Pull, Push, Let Go

The following   is by Sarah E Melville of Year Zero Writers: http://yearzerowriters.wordpress.com/2010/10/19/pull-push-let-go/ It is another mood clue for the next edition of Games Perverts Play. Deadline for submissions: December 20th. Theme to be announced shortly.

The room, poorly saturated like pale closed eyelids, the murmour of breath at the back of the throat, hazy with the taste of perfect alcohol. Frightening how, even in bad colours he was warm; that even though there was understood theory of animation, he was warm, and not cold,

and he was a warm thing that was alive.

He could breathe.

But his breathing was not the kind on television.  It made hazes on glass, was not very clear, or focused, and had no end goal; no life-vision, no program-plan to speak of.

The alcohol made him beautiful.  It lit tendrils, the plasticity of his form not so inert, not so atrophic,

.           (“Yes, that is there to enjoy as well.

bones glowing beneath the swift

.            We should enjoy everything.”)

cut of fibrous

.             (the fibres wove-wiggle like soft wicker, over and under each other, fully

.              confused, terribly unaware of their grand purpose.)

muscle in motion.

Perfect alcohol, made from two hard green apples squeezed together.  They banged respective heads together until foaming, dripping down and bruised.

Look at green skin, shining.

.               (reptiles, caged forever.)

The lights dragged down, big candle things going out and up in grey, and the biggest, the best and the brightest went out — slip between some hills, or behind.  From this point of view, love-cake, we can’t tell and shouldn’t care.

.                (“Life has all kinds of things.

Fabric shrugged.  The body beneath

.                  There isn’t only one road.”)

stayed still.

Two suction cups passed the heady things back and forth, self-juice, fermented-juice, un-television breathing, lowly saturated smoke.  Red around the edges, and raw, fill and full, opening down to holes that eventually opened up again after a rather long road of uncountable darknesses.

She riled up enough meaninglessness to grip and hold, to cover one half-face with a half-held hand, inert, useless anemones, hiding half of the desire sponged on her face.

.                    (“Timing is everything,

Her elbows touched the beautiful plastic.

.                     you said so.”)

What was left of the light tripped in a flutter of bird wings, flying before the sun.

Three, four little dents in her bottom lip from her teeth.  They dragged around, re-situated, white little halos of excitement in the skin where the blood was forced away.

They flushed, tricked back, gorges filled, when she opened her mouth.

.              (“Pull,

.               push,

.               let go.”)

He dragged, chandelier clinking like rockets over his head.  Sparks popped around his head like worms in hot oil.

She pushed her socked foot into the plastic of his chest.



2 responses to this post.

  1. you must mean f-f-f-f-etishes!


  2. […] This post was mentioned on Twitter by MarcNash and MarcNash, Elly . Elly said: https://gamespervertsplay.wordpress.com/2010/10/20/pull-push-let-go/ new post on Games Perverts Play: Push, Pull, Let Go by @sarahemelville […]


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