Adam Fieled (Plymouth Meeting, Pennsylvania, USA): "Superimposition"
A new racket for us, the Aughts, everything else—
metaphysics out of the superimposition of faces.
Abby and I did it. To punish us, demonstrate for
us the monstrosity of our perversion, Mary painted
our two faces superimposed, against the sickliest,
dullest earth-tone background color grid (puke green,
even, putting in an appearance) imaginable. Our souls,
she might say, had grown corrupt. We hurt her. All
because, as she would later say, she trusted us, expected
we would maintain reasonable boundaries. To Abby,
sense was given to the idea that I was Mary’s turf or real estate.
I had to hear that I was out of control. Also, a nascent,
froth-mouthed corporate whore, moving towards corporate
enfranchisement, playing hack games, doing hack tasks.
A clown-mask face it was. My misshapen, bloated head
supported a clown’s unruly mane, matched often to a red
nose, white grease paint, here just Abby and I fused,
a double-dose of self-parodic sliminess. Mary had been
trapped, out in East Falls, into a compromised position.
The road forward materially was spiritually vacuous. She
needed help from her family, but the conditions they laid
down were unacceptable. As she gradually seduced them
back into compliance, the concrete-grey ugliness of East
Falls ate into her soul. It was Purgatory, capital P, for her.
The two slimeballs, supposed to be her soul-mates, decided
to fuck hell out of each other to celebrate her absence. This,
they’d been threatening to do from the beginning. Then,
domes, circles, brain damage, eclipse. Superimposition.
© Adam Fieled 2026
metaphysics out of the superimposition of faces.
Abby and I did it. To punish us, demonstrate for
us the monstrosity of our perversion, Mary painted
our two faces superimposed, against the sickliest,
dullest earth-tone background color grid (puke green,
even, putting in an appearance) imaginable. Our souls,
she might say, had grown corrupt. We hurt her. All
because, as she would later say, she trusted us, expected
we would maintain reasonable boundaries. To Abby,
sense was given to the idea that I was Mary’s turf or real estate.
I had to hear that I was out of control. Also, a nascent,
froth-mouthed corporate whore, moving towards corporate
enfranchisement, playing hack games, doing hack tasks.
A clown-mask face it was. My misshapen, bloated head
supported a clown’s unruly mane, matched often to a red
nose, white grease paint, here just Abby and I fused,
a double-dose of self-parodic sliminess. Mary had been
trapped, out in East Falls, into a compromised position.
The road forward materially was spiritually vacuous. She
needed help from her family, but the conditions they laid
down were unacceptable. As she gradually seduced them
back into compliance, the concrete-grey ugliness of East
Falls ate into her soul. It was Purgatory, capital P, for her.
The two slimeballs, supposed to be her soul-mates, decided
to fuck hell out of each other to celebrate her absence. This,
they’d been threatening to do from the beginning. Then,
domes, circles, brain damage, eclipse. Superimposition.
© Adam Fieled 2026
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