Picture yourself, young master, tying your shoes, relieving yourself in our cafeteria, doing whatever it is you do. Can’t you see yourself, believing yourself, finally being free of yourself, and owning it all? Come, lie dormant for a while. Habituate. Lose yourself in the blue lakes of aphasia while a band plays knowingly in the background. Forget we are even here! Do you belong to daddy? Does reality own you, too? Hey, look over there! Ponies.

Dear Martha, 

Life at base camp is a hoot. The apple moon rises while the swallows are sorrowing in the orchards. Stan says hi. His noodle stew is vertiginous. Mangoes grow wild here and you can barely put a foot down without stepping on a rind or two. Still I’m somewhat blue. I miss you. What kind of life is this—taking core samples, harrowing the drifts, sifting silt for godknowswhat? Will we ever find what we are looking for? I feel like a fool. Captain Pout says we must keep our spirits up. I dream often of Tulsa, my home, where the bread bakes itself and the knives melt like poisoned soldiers. Wait on me, Mawmaw. See you at The Big Show! 

Truly Yours,

Captain Spengler

Gaunt little nibblet. That dark pardon me feeling. Parsing meanings with a filet knife. An inexact science is what it is. Moments pass. Everyone lies down. ¡Que verguenza!  I am leaving now through this doorway. Can’t you see what is going on here? There’s snow in the hospital. Earthquakes in the night. Rain for weeks at a time. Time to dust of the ark, put the kids in it. The bees in their dark hives

Sometimes a girl just needs a break. Between work and play and everything else it gets to be too much. Fred called to make a date. I would have gone, but he broke his neck. Everything just goes around and around—off and on, like a wheel. I don’t think anything will ever change. I guess that’s why I’m just sitting out here in the yard. Trying not to look at the fire hose. Not thinking about politics or Fred’s neck or anything else. Doing nothing. Just waiting.