01 December 2008

What Unsaids Undo

Advice Composed in the Mind While Observing a Choking Pedestrian, Wearing a Pencil Skirt and Looking Rather Upset, Leaving an Office Building:

Think nothing of them, of how Unsaids go about shifting, change their clothes, wear top hats, discover that they are two hours late for a meal when, in fact, they never bothered to look at the time. Unsaids are too busy shining their shoes to open doors and ordering another whore to see that you wore a new dress, new lace button-up blouse that is a half-size too small—they never notice these things but are sure to take care of their cuticles. That’s the most infuriating element. And Unsaids write brilliant cover-letters with gorgeous, specially ordered water-marked paper-- Montblanc pen, so smooth, so cool to the touch, but never jot something like “your legs looked especially delicious stepping out of the shower this morning” on the back of your checkbook. Unsaids, however, regain composure on some menial carpet somewhere while you’re scrubbing a stain, hand on the small of your back, suddenly, because they know how much pressure, and where, yields the maximum affect. You could be sweating, swearing, furious, unable to hold in boats or sails, yet Unsaids undo every nautical knot in your body. Do not think anything of their shifting between the line of the imagined, bordering dangerous Unfields. It is here, between X amount of need and Y amount of solitary that Unsaids fly in, dig their heads down, graveyard spin planes into you. Think nothing of them.

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