by Rachel Hyman

The human body is 90% water. What kind of water would you like, sir? What kind of water are you like? Are you sparkling? Do you bubble over, ebullient, make people feel real nice now? Are you mineral? What rocks are in you? Is your stomach strong? Weak stomachs indicate weak wills. Certain substances are insoluble. When introduced they will ossify and create blockages in the body. What now, insoluble: Waking up to a ratcheting of the emotions from last night’s whiskey-fueled imbroglio. Too much poem-writing. Wrecking your insides on coffee is a blockage even if all the coffee passes through. Launching your organs at people, like spilling your guts, like sharing your heartspace, is ineffective in releasing the blockages. To do so is to try to escape quicksand: near impossible and inadvisable anyway. Let it sink. Last time you wore this outfit you didn’t come home until the next morning. The circus freaks are the audience, not the performers. Some religions believe that we are born fallen, borne from the cradle to the grave on a wave of iniquity. It is impossible to entirely purify a body of water. Every time you throw back a glass, you are drinking silt. It doesn’t really matter what you try to put in your body. Other people will put things there and take them away. The body does not hew to modern notions of consent. Do not sing the praises of the body. Last night a man told me I looked disturbed. Rocky waters breed stony faces. We will never stop needing toxic dumps. We will never stop needing toxic dumps. We will never stop needing toxic dumps. I am a water scientist. You need to trust me on this. Sit down. Stay calm. I am disturbed but I don’t mean to disturb you.

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