etat libre d’orange SÉCRÉTIONS MAGNIFIQUES

My nose burns. Every orifice is leaking. I’m crying, pissing, and shitting. It all comes out easily, and it rarely comes out easily. I’m thirsty for water. I never drink water. I close my eyes to hold back the tears; they escape, along with thoughts of snorting coke off a baby’s freshly powdered tush. I smell baby everywhere – that sweet, milky scent that makes you want to keep the baby and bake cookies to celebrate.

I’m still shitting. It’s easy but taking forever. I don’t want to/have to look. It’s long, brown, and unbroken – the urine clear. There’s a tame seal in the bowl – happy in the water but hungry, so it pokes its head out waiting to be fed.

Every time I open and close a door I smell baby. Our studio apartment has six doors. The scent is constantly rejuvenated. My nose still burns. I need to smell something else. I vacuum, clean the chinchilla cages, and don’t flush.

It doesn’t work. I need a distraction. I go into the closet and pull out a collection of black leather garments and accessories. If it’s sheer and black it comes out as well. I drop my robe and look in the mirror. I’m naked and shocked by what my body looks like. Why does it always surprise me?

My cork coaster areolas only reinforce the baby smell. I want a tall glass of milk now and the cookies are still in the oven. We’re celebrating here, aren’t we? This isn’t helping. I cover up. The baby’s powdered coke tush is leaving a trail on the concrete and the breaks between slabs inhale it all. It’s gone. It’s cold. I don’t smell anything anymore but my nose still burns.

We go and forage for chanterelles. All we find is wizard beard and ice. We hike for hours and go from getting undressed under the blazing sun to watching our breath reach the destination sooner.

I share with two others.

“I like it, it’s kind of musky.”

“What am I smelling? Demon seed?”

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