Celebrant
“His victims are bilious guests, who have overdone it at table and then beached themselves helplessly on the sofas in the parlour.
They’re too stupefied and overstuffed to escape, and Adrian is serenading them; far too refined in the art of tormenting others to sing about nauseating things, he chooses instead to sing innocuities in a style carefully calculated to produce gastric distress.
From his seat at the spinet, Adrian can see the little bureaucrat in the seat nearest the lamp.
His eyes keep filming over and snotting at the corners.
I don’t have those feelings (Adrian thinks smugly) This is my face.
To his right, what seem like lights behind an egg head with protractor designs etched on it, but only from his eye corners.
These swiniferous swinifids whose entrails are filled with venomous blonde porridge loll woozily on groaning springs.
A pig boasts about his numbness; his idea of heaven is filling the whole landscape with his flabby shapeless entrails, churning with tepid pap.
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