Monday, January 21, 2008


Being from the swamplands, I don't dream of basements. It's attics or nothing, I'm afraid. Jung said dreams of attics were for exploring the mind, the past and memory. Dreams of basements were for exploring the subconscious, all the dark and ugly things buried there. I have always jumbled the two together. How sinister are those dusty toys. How curious is my house.

These days I live in an apartment. Only more bodies above and below. My nightmares by necessity invade spaces that don't belong to me. Moving vans come and go. I think we may have the building to ourselves soon.


Tuesday, January 15, 2008

All this glass

She's got all this glass laying around. There's still a damp spot on the couch from Alan's sweat. She's the only one left in the apartment and her mark is as dark as ever. Plus she's got all this glass laying around. What would you do?

I reckon you'd go home to your daddy.

So there's all this glass laying around, and some sand, and she's spilling saltwater everywhere as she repeats a mantra into meaninglessness.

I'm not one of them not me I'm not one...

But Alan is gone and she's pretty sure he's one of them, which weakens her own case considerably. And she's got a mark on her hand, and all this glass laying around.

Things go on in this vein long past sunset, when the street lamps turn on outside her window and make all that glass glitter and sing. And she keeps bringing her heavy eyes back to her wrists and studying the spiderwebs there and contemplating all the rushing fluid in that river.

So she picks up a piece of glass. There is so much of it just laying around and singing.

Nica is not religious. She's not sure if Judas killed himself, or if perhaps he invested his silver in Google stock and lived a long and prosperous life. This is what runs through her head, though, as she takes the glass to the spiderwebs and pours the river out onto the carpet.

Not me not me I guess we'll see...

So there is all this glass laying around, and sand, and saltwater, and all these beautiful rubies, and a woman lying on top of it all whispering something about bad timing.

What did Daddy say? That you can only run out of breath. Right.

And she does.


Monday, January 14, 2008

Going for a walk

"You're free, Kemp. I'm taking the glass from your hand."

He's not sure if he should feel relief. How unfair is that? How cruel is it to get a stay of execution, while Alan is led out of the apartment by the strange and crippled Albert?

But he does feel relief, a flood of it, drowning everything else. He can't even bring himself to curse and spit at Nica. Instead, he waits until the men's backs are far down the street, then walks out wordlessly.

Then there is only Nica, with a hand full of glass and a bowl full of sand.