In the Night Kitchen (restless stirrings)

Someday I'll write a twilight book and it will be morbid as Gorey, as predictably Gothic as Lewis and incandescent as Sendak.

And I can only hope and fear that one day, indeed, I will be ridiculous enough. Then I'll pontificate on how web structure revolves enraptured with itself into something like a Donne-ish conceit -- mirrors of meaning within a constant sphere. All created especially for me. Delicious. I shall eat my rich pastes of peanut butter and landscapes of archaic meaning and then smear them sticky-fingered over page after page, branding each with my image and trailing blue linkage into the hinterlands.

Aperture

The air is soft at midnight (that's an as-yet-to-be-written Mary Higgins Clark, eh?), even the unromantic and ragged arborvitae look grainy and delectable and there I am smacking my forehead and grinning. The girl was wearing a BLUE dress. And it was FLOUNCY and full-skirted. This being 1956 or some other such frivolous year, it didn't seem important at the time. But there was also cabinet of curios, which finally led to the obvious conclusion, slow in coming, but inescapable once apprehended, that vision is just a series of small openings: irises, key holes, eyelids, rabbit holes, peep holes (the pehpole we see though (them), snicker). These are the means we use to walk though walls, doors, tesseracts and the like. For this fable and also Little Red Riding Hood, thanks, delightfully creepy man.

Big Reveal

The Magician's Alliance...

It does exists!

Fever Dream

Antrozous Pallidus has a strange musty odor that I never smell in dreams. For a while I was walking, eating delicious meatballs (though how one can eat delicious meatballs and not smell delicious meatballs is a mystery that needs fathoming) and bushing away curtains. And IT came in a rush of art deco trains, the things that are the same, the things that are inevitable and the the things that are immaterial MUST enjoy cohabitation (else why should they nestle so close and comfortable?). There is warm filling in my strongbread life but it accompanies golden apples and other dangerous things, like words I didn't know I had forgotten (tintinabular!). I take the books too seriously and fall ill from excesses of meaning. The D. Lit. looks grave(n)ly: a worsening case of exphrasis.

He Threw a Rock and Told me to Go Fuck Myself: On Conversational Etiquette in Foregin Climes

Language may be an insurmountable barrier during your travels. You could be a mumbler. Everyone abhors a mumbler.

Bow politely before speaking. Unconditional surrender to violence will disarm even the most hostile speaker.

Remember: magniloquence is to be avoided when meeting chicken dealers.

Packets of tea and other soft objects will benefit from squishing. In cases of extreme compression they may be used to make calming infusions. In this way, you can stupefy those that thwart your dealings.

Stock profanity is unoriginal. Try to cultivate the creatively obscene. It will make you friends wherever you may fare.

Alarmists, agoraphobes, those who fear lisps, catamites, the parsimonious, the newfangled and frumpy should stay at home.

8 Year-old boys carrying stones should not be approached at all.