Advice for a Young Woman Who Suddenly Finds Herself as a Mermaid without a Man, Or, Between Us Girls

They say the whole world is carried

on one turtle's back. This weight might be kinder

And lighter than Teresea's guilt

which fills me-- in this case, I'm the vase

her eyelight looks out my eyeholes until

I can't see the horizan or even

the fire breathing atmosphere.

What I am trying to tell you is that its dark

out there. Don't mistake the yellow shoreline for

any species of salvation, it's a place where whales go to die.

the fountain head for this blog

Philip K Dick's Time out of Joint has fourteen chapters. Our assignment, long ago, was to write a fifteenth.

Aboard the ship, Ragle ran his hand down the polished, perfect surfaces. Everything along the entry way was lit with a clean light. He at once was struck with a sense of awe followed by quiet recognition. Of course, this had been his life, Ragle thought to himself, it seems so obvious now.

"Would you like to take a look in the Captain's den?" Walter reappeared behind him after securing and locking the boarding door. The young man had a dazzling smile.

As they set off within the capsule, Walter hailed and introduced various uniformed men and women.

"Captain Hilgaurd! Come say hello to Ragle Gumm!"

" Its a honor to see you sir. Its amazing to have you back." Captain Hilgaurd had a sharp face about him with tidy blue eyes. Ragle liked him immediately and wondered briefly, after the shy smile that Hilgaurd flashed him, if he hadn't in fact liked him before.

"Where are the windows in this joint?" Ragle's question caught even himself off guard. He realized then that the lack of this feature struck him as odd.

"Fuelling inefficiency." Walter said. "For deep space probing like this, windows are a weakness to the conditions out there. A risk we don't like to take just for the view, you see. And besides that, we're going where there is practically nil out there to look at anyway!"

"Oh yes, I remember now," Ragle murmured to himself, the comfortable feeling of recognition once again rising inside him.

"Of coarse, we have one small exception," Walter continued, "If you really want a peep out there, and I mean 'peep'!" Walter led Ragle to a panel in the wall. The surface was smooth all over except for a small puncture in the center, the shape of a key hole. The key hole had been outlined in red paint and a non-assuming plaque beside it read in bold capital letters:

OBSERVATION WINDOW

Ragle stooped slightly to fit his eye in line with the small hole. Dim shapes seemed to dominate the terrain on the other side. Shades of grey and murk.

"Oh its lovely," said Ragle.

Down one long corridor, two lefts, a right, and shimmering dissolving door later, they arrived in the den. The room was octagonal in shape. Ragle noticed the fine craftsmanship of each arching cubicle and appreciated the efficient modes of technology present. Maroon and silver pillows dotted the place in the notches of the wall, indicating chairs. Even a rug with an intricate braiding design was cast on the floor. This already feels like home, he thought to himself, and there are the radar screens so we know how to steer in place of those windows.

"This bunk is for you," said Walter. He raised his hand. A transparent bed gained solid property before his eyes.

After Walter left him alone in the den, assuring him he need do no more on the trip but rest, Ragel settled in to his bunk to do just that. His last thought as he drifted off to sleep was how happy he was to finally find solid comfort and contentment.


------------------------------------

"Dammit he's stuck in this simulation now. I thought he was supposed to be a genius!"

"Give him credit, Rick. The man has just shattered through his reality. Its a miracle that in doing so he didn't shatter himself in the process. He has time to travel through our next stage."

"You mean jump through our next hoop."

The two men watched on through their shiny looking devices as Ragle's star ship navigated the filmy sky. Simultaneously very fast and very slow.

I take things personally becuase I am a person.

The bistro hung the hearts

"The bistro hung the hearts"

(a valentine haiku)

goddamn this puddle

goddamn these shoes, goddamn this

blister, goddamn the blues

Schopenhauer goes courting

What we share is a door past the subject’s cognizance. And when you come in you won’t want to stay or leave. You’ll be, at the same time, locked in and locked out of the immediate object—

ours— to rattle windows behind ghostly curtains or tap on the pane to stand in the rain with the holly bushes.

The degree to which phenomena is a comfort is, naturally, a bucking horse, which is to say, that the whole house is falling a million miles an hour until your eyeballs burst into flame, your spine a lightning bolt. This essence of intimacy, past the principal of sufficient ground, leaves you whining why but still willing, an eternal hurtle whenever you find it. Inside, underneath or hanging from the gutter— you will not escape.

What isn’t destroyed will pull its jacket back on, shake shoulders at the cracks, and wish it were just hung over— wandering in the grocery store saying I I I me me me you you you? To babies in the cart, less lost than the parents who search for ways to compare brands of pudding. Is that what you wanted when you snuggled and clutched and your pillow at night?

my mothers side of the family

The Cranes. All legs, thick and sturdy—

Kentucky living

Gardens and no running water

Else Lula’s baby wouldn’t have died in childbirth

Deszmer ran for the neighbors—

the scar on her chin, eighty-two years stubborn from falling

Ralph ran off

crick ran dry

family carried on, the children too,

With school, the army,

becoming nurses.

Vaughn spends her parents' money on a motorcycle

Kermit plays his mandolin for Ida

Annie, with fur coats still growling

in the closet and mother of pearl hair brushes—

Annie, a lady with lockets, my sister’s name-sake.

Who came before the Cranes, who saw the Lion’s Head ship

as wooden deliverance from Ireland’s hunger?

Later they roosted in Oak Ridge, behaved, made the bomb

made quilts—

I got the quilts.

The one I sleep under tonight one example.

my living noggin demands desegregation

I have this notion that intellect and emotion aren’t exclusive, compartmentalized experiences, but rather complimentary and related bodily functions. After all, its been a pretty long time since people have come to discover that the anatomical heart is not the headquarters of emotion, but rather the skull-contained brain houses feeling, memory, and general cognition. Given, one may perceive certain feelings and stirrings in other parts of the body such as the gut ect.; but even then, these sensations are processed and discerned back in the brain. And if all these powerful things are in similar if not overlapping vicinity, why do we insist on separating them? A thinking brain can cause joy, wonder, fear, and shame just as any "outward" relationship can (unbeknowest to the subject) trigger academic themes, concepts, and conflicts within the interaction.

University classrooms should come equipped to discuss, experience, and behold emotional responses from its students and professors, as the journey of knowledge and discovery is fraught with feeling. Its time for the stereotype of the "cold intellectual" or emotionally void academic to be dispelled. Thoughtful learning should be conducive to an emotive human. And while one category does not replace the other, emotions can be intellectualy discussed; intellect can be percieved by emotional avenues.