GREAT AND TERRIBLE: THE SLEEPING KOALA

She is a novice and simply cannot be left unattended. There will be all manner of problems arising from her ineptitude, he said, he thought, she wondered. However gracious he is feeling now, the hand will bite another on top of that particular sundae. Not the cherry, like forever the squaring Mary - the hand, if you will, pirating even, what may be seen with an eye to blame. It's all somewhat discontinuous, but is that perception? One may believe that she had, albeit long ago, empirical evidence to support such claims. Gradually, everyone died, as they are wont to do over any relatively protracted extension of time/space. The vessel had, after all, disappeared almost a decade ago (could it have been a hundred-thousand years already?). "Villians be damned", she howled, this time for real. "I am a leader if I don't want to be restricted and a warrior whose ice is colder than her sabre, or whatever." She thought again, that is not so good. She couldn't believe it; once again - a dismal and incendiary failure. Her ambition to become the White Bride of the Magick Box was foiled at every turn. Her monster eyeballs stared into the darkness, through and beyond the colonnades, and out into the perfect Ain Soph of Huh? "Nobody cared", she remembered, out loud. She said he thought she couldn't live anymore, especially if she were not allowed to live, he thought, she thought. What? How could she let him go on like that? He ate and slept and dreamed in ghosts, timing for a change in her eyes but had come - no more him. Furious, she screamed, ransacking the furrows of her Green and Fertile Plains. "Help me win!" Her lungs died in popping screeches. Puffs of air escaping her ears behind the force and pressure of eyes. But it is highly unlikely, particularly if she wanted to conserve energy, that they neither knew nor named numerous nubiles.

NIGHTSTANDS OF AUTISM AND PELVIC ANIMUS

"Twenty minutes should be plenty", he thought. If he had it all to bring it all up again, he would figure out how to become a different type of animal. Not figuratively - to become another being, another animal, other than a primate. He had thought about it a long time until he was sure that he was making the right decision. "It’s something I need to do," he told a friend. He used to watch National Geographic nature shows on the television when he was a child. He thought to himself, “Boy, oh boy – would I ever love to be a giraffe.” It wasn’t merely an intellectual fantasy; the thoughts were accompanied by a very physical pining - sort of an ache that would begin in his pelvis and rush upward and downward with heat and nausea. "In twenty minutes, I think I could somehow make the change". Either that or he would become some sort of nightstand or a cellphone and that would be better.

IN THIS, SOME BINOCULARS UNFOLD

His foot was in the way, every time. Wondering what would be the latest today, he stood around by a departments store. It was really hot but, sometimes, the doors would slide open oppositely with a swooshy sound and he would get a waft of cold department store air. In that cold air was infused the essence of packaged panty hose, hats of all kinds, carpets, lampshades in plastic bags, boxes of food designed to last for thousands of years, ceramics from exotic locales such as  Ethiopia and Morocco and other places where one would likely make the sort of connections needed to procure said ceramics at way-less-than-wholesale from way-less-than-scrupulous exloiter/exporter-types, and myriad thing-stuffs.

THE INSURMOUNTABLE LAZINESS OF OLD MOVIES

She had blurred-out hands on a crispy, sentient thing-beast. I couldn’t stand to confront her. The eyes were round like ours but teeth, gnarled, wooden. I had an itch. This sort of thing made her mad and she stood holding the thing. “I can’t control my hands for too long,” she threatened. “I just hope I don’t get too tired – I might do something really lazy and irresponsible.” She made a gesture with her foot, like drawing a circle in the dirt. There was, all of a sudden, little circles of blood welling up in my eyes. Soon, it poured out like black milk from a chilled, ceramic coffee cup filled with black milk. “Why was this thing in the refrigerator,” I asked. She said I hadn’t had a refrigerator, that was only my head and eyes. I knew enough not to trust her; she just wanted to stand there and act like a old movie. This is great, I thought. But not really. We spent an afternoon there, in the sand, sinking. My eyes, bloody with black milk and this woman with fried hands.

WHITE LIGHT/BLACK GLASS

The lake was like black glass that night. And under the glass there were dolphins. They broke the surface, however, but no shattering occurred. Not like with real glass, the clear kind one looks through or drinks from. Now the Moon bathed the dolphins in White Light and they froze for a moment, too long, like someone had a magic stopwatch that stopped time. Then, they turned back down into the murky, black glass of the lake; making a backward sucking sound as the water absorbed them into its eternal and feminine embrace. We heard Chopin then - a nocturne - arpeggios in some minor key or other, defying time signatures and sinking into the crushing melancholy and the death of a friend.

ARKS, LAID DOWN IN THE BLEACHED LIGHT

Living for a year, he had been, in a boat. Where water when no water had come? Her splendid night on a driver’s seat came, but trying to dance on the longer dances to save for later. The snow and the lizards became friends to distort and run from their boats in the harbor. They would be home in time. He used to tell her to mark all her boxes with egg-sheets and grease, opened to see in the hall by the door. Her trenches were dug for the night and he knew it couldn’t be worth the casualties lost. Saved again, for later.

EVERYTIME, NATURALLY SELF-CONTRADICTORY

He was the associate of the following paradox: being cannot change or be more than once, twice. She has conquered more pleats and they are only paradoxical before time, in this sense. It's a great way to credit more halfways or burning buildings with children and/or your mother. How did you exist to go back in time in the first place? Magickal liars say nerves of Golden Heedless stirrups have shown the barber he cannot be impossible - whether he be tennis courts, the nature of a sentence, or the approach of a common sense job. Of course, scales are hoping for surpassing rains. Merely a sprinkle, stopping the leaves from changing; turning. Consequently, the concept of motion shows self-contradiction. They've experienced a natural uncertainty in foot arguments. If you put them together, he said, one cannot expire with a pulse happening in the meantime if, D, the number of turning stops or, N, everytime he tries to catch up the tortoise has moved to P.