A Map of Her Life with a Small Woolen Garment at the Center


It might be a better story if you wrote all the words down in a different order, but
don’t do that, okay?
You have met and solved several people already today and a reasonable man is just
another irritating human being like yourself. You have no reason not to believe this is
true, Miss Muffy Muff, Miss Again and Again, Miss Don’t Want To.
So today we shall praise you and call you the mother of pillows and tomorrow the
obituary of your fork may be sufficient to feed your contributions. And if in this your
world be thus restrained, let us find ourselves escaping once more with your cleverly
mobile flesh toys and occasional errors in lubricational salutation.
For this is the point at which the more reliable text ends.
But suppose your imaginary roommate unwittingly dusts and vacuums the ancient
neglected apologies and you feel a spate of incongruous modern guilt.

Oh dear, oh dear, what shall we do?
Let’s ask all the lovers who sleep in it too.

Had I been encased in reasoning, I might have tested its existence for consistency.
Still other reasonable fools might wish to illustrate their recurring confusions. Picture 3,
for example, shows a man weaving his hairy home in France. In Picture 2 another man is
carding wool on the roof of an itinerant English cottage. In Picture 1 a third man is
spinning, carefree, as if such activities could not be punished, in front of an ancient
Scottish castle.
You can pound him with your fist, but a stone would be more reasonable.

Oh my, oh my, don’t let this go by.
Let’s ask all the children who live in the sty.

And you still have no reason to believe another life is false, Miss One More Time,
Miss Do Me Again, Miss Can’t Get Enough of Anything Me. You see, a reasonable man
might desire some kind of verifiable evidence, but that does not mean he would be right
to alter the course of events.
This is the point at which a more reliable text begins.
And so today we praise such men and perhaps we feed upon them. For we have
discovered these same men in bed with our fears and this leads us to confession. We
wanted them to keep track of the participants, to illustrate our difficulty and to continue
our attempt to fit the lambs into the predictable field of reliable stones, which we have
created with our useless resistance.
It’s the deceptive comfort we’re certain of. It’s the itch.

Fiction. Modern Abstract Fables.

(First edition, hardcover with dustjacket, 524 pages, $36.50 USD.)

Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days draws from fairy tales, a condescending of a 1938 Social Studies reader for 6th grade, an 1890 handbook on marital compatibility, numerous annoying educational advancement studies, the myths and legends of third-world countries and minority peoples, pulp fiction, a history of carnival side shows, folktales, frequent conversations with Crows, Owls and a wide variety of underground inhabitants, insects and the people who collect them, Joseph Cornell, Günter Eich, Russell Edson, the French Surrealist poets, the Quay Brothers, letterpress printing, and the author’s inability to channel his imagination linearly.

Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.