TIMISOARA BUREAU: On Demockery

by Doru Chirodea

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i got a job at last i’ll be gainfully employed as a deaf scribe to a mute poet some menial philosophical duties are also involved but those only while am on my unremunerated vacation which starts today i’m told my periodically paid compensation is a little iffy its amount depending on whether Anaximander had ever organized dwarf throwing orgies or was almost gay by self suggestion

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i kept not having this dream about termagant eukaryotes & of you on top fucking by division this no dream of you i had skimming swallow-like in no direction daintily shanghaied on the last seaworthy driftpain on earth & the true son of Ishmael pisspainting on a Baltimore hickdive floor sawdust life deathsigns i guess reverse engineering applied to your sidestepped demise never worked

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… ‘ve been reading this on a medical journal.

It says, there is such a thing as, the so-called, twin absorption.

The situation when one microscopic future human being does everything in its power to destroy all the simultaneous many doubles around him.

All the selfothers are executed; each and every one of them, all just about identically unidentical kin nanocreatures menacingly developing next to it, in the same egg, sharing the same womb.

They say, at this barely post-molecular phase, one kills like an expert, no second chances Jack, you are dead meat in a flash.

A minuscule formidable murder that covers all the better odds, for the assassin.

Twenty weeks after conception, when Doc shows up with his belly scan and Aunt Sally savors your x-rayed one-pound Tim in the grainy photo; it’s too late for his siblings.

It is all over. Your beloved embryotic criminal has accomplished his vendetta annihilation job.

The lone survivor thou, had left no incriminating evidence, besides (an enthusiastic accessory to this very slaughter), the mother’s body, had quickly absorbed the few milligrams of exterminated live consisting of the rest, of your never to be, brothers and sisters.

This is way beyond too much man, so I hurl the paper in the trash, I tie the plastic bag and run out to get rid of it.

On the way down the stairs, my sister-in-arms hag neighbor furtively scans my transparent garbage while passing by.

She smirks. Nevertheless, I feel good; like after a Killer Anonymous secret session.

I am somehow redeemed for my own hitherto unknown killing spree; this time, even I know something - she does not.

I surely cannot relapse now.

My waste, is categorically not sorted, unrecyclable and most impractical to kill.