Monday, March 27, 2006

Washing Your Face in the Dark

Latigo Flint knows that face-washing time is fun time. Latigo Flint's hat is off to whoever invented the practice of splashing water on one's face. Dang if washing your face don't just perk you right up and make you feel not quite so broken and done.

Sometimes when Latigo Flint wants to wash his face, he'll force himself to wait a while, thus heightening the sensation and joy when he does.

There are many techniques for washing your face and Latigo Flint loves 'em all. The Swat 'n' Splash, The Rinse 'n' Flick, The Scoop 'n' Drag, The Dip 'n' Dab, The Lean 'n' Burble--All of them wonderful. Magnificent I say, every one.

If you wash your face by candlelight, you get to pretend you're someone else--like a trapper or a cowboy or a scullery maid in a castle. The tiny flame casts strange shadows across a face you no longer recognize as yours. You stare at the mirror into eyes you don't remember being so black.

You say, "Howdy there stranger. I reckon I'd like t' know your name."

The face in the mirror frowns. "You oaf! I'm a scullery maid today, not a drawling cowboy."

"My apologies Ma'am." You mumble... and then touch yourself for a while.

Hey, have you ever been washing your face and just start thinkin' 'bout how great it feels to wash your face and then the next thing you know it's twelve hours later and your bathroom looks like the hold of a whaling ship. Your palms are quivering, pulpy ribbons and you wonder why until you notice the jagged white edges of your cheekbones. You get the bad feeling your forehead's gonna need grafts and you discover you've smeared unspeakable messages to yourself on the wall with what appears to be a sinus?

Yeah, me too.


A man drink like that and he don't eat, he is going to die!



At 2:52 AM, Blogger Helga von porno said...

Yes, when I was trying to solve the inpenetrable Zen kuan "Show me the face you had before you were born". My master, the venerable Joshi Jeffry, told me I was trying too hard, and taking it too literally.

At 6:51 AM, Blogger Mary Lewys said...

After all, cleanliness is next to Godliness.

At 6:59 AM, Blogger Francis Marion Tarwater said...

My dad caught me washing my face one time. We didn't really speak to each other for about a week or two.

At 8:03 AM, Blogger Ethan Greer said...

Unsettling. Evocative. Well done.

I can feel my sinuses on my fingertips. I can feel the compulsion to create art with my underface. I can feel the slickness being transferred to the wall as I drag my fingertips in a profound pattern.

I can feel my horror as I come to my senses and see that I've traced the unknowable visage of God.

At 9:31 AM, Blogger Monkeypotpie said...

Some are ass-men, some are leg-men and some tit-men.

You, my friend, are apparently a skull-man. A rare breed indeed.

Excuse me while I whip this out.

At 3:32 PM, Blogger Trevor Record said...

I thought that the dip 'n' dab was more or a woman's method, but far be it from me to question Latigo Flint's sexuality or face-washing technique.

At 7:46 PM, Blogger Ari said...

Perhaps you'd like to participate in private reenactment of other rituals of scullery maids... such as these:

You must rise at six o'clock and wash and dress, with your hair tied neatly back beneath your cap.

You first task of the day is to stoke the Kitchen range to a good heat, to boil water for early morning tea.

You must then empty the chamber pots of all the female Servants, and wash them around with a vinegar soaked rag kept only for this purpose.

(You'd probably need to wash your face again after that last one.)

At 8:25 PM, Blogger Amandarama said...

I like to wash my face. It keeps the talking boil away.

At 12:06 AM, Blogger Latigo Flint said...

I once solved that impenetrable Zen kuan, Helga Von Porno--by slashing my master's throat with a rusty trowel and shoving a mirror in his face as he died. (They say I'm not allowed any more masters now.)

Is it really though Mary Lewys?

Nice Solace Layfield, very very nice.

Thank you Ethan Greer. I actually don't remember writing it, but that's because I'm a drunk, and a self-effacing one at that. But I know horror, and feel yours just as keenly.

My mind is aglow, Monkeypotpie, with whirling, transient nodes of thought, careening through a cosmic vapor of invention.

And yet Trevor Record, you question it nonetheless. And probably shall more frequently as the months slip by like old friends we mean to call but never do.

Please Ari!!! The only scullery maid ritual I ever care to reenact is that of grungy sexiness, cloaked in a scarf of desperation and allure.

But that's how you get ahead Amandarama... in advertising anyway, or so they say.


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