Editor’s Note: Ekphrasis is a literary form in which a work of art—such as a painting, sculpture, photograph, or even a film—is vividly described and interpreted through words. It goes beyond mere description to evoke the artwork’s visual details, emotional resonance, and symbolic meaning, often creating a dialogue between the image and the text.
What do you mean by banished? Aren’t you going to help me return to my father, the King? Who the hell are you to judge me? Are you kidding me? Look at you and look at me, honey. And I’m not just talking about the beauty of my fabulous clothes (rubs hand across her body), or my creamy, smooth, hairless flesh. You people think you’re more highly evolved than us because you live like your caveman ancestors? Ha! You’re not evolving into something pure, but devolving. Your DNA genes aren’t moving you forward, but backwards. That’s why you’re all starting to look like monkeys! You miscreants nurse your babies with your monkey milk? We normal females stopped producing milk hundreds of years ago. (Shrugs) Something about leaking toxic waste. But these bouncy babies (she fondles her breasts) were made for play, not spray, sugar. You’re making it awfully hard for me to maintain any sense of Jungle Fever. For people who refuse to raise cattle, you sure shovel an awful lot of bullshit.
You’re all a sick cult trying to destroy human prosperity! You like to screech about the good old days? I like hot water showers, toilet paper, electronic cooking, artificial lighting. And you want to take that away from me because you’re too lazy to plant crops and raise some chickens that have stronger backbones than you do? Weeding out is an agricultural method, sugar, yet you’re weeding out people like me. To banish is barbaric—driving me away, unprotected, into that jungle. We royal families of title and wealth protect common people like you, not destroy them. You’re all soulless, furry animals!
You harebrained Dawn of Agriculture miscreants! Any fool knows the Holy Trinity of Desire is: Appetite! Property! Extravagance! While each generation of we normal people’s brains grows bigger, it sounds like your generations grow smaller balls and more hair. You monkeys need to get with the programme of genetically modified artificial selection.
Yeah, we fucked everything up, sweetie. D.O.A. allowed people the time to be able to specialise in, you know, the little things, like written language, medicine, technology, science, and something I’m sure you monkeys have heard nothing about—a thing called art!
Forget banishing me. How about you two furry studs ravish me, and then take me back to Daddy? Deal?
DoubleSpeak 