My Writers Circle

The Coffee Shop => The Gallery => Topic started by: Contrapasso on May 21, 2019, 06:05:14 PM

Title: The Flat Sandwich (Part 1)
Post by: Contrapasso on May 21, 2019, 06:05:14 PM
A man seated in the corner of a popular deli was causing quite a disturbance—he was crying over his ham lettuce sandwich. Holding the sandwich with both hands, and with fixed eyes as if detesting the sight of it, he took another large bite.

“Oh, this is rich!” he sputtered, breadcrumbs shooting forth from his masticating mouth.

He reached for a mustard squeezy and, as if desiring to bury what remained, completely covered the top of his sandwich, then, continued squeezing. By now he had captured the attention of the crowded deli, who gasped as he sunk his teeth into the pulpy mass.

“That’s enough!” barked the deli worker, removing his apron and working his way around the counter. He waved in apology to the customers transfixed by the unfolding scene.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave—”

“Oh!” said the man, pushing his plate away in disgust. He wiped the mustard off his face with the sleeve of his jacket. “I can’t taste anything.”

Clearing the table, the worker ushered him on with a wave of his hand.

Gathering his satchel and coat, and seeing the disturbance he had caused, the man repeated, dejectedly as if by explanation, “It’s no use; I can’t taste a thing.”

Outside, the midsummer sun beat down on the busy main street. According to the local weather report the temperature was in the high eighties, but the man could feel no warmth. In fact, he could feel very little sensation at all. Several times, he had pricked himself with the pin of his employee’s badge, only to feel the spread of a dull toothache pain—a dead signal transmitted from some faraway place.

The man’s name was Clarence Ascomati; and, he had spent the entire morning examining this distressing condition. He recalled the flat tasteless texture of toothpaste during his morning ablutions; the distant gossamer-like touch of wet tissue paper, as he splashed his face forcefully in increasing fits of panic. He was certain, then, he was experiencing a false awakening.

“I'll go back to bed,” he thought, pinching his eyes, “any moment now, I’ll wake up.”

But it was no use. His consciousness, heady and faint, remained fixed.

Overhead, the white popcorn ceiling swirled in a vertiginous dance; unsubstantial and illusory. He tried closing his eyes, believing if he slept in a dream, he could awake from this feeble hold into reality, as a wall of vibrant geometric colours burst forth in interpolating and cascading forms.

He sat up with a start, recalling that he had eaten psychedelic mushrooms night before; their taste rank with septage ooze, their bodies twisted and alien. How foul they tasted! Yet, he’d eaten them by the handful. Why? He could not remember—only that he had.
Title: Re: The Flat Sandwich (Part 1)
Post by: nosuchmember on May 21, 2019, 06:33:32 PM
It's  good seeing you post here again. Always, the best of luck with your writing.
Title: Re: The Flat Sandwich (Part 1)
Post by: Contrapasso on May 21, 2019, 08:54:21 PM
Thanks Jan.

I remove a lot of submission because, frankly, I question my sanity, and the worth of my posts.
Unlike most writers, I don't seek to be published, or desire for success.

I wrote a short and posted here, about a man who thought his nose was a penis, and deleted it because of mores, and shame.

But, that's what I hope to overcome, that writing might be an overcoming of established culture; an embrace of the unusual and the peculiarities of the human condition; the vagaries of thought.

It's only in sharing the absurdity of existence we find collective meaning.

Thanks kindly for your support 
Title: Re: The Flat Sandwich (Part 1)
Post by: nosuchmember on May 21, 2019, 09:06:07 PM
You Welcome...
Writing for me has always been an outlet for my most inner thoughts... I begin writing poems  about my feelings in 1973.Looking back through my poetry diary- I get a clearer picture of how my life was, and how it could have been; I  hope you will continue writing...Even fiction has much about the writer intertwined in the story. Like you I seek only to express myself through writing.