September conjures up the cothurnus in me. I detach myself from coprology and once more breathe the Autmn air. My thoughts turn to empyrean but my body goes to the sales - 'emption' is my middle name! I ignore the eleemosynary young - there's plenty of work around! They spread themselves in humicubation - I whiz by. After a day of queuing I am napoo! We humans are well practiced in myrmecoldy!
It was one such Autumnal morn, having lost again at pachinko, that I met 'him'. He towered over me pailletees jangling. I, with an advanced case of pantophobia, smiled weakly. I had dropped my bag and, paphian-like he'd bent over and picked it up. He smiled at me and said I was like a pantarbe. I had always thought of myself as more papaverous or even papilionaceous…but a pantarbe! Praise indeed.
We went for coffee, that September morn. Over two hours we poured out our hearts. He told me he was a potomaniac - his friends called him a popinal. My friends thought me quoz. My scotophobia, my tomomania, my preference for shtchee and dressing in shagreen. I confessed I had always wanted to be a terpsichorean. His aim was of a higher order - he wanted to be a tathagatagarbha.
If truth be told that morning he won my heart, that September morn. I was uncinate. Over the months that followed I changed from being an unco person whose only conversation was nugacity. He stopped me being obtumescent. I spoke my lockrums -and he listened. He had a certain ludibundness about him. I progressed from being a gomeral to being a seeker of knowledge. He became my dipsetic.
We would go for long walks along the banks of the river in Kobe, scene of the earthquake a few years ago. He'd speak distiches to me- and I'd recover from my doramania (though the weather grew cold). We even went to sudatoriums together and while I talked the more he'd only interrupt to slip in a sumpsimus. He'd usually dress it up in a paraleipsis to lessen the blow.
We lived in a dream but, looking back that is just a paradistole. Yes, he was my paracoitus - to such an extent that I was paralogic for hours afterwards! In truth there was a dark-side. He had tendencies to be a parvenu and his 'enlightenment' consisted of finding people to impress -and who then would worship him. The procedure was to find someone quiet, bring them out enough so they would be impressed and then they'd become a passalorynchite in behaviour, in awe at what they had discovered in him.
That was why I killed him.
A rackarock in his Subaru; slampamp all around - total snafu. No-one suspected me, the quiet one. I have sthenobulia and so told no-one.
Until now. This is my 'September Confession' - but with this vocabulation, who will understand? In wanhope I write this from the hospital wing. I have no ythes. My yesterfang is no more. I sit here listening to the zingaresca, waiting.
Am I still a zimme?
It is now one year since he died, the zorillo. (I also have zoophobia). He sought my quim, not my mind. I was simply a oryzivorous quim for the micraner to devour. That was not enough. The grinagog had so much to give rather than just that.
If my confession is not clear, or the nurses fail to read it (this one here is a septemplicate) I will commit seppuku and be done with it. In the beginning I wa sa scuddy. Now suffering from evagation I am seen as a makebate.
This September will be my last.
I will leave you as he left me with memories…and his dictionary.
Some of these words wouldn't be permitted in Scrabble. First, let's try to see how much can be rephrased. We will have to give up on a few words, and make some dodgy guesses.
September conjures up the (thick soled boot used in ancient Greek tragedy) in me. I detach myself from (the use of obscenity in speech) and once more breathe the Autumn air. My thoughts turn to (the heavens) but my body goes to the sales - ('the act of buying)' is my middle name! I ignore the (dependent on charity) young - there's plenty of work around! They spread themselves in (lying down on the ground) - I whiz by. After a day of queuing I am (good for nothing)! We humans are well practiced in (something to do with ants, we can guess)!
It was one such Autumnal morn, having lost again at (Japanese pinball), that I met 'him'. He towered over me (spangles) jangling. I, with an advanced case of (fear of everything), smiled weakly. I had dropped my bag and, (lasciviously) he'd bent over and picked it up. He smiled at me and said I was like a (precious stone that attracts gold). I had always thought of myself as more (poppy-like) or even (butterfly-like)…but a (aurimagnetic gem)! Praise indeed.
We went for coffee, that September morn. Over two hours we poured out our hearts. He told me he was (someone with a morbid craving for drink) - his friends called him a (restaurant). My friends thought me (absurd). My (fear of the Scots - or fear of darkness - now there's an Empsonian ambiguity), my (obsession with limestone shafts), my preference for (cabbage soup) and dressing in (sharkshin). I confessed I had always wanted to be a (dancer). His aim was of a higher order - he wanted to be a (of the Buddha essence - literally "the womb of those who attain the goal").
If truth be told that morning he won my heart, that September morn. I was (hooked). Over the months that followed I changed from being a (strange) person whose only conversation was (trifling). He stopped me being (swollen up). I spoke my (gibberish) - and he listened. He had a certain (playfulness) about him. I progressed from being a (simpleton) to being a seeker of knowledge. He became my (producer of thirst).
We would go for long walks along the banks of the river in Kobe, scene of the earthquake a few years ago. He'd speak (couplets) to me- and I'd recover from my (obsession with gold?) (though the weather grew cold). We even went to (saunas) together and while I talked the more he'd only interrupt to slip in a (pedantic correction). He'd usually dress it up in a (rhetorical misdirection) to lessen the blow.
We lived in a dream but, looking back that is just a (perhaps, a figure of speech in which a favourable turn is given to something unfavourable by the use of expression that only conveys part of the truth). Yes, he was my (metaphorical union) - to such an extent that I was (without the ability to reason) for hours afterwards! In truth there was a dark-side. He had tendencies to be a parvenu and his 'enlightenment' consisted of finding people to impress - and who then would worship him. The procedure was to find someone quiet, bring them out enough so they would be impressed and then they'd become a [passalorynchite] in behaviour, in awe at what they had discovered in him.
That was why I killed him.
A [rackarock] in his Subaru; [slampamp] all around - total (acronym for ruined). No-one suspected me, the quiet one. I have (an excessively robust personality) and so told no-one.
Until now. This is my 'September Confession' - but with this (use of words), who will understand? In (despair) I write this from the hospital wing. I have no (prosperity). My (previously taken thing) is no more. I sit here listening to the (Gypsies), waiting.
Am I still a (spurious word for a gem)?
It is now one year since he died, the (skunk). (I also have (a fear of animals). He sought my (vagina), not my mind. I was simply a (rice eating)(vagina) for the [micraner] to devour. That was not enough. The (one who is always grinning) had so much to give rather than just that.
If my confession is not clear, or the nurses fail to read it (this one here is (one of seven copies)) I will commit (formal suicide) and be done with it. In the beginning I was an (unfledged bird). Now suffering from (wandering) I am seen as a (breeder of strife).
This September will be my last.
I will leave you as he left me with memories…and his dictionary.
One dictionary? Has someone has "met the Buddha on the road", killed him according to the advice - of (I believe) a Zen master of the ninth century, and found that taking that advice did not improve her karma (whatever that may be).
My favourite psychotherapist tells me that this is a poignant picture of a terminal attempt at communication.