Gwata Ndai

One wants, then, a different kind of story. A moment of surprise. If one cannot be singular, one can, at the very least, avoid similes. It will be starting.

On Sundays he prepares communion wafers with a masturbating hand. Earlier they ridiculed voice-overs to the loudest of our preoccupations. It was discovered dialogue enhanced acting. He likes to practice pleasure.

He has begun to lose a sense of certainty about ideas, to slide toward the a-grammatical. He misses perfect sentences. Qualifiers, once marks of respect, have become hiccups. It is driving.

He marvels at how displaced words join space, order, and meaning. He lost his interest in strangers. He wondered if he should mourn. He had once mastered the art of turning ritual into habit. He cannot remember what has been lost.

There was, he felt, some charm left in the world.

*Gwata ndai is a formula used to announce a riddle—to issue the challenge, as it were. For some time now I have wondered what to do with phrases that lead nowhere. This installment might be considered a repository for linguistic detritus. Juxtaposition might accomplish what other failures cannot.