danielsiracusa
'There's a humility in this reclined pose' my mother said, the man making neither greeting or grimace at my entry. 'You'll learn the value of a good humbling when you're older.'
I lay back lightly smiling.
From his examination of the map he could tell it wouldn't be quick. To get there would take much more time than they had. And it would take much more work. To get there, as he could tell by looking at the map, would, w/r/t the dissemination of information (and with apt corresponding abstraction (that is, of equal quantity and quality)) require not the whispers they'd so far had, but bellows, bellows.
That he had said crisp made her recoil. Not because he was British though, don't get it wrong.
Her mother was killed in a back-alley. He told her, blushing, he sometimes walked down back-alleys at night so no one would see his face which (his face presently), not that she would jump to make some sort of connection about the alleys, startled her. That he had said crisp, though, had really made her recoil.
He had evolved since I had seen him last. Once, I had felt the need to impress him because, you see, I'm an opportunist. Here had been a guy who could have helped me. Even maybe taught me something. But now, well, with the polite handshake, the company benefits, the flight discounts, the fitness, and the free tickets for the game, the 'keeping in touch' propositions, he had just developed into quite something useless.
Breathing heavy, he held her close and told her about the sun. He pointed up and, though at first reluctant, she squinted and saw his hot illusion (though not through it). He unzipped himself and, blinded, she had no choice.
Songbirds, like warblers and finches I think, were once attracted to lillies like bees I'm told are attracted to the other flowers from which we get sweet honey. But something is happening. I think I read somewhere that there are more songbirds killed every year by sociopathic pet cats and more flowers disappeared from the imaginative potential regions of running, shooting, hitting young boys by way of capitalistic comforty consumer culture and homophobic parenting respectively than there are people both reading and forgetting how to read combined!
What a mess. "Don't talk politics!"
You are dumb and, alas, free to remain so.
That she had meddled with the furniture had meant she would sink. That she had thought she could was something she oughtn't think. And now, alone, she was in it.
It was a ruse. You see, she was all a-glimmer: jewels and heels and purses and straightened hair and a little dress that sparkled like her smile used to. Where'd she gone?
Although, I guess he was too: Gone and glimmering. It was the way he wore the blazer and rich jeans and then, when something meaningless happened, he shouted.
The wind rolled past the plant. In my head only though. I saw the face of a Western deity. I wondered, as I wandered the depths, mining: am I home, alone, like a mind undone or on a road paved more in ashes than in stone or gold or the dry textures of a passing wind?
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