Orphantasy (1)

You cannot switch on every emotion at any time.
You can resist recognition of an emotion down to the betrayal of its desire that would make you panic,
You the one who made a comfortable life without it.
The disturbance.
“O, that´s really disturbing!”
Yes it is, get along with it,
beyond any recognition.
Until then, as the ravishing passes, a small hole in the fold of your iron(ed) underwear or sweater, and the sweat comes pouring out of pores that never existed before, 
or so you thought,
makes you
Buy POREMASTIC.
POREMASTIC stops your sweating, bye buying. No more staring at evading slime of the forgotten. 
POREMASTIC stops the fear of losing temper and the beloved skin that showed no fatty reflection.
At your focal store: POREMASTIC

The housekeeper in the old appartment building over at whelm street used to chase the rats on sunday early evenings.
We smelled the smoke from his kitchen chimney later on, but he liked it.
He went on staring at the tiny flowers that grew on the wall in the backyard and never had a doubt about how to unfold the cardboard book where he used to dry them.
I am strict with some things so I asked him to leave some for us, for the others.
I was too small to understand, or was that what he said, I don´t know.
The squeaking shutters killed the hush of his early morning watch once forever.
Must have startled down the old stairway, down to the basement
Found what was left of him some days later.
But the nose remained like new, for no reason anybody knew, like new.

I was always sweating a lot, in former times more than these days.
Real sweat.
As my father always got cramps from being touched I was enjoying comics and played soccer.
The sweat changed during the years. The rules at school were far less tensing than the rules of children, or so it seemed. At 13 I started to develop potential for throwing hate against oppressors of any kind, or what felt alike, and a lot felt alike and the hate felt good. Like life.
The sweat had started to diffuse into the distance before I could put on any lotion and I never really felt it, even on the pitch.
Years later, as I was gliding wet on a girlfriends skin in her room in the dorm, this still was no nearness to the sweat of fear, no fear of the sweat of nearness either, but a first step. Drowning in beer and talk, though.
The fear was to come as the pores opened anew.

Some people wonder, some don´t.
Some get hit in slow motion
Then the mouth would take more time to open and you see the face changing its shape to the most unreal distortions.
But the view would not remain in realtime, so they couldn´t see.