As a final kindness we can go and see her. In Minneapolis I think. We got in the car and started moving. Somehow we were off the island. The smell had gone. We were somewhere else, like it was made of electricity; a newsreader appeared on a flat projected screen in the sky, squawking on, glitching, mouth gaping, horrible sounds. Changing form. Trees exploding in the ground. The air was heavy and the sky was a sack of orange clouds and fire. We still couldn't see her. Some golden headed Mormons screaming 'she's here! Go back!' Border patrols about, handing us huge buckets of fast food on the way in. Her last kindness.
"Have I neglected to teach my children to pray?
Have I neglected the religious education of my children?
Gave I failed to bring my children to Sunday Mass?
Have I argued with my spouse in front of my children?
Have I failed to exercise vigilance over what my children read, see on television or on the internet?
Have I been harsh or overbearing to my children?
Have I neglected my children's welfare in any way?"
Verity Spott. Poet. 'He'd make a big show of sticking the two torn halves in his wallet. When we buried him, Frank and I tossed the last two halves he gave us into his grave. Here ' 'Between the two torn halves of my soul are cities and climates' 'Place those two torn halves of the map together again and you are re-enacting the history of the Silurian to Devonian periods' 'The two torn halves promise but never deliver full restitution'
Monday, 23 September 2013
Eschatology
This morning I fell through the back of a dream. We were on an island somewhere off the coast of England. You could smell the thing. There was a lighthouse there and we were participating in group activities. Some sort of cult. I was getting ready to paint some model soldiers for an hour when the siren gulped. Light aircraft in the sky. People running: "____ is coming!!!"
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