Friday, July 22, 2005

Dear Aldred,

It smells like all of your blood in here.


Monday, July 11, 2005

And on that day was heard the holy silence of not god.

(Aldred pounds a rail spike into the floor of the warehouse.)

And everyone was amazed.

(Aldred ties one end of an enormous spool of heavy green twine around the protruding head of the spike.)

The silence was the most unquestionably sacred thing they had ever encountered.

(Aldred sticks the length of broom handle through the spool and grasps an end firmly in each hand.)

Even the sounds of the body, the high whine of CNS and the low swish of circulation, were silenced.

(Aldred takes a deep breath, then runs across the warehouse floor, out through the receiving doors.)

People stared up into the sky, jaws hanging loose, so full of bliss there was no room for anything else.

(For several minutes, the twine lies slack across the warehouse floor.)

The bliss swelled rapidly inside every being, expanding beyond their bodies, merging into one global bubble of joy and shared experience.

(Suddenly, the twine goes taut.)

Glowing, moving out into the atmosphere, turning the earth into a spiritual mirror of the sun.


Pop. And everyone got on with what they were doing.

(That was a near thing, thinks Aldred, respooling twine as he walks the mile back to the warehouse, occasionally sticking his still throbbing finger in the corner of his mouth.)

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

this is an audio post - click to play

Tuesday, May 03, 2005

Another Fragment

Aldred is standing stock still, facing straight forward, his eyes locked on the horizon, his arms loose at his sides. Slowly he turns his right arm at the elbow. His right palm begins to gradually face out, sliver by sliver, like stop motion film of a month's worth of moons.
When the palm is fully turned out, Aldred swivels his eyes down and away from the horizon, while his head remains pointed forward. He can see the black marks, but the words, he can't make out the words...

Mercury's voice, behind him and to the left: "Are you remembering that they'll be upside down from your perspective?" There is an icy shadow in her voice, yet she doesn't sound completely unkind: only impatient and unfairly so in Aldred's estimation. It's a very difficult ritual she's putting him through, and as with all the rituals thus far his mind is consumed with doubt and his attention is divided. What, after all, is the point of this, or any of it, come to that?

But she's right; he had forgotten that the words would be upside down. Considered that way, they don't become especially clearer, but he now feels more comfortable hazarding a guess.

"SUNNY...," there's definitely another word ending in Y down there and suddenly he can't think of any words that meet that criteria. Typical. A wild guess maybe?

"SUNNY GREENLY?" It's awful, and she says so. He agrees.

"SUNNY SUDDENLY?" A curt "no".

"SUNNY BRIGHTLY?" Just a sigh with this one, so he changes tack and tries to think of nouns.

"SUNNY CANDY," "SUNNY VALLEY," and "SUNNY COUNTRY" are all summarily dismissed, but while "SUNNY SOMEDAY?" gets another negative, there's the slightest bit of hesitation and hope in her voice. He thinks a bit.

"SUNNY SUNDAY?" Again no, but again the hesitation. He's onto something. He quickly cycles through the days of the week, stopping on "SUNNY THURSDAY" because her no on this one is drawn out. He's pretty sure he can hear Mercury hopping up and down too, though the thick grass of the hillside is deadening the sound. So Thursday must be right, but sunny is wrong.

"RUNNY THURSDAY?" She sounds disappointed again.

"RAINY THURSDAY?" No response at all, maybe she just gave a quick shake of her head forgetting that he can't see her.

"SNOWY THURSDAY?" Again no response, but a distinct thump. She must have sat down, convinced that they're not going any where for a while that they'll be spending the whole day-

The whole day. What day is it, after all? He remembers: today is Thursday. He also remembers Mercury's love of the obvious.


He hears her stand up, doesn't hear her walk towards him, feels her hands settle on his shoulders and give an efficient twitch that means "turn around." He does, and there she is, six inches below his nose, her own puggish piggy one pointed up at him, dirty hair swung back from the forehead, in her usual outfit of over laundered military surplus fatigues with the front unbuttoned and an olive drab undershirt untucked and not quite masking her comfortable waistline. Nor would she want it to.

"That is correct. Go and wash your hands."

As they walk back to the camp she says "You should get the next six of these pretty easily now."

Yes, he imagines he will.

Thursday, April 28, 2005

These are my ABCs

Tuesday, April 19, 2005

I just got an e-mail from someone claiming to be Saul Rosenbaum of Rosenbaum and Sons- "Official Haberdasher to the Vatican"- wanting to know what size mitre I take. What's going on?

Monday, April 18, 2005

Also, Primal Purge is back after a 6+ month hiatus.
We added blackout panels to our bedroom curtains this weekend. Good heavens, what a difference! Of course the really interesting part is that in slightly over 24 hours I went from living with quite a lot of light pouring in from the parking lot outside our window, to being strongly irked by the tiny bit of light still coming in around the edges.

("Irked" may be derived from the old Norse word yrkja which means, among other things, "to make verses." I now have a new goal: if I'm expressing annoyance, I must do it rhythmically.)

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