Dundant and chalant aren’t words. The addition of Re and Non is necessary for their respective legitimatization; this exercise in language calls for the abandonment of traditional grammar.

Exodus from narrative structure.

That leaves the beginning of this as the end, end as the beginning slap and dash to dash and slap and so on until the end of the reader’s attention span. Space after structure is swirled sky blue and universe black, larger than the Earth and easier to get lost in. Getting dundant and chalant their prefixes can be as small of a task as typing, or as dramatic in length as this body of text, all paragraphs combined; sense is not to be made.

That’s okay though, there are better things to create: lunacy, headaches, dollars. The last was a joke, a natural result of language, the smell and sound of wordplay’s feet after a speaker really gets to sweating. Imagine if communication were nothing but those innuendo and inferences, double layers, screens and tubes: television.

Whoever wrote this is insane – quote from your brain, right now.

It’s okay to think that; at the time of the writing, but only then, I know it’s true too. I need to be stripped to insanity, a sock on one foot, my nose sniffing the other and hand in underwear before stringing together words worth it;  my process is as logical as this protagonistless text.

I’ll use the moment to validate your parking in this garage; trying was all that’s necessary, you can stop right now, it’d be good with me.

But chalant and dundant still aren’t complete, with you remain; the space-after-structure            turns  to        entropic         chop,

gaps    visible,


Italics aren’t slanted enough to capture the structure of the waves but they don’t need to be, they’re feelings, ethereal, impossible to translate, substantiate.

Contradiction’s denotation is a combination of statements, ideas, or features of a situation that are opposed to one another but the connotation, fuel for this, is more appropriate. The entire thing has fallen through, above the tumbling awareness that is both of us are the rotted remains of an understanding platform; no more hope for that. So let’s embrace the happening, do flips and splatter into glorious Rorschach blots.

Chalant and dundant deserve to be on their own, each conjures its own idea, has a definition even if word processors insist they belong above red squiggles. Synonyms of suspect and singular, without a doubt they’d headline the newest dictionary inductees, the MOST notable. That’s what’ll trigger Armageddon.

They can’t be accepted into the lexicon, belong where we are, in the space-after-structure; their qualifying prefixes are as much a part of them as not.

Nonsense nonsense nonsense nonsense. Take the fingers from your ears, stop being so easy to predict.

Are you open?

Do you remember what was abandoned in the middle of the loop, beginning and end? Dundant and chalant, ‘thy mother and father deserve respect’, the chant takes spittle from my lips, shorts out what I’m typing on.

From this point on read in pencil.

Be ready to erase, trace if confident; you’ve been falling for a while, right into the hang of things. Smooth sailing, soaring, ssssssssss goes sanity sliding so fast away; CRASH.

If this is a story let there be rising action! I the typist, denier of prefixes, smasher of the fourth-wall say ‘no’; let me have another adjective, does windy work? Have I taken you from here to there while remaining where we started; I’ve yet to type anything grammatically correct, I know, and chalant and dundant remain without completion. The resolution that you’ve no doubt been hoping for is not anywhere near, or guaranteed; does that make you A uncomfortable B unhappy or C ready to kill whoever may be responsible?

Sense, progress, has yet to be made, this exercise in language is you experiencing the twists of my mind without the turns, unfiltered in principal yet still made in adherence to a format; I’ve run my stream of consciousness through a strainer, almost no holes remain unblocked. I doubt you’re concerned, what with them looking over your shoulder.

Did they get away okay what if they hadn’t? If you’d seen? Would you’ve coughed up your food in surprise? Had their scrraape rolled through your eardrum like mine what would you’ve pulled off? Raise your fist to fight, swing if you want, matter goes through sounds. Closing off nostrils won’t prevent the scent of chalant and dundant sneaking in, that word smell, library filler, warm mildew dust and unidentified wood, permeates skin.

Chalant and dundant aren’t words; this thing aren’t done. They haven’t gotten their prefixes yet though, and since we’ve been at the ending this whole time…

Why’re you still around?

What is it that you’re expecting? A paragraph, I suppose, followed by another page, and then an ending; can it ever come if I refuse to write it? Does avoiding something in a created world truly keep it from existing? Or does the acknowledgement within avoidance signify an already strong presence?

Thinking this way, chalant and dundant are simultaneously real and not; Schrodinger’s words, cat and cardboard box; as we’ve done, embracing the confusion has tangled the quantum strings of our minds, thoughts to knots on a toddler’s sneakers. One under another, loopdy loop and pull, suddenly —–

Dundant and chalant aren’t words. The addition of Re and Non is necessary for their respective legitimatization; this exercise in language calls for the abandonment of traditional grammar.

Exodus from narrative structure.


-Read Another Story-

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