEDOUT, AND FISHLESS. WITH A SICK SMILE FROM HER MIRTHLESS, PAINTED LIPS, SHE LOOKED TO #TODDLERDREX ENVISAGING IN THE #BOYWARRIOR THE UNKNOWN #HE WHO HAD #HUMPEDANDHITTHEROAD.
SHE INFORMED ME OF WHAT WOULD BE DONE.
TO SURVIVE THE WINTER, #SORROW WOULD NEED TO BE SLAUGHTERED, SALTED, AND JERKIED. I WOULD HAVE TO DO IT. AND SO IN MEMORY AND FLESH #SORROW WOULD SUSTAIN ME THROUGH THE UNRELENTING COLD OF A CHILDHOOD SPENT IN WINTER.
H IS FOR #HATRED. #HATRED. #HATRED. #HATRED. #HATRED. HATRED THAT HEALS ANY INJURY SO LONG AS IT SURVIVES TO INJURE ANOTHER IN TURN. HATRED THAT MELTS THE LAST GLACIER WITH A STREAM OF URIC ACID. HATRED THAT ERUPTS IN THE CRAGGY FACIAL GEOGRAPHY OF TORTURED ADOLESCENCE, AND IN THE FINGERTIP BLOOD SPOUTING ON A HANDMEDOWN OF A HANDMEDOWN OF A GUITAR. HATRED THAT PRACTICES TREMOLO PICKING #FASTER #FASTER AND #FASTER. HATRED IRREDEMPTIVE. HATRED ESSENTIAL.
E IS FOR THE QUESTIONS YOU MADE ME ASK. YOU WEANED ME ON THE DUST OF A MOTHER’S CONFLICTED INDIFFERENT BREAST. DID YOU KNOW THE MISERY YOU WERE CULTIVATING? I FED OFF YOUR NEGATIVE PSYCHIC GASTRONOMY, AND #SATANMICHELIN GAVE IT #3STARS, BEFORE JUMPED INTO A BOILING LOBSTER POT, GONE AS #F—–. #ELBULLIEVEABLE. WERE THE INTRICACIES OF YOUR TORMENTS MASTERPLANNED OF #IMPROVISATIONAL? IS MY CONTEMPT #MOZART OF #MILESDAVIS? IS THERE NOTHING THAT YOU COULD HAVE DONE? IS THERE NO OTHER WAY BUT TO LEAVE A WARRIOR BOY TO SLAUGHTER HIS ONLY FRIEND AND EAT HIM SLOW UNDER A MOLDY BLANKET ON A STRAW BED IN A WOODLAND WINTER SHACK TO AVOID STARVATION?
BUT I KNOW THERE IS NO ANSWER, THERE IS NOTHING. YOU GAVE YOUR BOY THE “GIFT” OF #LIFE, AND IN MY #FEVERHATEDREAMS I OPEN UP THE WRAPPING TO FIND A PIECE OF BLEEDING MEAT STICHED TOGETHER WITH DIRTY WIRES, ITS LUNGS, BARELY ENCASED BY ITS LEAKING #MEATAL EXTERIOR. I WATCH IT HEAVE, AND WITH EACH BREATH IT CRINKLES AND SLOWS. ITS THREE TOOTHED MOUTH, PULSATES AND GASPS, LICKING ITS #REDPAINTEDLIPS WITH A BROWN TONGUE. IT BEGS ME TO GET CLOSE WHERE. I PUT MY EARS TO THE LIPS OF TORMENT AND HEAR IT WHISPER “ALL THE COILS CRY.”
THIS IS YOUR DAY MOTHER. I HATE IT, AND I HATE YOU.
-DV
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