I shift, and the blanket sends feathers flying out into the real world, a place I’ve forgotten, for we are in a bubble, on an island, in the sea, on a spaceship, flying thousands of miles in the opposite direction of all things mobile in the universe. I’m surprised by the lack of calamity, in that you are Topsy and I am Turvy, and together we are an absence of black and white.
A feather flutters away, desperate to grow up, but too excited to be disillusioned of its adolescence just yet. Nevertheless, I give it its space, the choice to go off into the cruel world if it should so choose. It does not know the love that you and I caress it with. Its cradle lies in the gap between our belly buttons, for our legs are intertwined and our foreheads touch, but we are a circle, and our stomachs ache light years away from each other. Continue reading
My sister and I decided to plant a time capsule for the aliens. We were too old to indulge in our fantasies then, but careening smack dab through a conspiracy phase that began with what was—only just probably—a lightning bug way up in the sky. It chafed against everything Father Don had been teaching us about the universe since we were old enough to pick our noses. On second thought, maybe that was what we liked best. Continue reading
I had taken shrooms and something or other, and found myself in the little cubby underneath the kitchen counter, next to the dog. It was a square opening, perfect for the size of a relatively large dog mattress that was perfect for a relatively large dog. I had squeezed myself in there next to him, in the dandruffy darkness, and sat listening to our panting.
The dog—Gus, his name was—had recently taken up growling and snapping at strangers. So everybody who saw me crawl into the space held their breaths like I had crawled into my death wish.
“You’re a good boy, you know that?” I buried my fingers in his soft fur, and shivers ran through me from the shock of the smooth texture. He turned his head towards me.
“But that’s stupid to say, you probably hear that all the time.” I was speaking to the dog in Russian, just how I grew up speaking to my animals I suppose.
I looked into his eyes and he raised his brows. (That’s ballsy, looking into a dog’s eyes, ya know? Dogs, they see that as a challenge. If Gus was really going to use me as a chew toy, he would have decided to do it then.)
“I want you to know that you’re growling at all the right people,” I whispered. Continue reading