I saw a hollow woman the other day. Her insides had been scooped out, clean as a pumpkin, leaving behind a rind plastered with preservative serums and haunted by the prescience of wrinkles. With the sun behind her she transluced in a mottled patchwork that touched hands, arms, legs, but left face and neck unaffected.
Standing inert in the midst of a swirling crowd of tourists, she struck a pose and declaimed. “Halfway between the sun and the moon is the meeting spot for armistice deals. Mochas taste better with a touch of sea salt to make the contrast sweeter. Pennies are worthless, but the dollar can still buy you a good cheeseburger. The heat death of the universe emanates from televangelists.”
Her lips, her lips were the reddest lips I had ever seen, bright raw tuna sliced thick and full by a generous knife. Her smile jumped and wriggled, the fish still swimming in a pond.
The trees put flesh on their bones and I sate the hunger of a wolf winter melted away.
A good portion of my recent sleeping has been done on cars, planes, taxis–not the most conducive vehicles for restful sleep. In this half-awake state, my mind detaches and phrases float through my head in rhythms and cadences that sound both strange and perfectly natural at the same time.
I shoot up thin
fat molecules round corners and encounter unexpected things
make the veins go glee
my soul floes disemboweled beneath mountains
glut the carrion crows
liver spots drag down my bones
Strange the word associations your unconscious mind makes.
I think about my parents’ house and marvel at the sheer empty size of it. After my sister and I moved out, it was just the two of them, and without the extraneous bodies around they condensed down to a spare set of basics: living room, bedroom, kitchen.
My parents bought it to be a modern improvement over the oh-so-eighties narrowness of their previous home. This one was open. Rooms melted into one another without distinction. It was the first brand new house they’d ever owned. My mother filled it with potted plants and rosewood dining tables, marble counter tops and framed family photographs. The more she bought, the hollower it felt.
In my parents’ house there were four rooms that required four separate sets of couches, one for each member of the family, though it was never phrased quite that way. Echoing spaces meant to give off a warm, inviting atmosphere always managed to feel chilly. As our parents worked late into the evenings and made the hour-long commutes in and out of downtown, my sister and I made blanket nests in our respective rooms and propped our latest book up on a pillow.
I wonder at the fact that I never noticed it growing up, that it never fazed me, how so few people could need so much space that they spent so little time in.
Concern of the day: words.
I’m of the opinion that there isn’t a large enough variety of words on the Internet. I can’t remember the last time I saw a word online that required me to pull out a dictionary, which I consider a deplorable state of affair.
But that’s okay, because I just found the most awesome website in existence: the phrontistery.
To put it simply, it’s every single word you didn’t know existed all crammed together into one location. I just spent the last half hour plucking random morsels from the site and finding ways to work them into my Facebook chats. It’s like Candyland for vocabulary. Squeeee!
Seriously, I am so friggin’ happy right now.
Word I’m definitely finding a way to use in a story: enoptromancy (n.) — divination using mirrors
…maybe I write because all I really want is the distinction of being a Published Author, artsy and erudite lifestyle included. Maybe I just want to be adored and have fans and be told I’m good at something, and this just happens to be the easiest way of doing so. Maybe I just want to be famous.