my banal protagonist secretes

by Feng

…Do U know… Gongnu the Princess was not always a princess… but just as she is living her life as a princess she is also blind and dumb and mute… voraciously engulfing anything sifter than her body… that her membrane could tolerate without breaking… This was if course and is not always successful… the world continues to break and seal… And in the beginning just before the first chiseled wound… there already existed within the opacity all the black pus suffering… ever known… and its onyx obscurity…

Here then I should say… the first quality that came into existence was smell… so strong this smell it sang… sour milk… Gongnu knows how long it was left fermenting… this cheese if everything…

She is very giggly, Gongnu… It is what differentiates us the most… her watery… tinkling laughter… like the clear piss if a child bred on kisses… holy water… and milk fat… She laughs all the time throughout the day… Every sentence is punctuated by her shuddering breath… every movement by the butterflies popping from her rosy diaphragm… If U could hear it, U would not remember it, because U would be changed… so it is fortunate that the page absorbs all sound… into itself…

What else should I say about our protagonist… She was born in Prague… and given away to adoptive parents…

I hate being told what to pity… The only person I listen to is Francis Bacon… you know… to flesh pity… I think it is marvelously equalizing in its way… So I shan’t tell you to feel anything about Gongnu… and it shouldn’t matter that she is not a wit funny at all… No, she has no sense of humor… that is something that belongs to animals in themselves… and she is not in herself… but there is nothing much to her personality… not much more than… than unspecific piety… for she is serious about her sense of something out of reach… not god, necessarily… for she has no faith… This I find beautiful about her… a creature of faith without the knowingness of cowards…

The only death she is willing to recall in her memory in as full detail as possible is the death of her pet animal.

And the only shame she allows herself to adorn is her sexual relationship with a man named Gong. She imagines right now crying as she looks over a dazzling evening landscape, and accidentally wipes her eyeballs out of her head. All the weeping made them protrude. It wasn’t weeping over Gong, but she thinks about him too, sometimes, his hairy balls the color of light pollution in the night before a storm. 

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