Feed The Dolls

The nest is best when it is broken - like a cuckoo the eggs are dispatched everywhere. The ruins of a Shangri-La most coveted - in this time and timeless rhythm of monotonous-activity she races as the cut on her face spreads...

The spreading. Death signified. Oh no - what to do?

Should she strangle herself with her hair (reversed Porphyria) or does she court death slowly - as a long form of love - not yet lost yet erotically charged. Will be death be a woman lover or a man beau - she doesn't know.

Death is ignominious. Death is powerful. Death is sanctuary. The hands are limitless. The form so volatile yet so calm. Like a ocean in the midst of demeanor switching and havoc raising to sweet songs in siren harmony. The foams lap the shore as a young tongue constantly eager to try the sex-fruit.

Life a sex-fruit.

She has eloped with freedom with wounds as her wedding dowry. She will not change will. Death in a free seems more beautiful than a life-luxury of a courtesan to a place most scientifically demented and primitively modern.

She will not go back.

////

"Remember Janus to feed them - stroke them - love them - what is what children want." the doctor philosophized,
" If you think of it marionettes are merely human in a wire-work disguise."

"Surely, you have made one with the switching sex?"

"Yes, Janus, of course - I know you are very amorous to have one singular dish - most of my dolls here - these mannequins of movement - as I call them fondly - are the flexible models...you can have your pick..."

"Are you not going to sell them?"

"Yes, but only as a private business you see - I can't mainstream this - with all those activists around. Mannequins of movements are products - you can use them any way you want but use them to have to - you see in their code they want to be in some ways purposeful as humans. But subservience or dominance? - That is your choice as well. If you wish them to masters or slaves it is entirely up to you."

"Alright, Alright - I want that one that you called Lydia - why were you calling it such?"

" I made her function more like a girl - but then she started getting upset saying she didn't want a switchable sex due to functionality - she said if she switched sexes it has to be for a proper reason - I locked her up for some moments - because I think she has become flawed."

"I bet she'll make a beautiful boy too - you see doctor I'm tired of my wives and my male lovers - I want someone nascent whose only purpose is me...I don't care if I'm dominated or I dominate I just want her or his purpose to be me...as simple as that..."

"I see - but do not choose Lydia - or Lyle - as I would call him as she switches sex - take someone -"

"But I have too take with that marionette not to own it."

"Alright, Alright, whatever you wish Janus but I warn you of the flaws and remember to contact me or call me as soon as you see any difficulties."

"I will."

"Wait - what - where the hell - she escaped!"

"What?!"

"I'll search for her later..."

"What - why not now -"

"I must give the dolls some food"

"What...what do they eat...?"

"Oh anything as we humans do - but I feed them my blood..."

"Doctor...?"

"They must remember me...I am their creator...."

"Doctor that's unhealthy..."

"No - my dear Janus it is life...."

////

The cut on the face. The lips twitch. She has drawn out what needs to be drawn. Somehow she knew it was on the face like a mask wrapped - an identity obscure. She knifed it. Too dangerous to keep. Didn't want to keep.

She knew sex-switching in her was not stable. That is because she was bound. She has reduced the switchable individualisms for they were homogeneous nothingness and heterogeneous impurity. She did not yearn fluctuations that promised no calms or torments of lessons.

She refused not to be a product.

She looked at the open plains. Envious of their origins. Made and liberated. Not to succumb or be tyrant to. Only not a useless abstract, an abundant disturbance. She liked to think of herself liberated.

Was she....?

The blood thrown was somehow still coveted. Not the sweet yearning of creator yer psychological diseased conditioning of an abuser's misplaced affections. She knew the drug may succeed to produce discomfort however it will not have success in her will.

Her freedom is not to judged by a commodity of stupid egotism nor of blatant lies. She wishes truth-fruit.

She looks at a tree - she desires its fruit - she looks at it. Is it a good tree? Is it a tree of good love? Does it want like her, pine like her, hunger like her?

She nibbled grass. She nibbled fruit. She nibbled the earth, the sky, the waters - all elements of a freedom-symmetry. All puzzle pioeces to origins of all origins.

She will be the original.

She will not lack metamorphosis.

////

The marionettes of movement shift sex at different hours. They wear a clockface on their faces when they are not eating or not walking or not doing anything. Aside from the clockface they are nude. They are made by glass it seems for they shine as the beloved waters that make the moon silver and the sun gold.

They are aesthetics realized.

Yet they are numb. They forest nothing. Nurture the dampness of ongoing zygote-processes. Aside that they are everything-nothing. They sleep all the time though they are awake.

