Implement for the Aerial Distribution of Aquatic Spiders

08/22/14

This is the way it happened. This odor is soft and caresses your arms and legs, but
when it reaches your eyes, you suffer. It doesn’t take much. Have you heard my heart that
goes whirr? Have you seen my pride?

At the produce market, a circus performer was milking fruit. She was brown and
rough, and pinky tan inside. Don’t ask me how I know. When the fat little giant became
distracted by chocolate, she was arrested. Thanks to prison, she finally broke away from
her mother.

Then I had the nicest little nap. Asked to describe it, I would remember what it felt
like when it left. You want to go away, but you don’t really know where that is. You’ve
never been there and it might not be better.
You write some things down. You’ve never been there either. You wonder who the
narrator could be because you don’t like to talk about yourself that much and it can’t be
you. You don’t think you’re important enough to be I, but interesting things are
happening to I, you think, so you decide to suspend your disbelief that you can’t be I.
You think you’re lying, but I seems to believe something’s really happening to you.
I imagines story-like utterances, but I stifles them with my uncertainties.

Since I do not trust my experience, I decide to test it. I do not know if I have
acquired as much liquid as I have expunged so I drink a large glass of water and try to
enjoy it. It works. I enjoy it.

So I fill all the available containers with water and place them outdoors. I wait for
them to develop. I don’t drink them. I appreciate their attractions. I enjoy it.
Then I hunkered up my big bulky body against me and demanded attention. I made
some more friends sleeping near the flooded cemetery. Toodles was confused. All his
cuddles given away and not even a biscuit.

My husband wants me to diet, but I’m happier now. He loves me and doesn’t expect
much and that’s what I give him. He invented a game in which vitamins were slipped
from lip to lip until captured by wordless tongues that took them in and kept track of all
the diseases they may have discouraged.

Yes, you want the pain to stop, but the absence of pain doesn’t always mean
comfort. I was on the way to should have been here yesterday and tomorrow was already
in the footprints. It was his freckles that did it. I didn’t believe they could hide anything I
couldn’t live with.

I lift myself up out from under my weight and reattach the ladder receiver. It whirs
quietly and politely ignores my odor. I climb quickly back into the unpoluted air beyond my recent experience. I take my recent experience with me, but I try not to look back
fondly. The little party favors I made down there are wildly popular when sprayed with
lavender. The ones I brought along are hatching. No one notices the texture of the
components.

Even I was of the opinion that the ceiling tiles were meant to be ignored, not
repeated. I was past them. I had grown superior to my former limitations.
I climbed and I climbed. I climbed out of the place that held me and into a position
of availability. I was generous. I climbed further.
Way to the top.
Way, way to the top.
I wasn’t even there when I got there it was so high.



Rich Ives is the author of Tunneling to the Moon: A Psychological Gardener’s Book of Days currently being published in serial @ Silenced Press everyday in 2014 and forthcoming in paperback. Begin from the beginning, catch up, read daily. Just refer to the Burrow Guide.