Probably Not Dangerous


It’s out of the question. Who would have said “turbid gully” at a dinner party?
And adolescent novels are not a threat. In my opinion, they’re a hoax. Perpetrated.
But I talk to him anyway. I communicate. By doing this, you become not
somebody else. I got so happy I couldn’t speak of it.
Such people are probably not dangerous. That’s disappointing. They remind me of,
well, me. A party of collusive mes. And by the end of the night I remind myself of
everyone I’ve ever known. I look at myself and it’s not me that looks back. It’s kind of
like talking. We agree to compromise each other.
I try writing another story but it’s an illusion. I take away the illusion. I don’t take
away the words. I ask the words to stay, so now they mean something else. They moved
in. They want to mate, but that’s not the same illusion.
I try to take away those words too, but the illusion clings.
So I begin taking away the words about the words and it’s as if I were talking to
you. Its as if I were communicating. The words can see this, can’t they? I wish they’d
take the illusion away with them. Consider how much could be false. Do you know what
it’s like to be this misunderstood? Wonderful things can happen.
It’s like this. Because I did it, you’re guilty. That’s how literature works. I have to
grow up now. I’m hungry like a god.
Do you know what it’s like to become literature? In my opinion, it’s a hoax. Who
would have said, “I ask the words to stay,” in real life? Who would have said “hungry
like a god?” Who would have believed sufficiently in the pretense to disseminate
explanations? Who would have written so naively about the development of one’s own
Not this passing phenomenon. Not this temporary acceptance of traditional
intellectual manipulations. Not this empty skin of verbal excess. Not this cumbersome
churning, clogging the conventions of its own verbal gravity.
But perhaps I’ve been denied. Is it too late to toast the ghost?
If the conversation has ended, perhaps we could speak in private, as we have been
doing in public, but with each other this time.

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.