We had a long way to go and the mountain roads were dangerous. Portions of the
journey were violated, but the spirit remained. I liked it, but it clung, tightly.
A nightmare of shoestring wisdom. Family members and acquaintances with
homespun remedies for unnamed disturbances.
It’s the old story. An evil spell.
That’s why I went hunting every night.
Yes, I’m always ahead of myself, but I can’t win.
It’s the politeness that kills you.
Predictably, I devoured some small frightened creature nearly every excursion.
One time there was another world visiting with clouds of pale wispy shrimp in the
sky. It was one of my most pleasant diversions. I could have let on, but it’s easier
pretending you don’t know. The baby talk gets me, but you can get as pissy as you want
and they think it’s all part of the episode.
There’s a moment of calm when you think it’s all inevitable. It’s a moment of
pleasure until hope excites the forgotten anxieties again.
I’ve been studying its architecture. A fine old example of retro-abandoned
symbolism. The skin chimney especially creates an aura of undesirability and the large
square rooms with high ceilings and so many wavy little windows invite the invigorating
and annoyingly ambiguous cold air into far too many otherwise comfortable thoughts.
“Institutional” the newlyweds might whisper behind the real estate agent’s back.
But all this does belongs to us, despite appearances. There’s genius and incredible
control in the collusions of the hopeless. Especially the families. It’s a clever spell. The
most desperate ones shimmy and dart and try to run away. It’s no use. If escape were
possible, we wouldn’t desire it.
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.