'Itchy Cherub' by Alexander Iezzi at bologna.cc, Amsterdam

 

It was my first sniff of Purpureocillium atypicola. It covered the body like fluffy, freshly fallen snow. As I inhaled through my nose, I felt its fingers tickling my hairs. So this is what they all keep talking about. 

Look at my friends. Isn’t they sweet? Wouldn’t you say my collection’s complete? Wouldn’t you think this mold affects everything? 

I’m sick now. Lonely, and tired. I heard the black stuff can make you depressed but I didn’t realize the white ones could as well. I spend all the weekends smelling. Rosehips, sweat, sometimes a hint of lemon verbena. 

White powder and turpentine. I started using my vacuum (<3) to scrap the powder off the walls. One hand with a thousand fingers. I put some in a jar to see if it would grow. It’s cold here and I kill everything I touch. I hear a phone-call to Poland in the other room. 

I went back to the basement today to see the spiders. The ones whose bodies were consumed by toxins. Their f0r3v3r-r4v3 in my wet quarter, dancing on strings. I smell spider fingers on a cotton candy body. 

It’s quiet now and I need to clean up. The kids are coming over for tea. Eggs are covering everything. A truck full of sugar crashed on the curb. I downloaded every song with bacteria in the title, and they all stink like old men. Sweet, sweet itchy cherub back in my nose, dancing to its broken music.