I do not care for her feminine mystique. I am a woman too, I tell her and I cut off her breasts. She doesn’t watch me do it, but I know she feels it, feels the jagged, sloppy cuts. She feels the pulling and the breaking of skin, as I rip fatty tissue away from its base. I hold one severed breast up, but she won’t look, so I discard them both.
Later her lopped off breasts grow onto the palms of my hands. It is difficult to touch things with these mounds of flesh in my hands. It is a numb feeling, like wearing many layers of gloves and knowing underneath the layers, my hands are dirty and dry. Knowing that moisture is not soon coming. Knowing pores will continue their drying process, their shrinking process, until they are no longer capable of absorbing any sort of liquid. No longer capable of expelling sweat and waste. This is a nervous feeling, an inhibition.
Oh my god, everyone will say and they will reject me. We all reject you, they will say.
“Keen, shocking, and shockingly funny, This Boring Apocalypse glitters like a mirrorball of razors above a dance floor packed with severed legs. Each page is a grisly prism. Each page flashes with a kind of light. In tiny, honed chapters, this book creates a world where love bleeds into horror, where there is neither life nor death but a life-death hybrid, where everything exists in a state of regenerative decay. Brace yourself for these sentences. Brandi Wells knows how to take you apart.”
–Joanna Ruocco, author of DAN
“A novella told in miniature nocturnes, This Boring Apocalypse is violent and dazzling, brutal and mesmerizing; its melody is fatal. Wells pulls the body apart and buries it in pieces, but in her necropolis, limbs can rejoin, resurrect, return—fragments are hot-glued or sewn or soldered or just magically reattached to assuage a loneliness more formidable than death.”
–Lily Hoang, author of The Evolutionary Revolution
“Like if Donald Barthelme had been hired to transcribe Jeffrey Dahmer’s wet dreams for Lars Von Trier, Brandi Wells holds zero whims back in her blitzkrieg surrealist take on the Theater of Cruelty. The result is a hilariously germane Frankenstein-like idea-sprawl of gore and impulsive feeling, set in a mutative landscape where bodies are playthings, domesticity is punishment, and death, as if to match life, reigns on in brutal, fertile wonder. Strap yourself in and don’t look up.”
–Blake Butler, author of 300,000,000