Intro

My medical training is limited both to the proximity of the wounds I create for myself and to the punctuality of human rot—a minor self-injurious culture of my own accumulation. I know, for instance, enemy means anyone. I refer to the mating process. As a doctor, I am no fan of self-administered lobotomies, or of reducing body counts. Alas, the young lovers I have divided myself into (surgically) can be replaced by every combination of response and potential meaning. This will thankfully admonish any argument for reliability, validity, and standardization. Truth is only an obstruction to the proper psychometrics.

We must chart instead this couple’s happiness, if nothing else, and try to mimic the corresponding birthmarks. Soon you will know touching him in a house not created for the purpose of any community. Her syncopated lifespan occurs through the borrowed memories of a deceased giraffe. The nightmare of their bodies unified will no longer be a public nuisance. There are incestuous clues, reeking of size.

It is advisable to keep a dictionary of your own audiences at hand, if a fire is nearby. The dictionary will be thin and burn as fast as human hair. That you, the no one who is reading this, don’t believe mannequins are designed to be more attractive than people implies you may scoff if I raped a mannequin. Would you disavow the following application because I am insane? Ah, emphatic “yes” from all angles. But I don’t have sex with mannequins. I don’t go around having sex with a lot of people or mannequins.

Sincerely,

Sean Kilpatrick