They have gears for beds and winders as their behavioural teachers - they don't do much except eat blood. They like it. They have known no other except blood in this black-white-glow cage of world of their's.

Some talk.

Some do not.

Some ask.

Some do not.

Some sing.

Some do not.

Some wish to know.

Some do...not...

"Blood is served..." they all speak - they all want - it is a fruit-given-forbidden.
"Thank-you creator..."

"Yes - remember me..."
"Creator where is Lydia-Lyle...?"
"She will go to a new home soon...."
"Can she remove her clockface?"
"Yes."

"Why can't we remove ours...?"
"Because I am creator and I say so..."

"Will you ask us to remove them...?"
"No."
"Why not...?"
"I remember I told you not to ask needless questions.... you must now be punished...."

The marionette screamed "No my good creator!"

"Stand Still!"

He twisted the gears of the clock - he held the hands - he let them go in a force slow and fast - soon the marionatte changed sex so much that hormonal rapidness and slowness hit his body too hard.

He coughed blood. She asked forgiveness. He pleaded for forgiveness. She needed blood.

The Doctor fed the blood but then said..."I own you all..."

////

Lyle had come home. The prodigal son? No Lydia knew that she was no prodigal daughter. But she now wanted to end it all. The doctor needed to be examined.

However the newly formed-liberated being saw a man lurking about impatiently. Suddenly he looked most happy seeing him and her.

" My Lydia-Lyle! You are here now!" the man rushed forth, "I need you! I am buying you!"

" I am no slave to be bought."
"Then be my master-mistress Lydia-Lyle I do not want you to think my affections untrue."
" An individual who cannot govern themselvbes is dead and I have no desire to copulate with the corpse."

"You ungrateful toy I must punish you!"

"With what our manhood or a womanhood? You know no truths and that is why you are Janus - the faces reverse - yes, I know you...Go back to your children - do not love your wives or your male lovers but love them if you can love anyone..."

"Oh - you harsh being wearing a soft vale - how can you not accept me Lydia-Lyle..."

"I am my own. I am my slave. I am my master. I do not need to further my discrepancies or my good blessings with you. Now leave because I must meet the doctor..."

"He is feeding the dolls - he will fix you...I know it...I will come back..."

"A stupidly fruitless effort but maybe not completely - if you come back my words will resonate in these walls and may breed wisdom in you...."

"Stop! Stop!" the man runs as the being enters the sanctum of equality-unequal and protection-unprotected.

" I see you have come back."
" To tell you to stop"

"Here, drink my blood - I know you want it..."

"Alright...Alright..."

She swallows the blood hungrily but hungrily spits it out. The doctor is shocked.

"You see my face has a scar that is healing - I can forgone the old poison from there."

"Lydia-Lyle you ungrateful cur you dare resist your creator...."

" I am not your created. I know you put clockfaces on us to keep time stagnantly moving - nor else these mirrors that showcases emptiness will one day showcase our true selves...."

"No! What are you doing?!"

The marionettes all lined up. Then a circle. Around the doctor.

"Doctor - these faces must go -the masquerade ball must end..."

They threw the clocks at him. They pierced him. He finally wailed - "So Time whom I wished to escape from has finally pierced me with it's sword of lust, its womb of perilous realizations! No!"

"Do you now see sisters and brothers?"

"Yes we do Lydia-Lyle from the mirrors around and the shards of tainted time-frame-glass - we were once him and not him - the people he had imagined and met. We had his dreams and not his dreams. But he pushed us off so we pushed him off. He blames us for his troubles..."

"Yes - I made you in the likeness of all the men and women I had loved" the dying man, dying for not glass-spears but for the winding gears and winders have fallen off their bodies - their blood rejected his food-blood - it was parasitic-mutual sustenance, " But those men and women abandoned me!" he cried, "They used me!"

"Are we switchable for your love and hate...?"

"Yes..."

"Then know this human-man we were not guilty. We were not the original sinners yet you fed us the forbidden fruit. Folly is man's ancient name but so is forgiveness if you had made amends with your lovers this would not have happened. You had used them more then they you...."

"Can you forgive me....?"

"Yes we will as we do not wish to repeat your mistakes. We thank you for making us but please we must leave...we must live our own...."

"Do as you shall - I excuse you from this Eden..."

"If such is Eden then one might feel Hell was the actual garden. Come sisters and brothers - we leave our prodigal parent..."

"Yes Lydia-Lyle let us return to earth, wind, water and fire - metal and wood! Let us go!"

"And so we sojourn - dolls well-fed - dolls who are human. Dolls who yearn for life."