Messenger by Diego Marcial Rios

Genitalia Way

By Layla Ackhart

I am one of the potential great minds of my generation: a great mind turned strictly generational, a generating mind, a greatly malnourished generation, a mindfully numb generation—but a great generation? Not anymore—or perhaps it's delayed.

The mind's new home sprung on Genitalia Way! The real estate write up had the following to say:

Its walls continually were arising, keeping everything inside surrounded by clean air, entertainment and temptation to feed the appetites of anyone with a thought process—be the process bad or good, great or as is. The building blocks were primarily mouths, maliciously filled mouths, whose mere miracles were ill speech of men: taunting, trying, terrificly tasteless tales. Saliva filled the streets, and still tongues swayed in the sunlight, or the dark; tongues needn't visualize the madness, they only have to form visualizations in other minds, minds who are starving for a different tale; tongues need not utilize the section of the mind that rationalizes, reasons or rebukes—they prefer relativity; tongues need only to move, the voice box supplies the honest element of sound, the lungs retrieve honest air to bring the sound out of the mouth, the mouth gives the tongue a humble honest home . . . tongues only move and movement occurs in the middle of the house, not in the backyard, behind the shed.

A roof sprouted overtops the walls: appearing rather thick, but whose actual density was that of a sheet of paper; the mere appearance unmotivated many from ever attempting an adventure toward advancement, for fear that their advance would become an illusion, or even worse a second hand card trick, pawned off on young children on their way home from school in exchange for a dime, quarter or mind; also for fear that their advance would only be a mirage when subtracted from vision would reveal worse scenes than the desert . . . scenes of a desert with people. People resonate fear. People not only encapsulate fear, but install fear into others hearts, by means of simply acting natural, or behaving as such. Deserts filled with wet contagious vaginas and relatively limp, but excited penises: where Genitalia goes skipping down the avenues, in front of children, in front of churches, mosques, temples, gardens, ponds, and mountains. Where needles were sold more than cigarettes, and accidental babies were only becoming politicians instead of said gifts. Places where people interact with vicious uproar and travel on top of one another to buy milk, undoubtedly overpriced milk, undoubtedly overpriced lives. Lives are worth so much in this world . . . but never enough for another life. A life is not worth life, but definitely a decent amount of tax dollars. Tax dollars did not build this roof, but tax dollars built the road it was on.

There were trick windows in the guise of mirrors.
Windows that were covered with pictures of things that weren't outside.
Windows connected to show television or marketing proposals.
Windows that made the lustful and fleshy appear better undressed.
Windows you either could not open, or could never shut.
Windows with cracks and shatterment. Shattered and taken to a museum, to represent the post-modern ennui caused by disconnection and rigid fragmentation among people—but broken windows none-the-less. Shattered windows upon the stairs.

Genitalia Way! Oh, how the crowds come running—or run when they're coming—to get to you during the day! They pound on the house and see their demented faces in the mirror. Laughing and laughter! Ha! The shattered glass. The crowds love it. They come to it and for it and in it and on it and by it and near it. Oh they come. And the street fills up and the parade of people coming never stops.

Layla Ackhart is a writer concerned with portraying what she knows, her side of the human condition story. She is interested in the transcendental power of human nature, along with the lowliness and painful entrapment caused by the same humanness. She writes poetry and short prose while residing in New York.

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