It's Soo Big by Kenny Stetson
`It's soo big.'
`And so far away, many thousand times larger than our own sun.'
I marvelled as I spoke, what could be so big? The books had names like `The Holy Bible', Kamasutra' and `David's Coppers Filed'. Anybody walking past the book case or bumping into it would no doubt be impressed with the fantastic parade of canon literature. Even if nobody ever saw the books, they still made really nice decorative objects. And one day in the future, they will surely find a reader: a guest or a neighbour, or the cleaning lady's son, who has to hang around for a few minutes waiting for his mother and uses the time to rummage around in the book cases. Or perhaps the landlord's budding daughter, who has just been reading the Travels or a Hemingway story at school.
* * *
Now beginning to feel weary, I removed my gaze from the cat and fish of the `ejaculation on canvas' painting on the far wall. The sun shone in through the green branches of the elm outside the window.
`Gnippohs og ot deen I', the backwards girl chirped.
What did she mean and how did she get here so fast? I wondered while admiring delightful lips and golden hair. They flickered for an instant and subsided. Where are they now? The face of it I failed to understand.
`Could you talk like most other people for a change, just for ten minutes, say?'
She watched me and smiled. The hollow place behind her pupils contained nothing but sorrow. Perhaps a little resignation.
`Difficult - only if I try real hard. It gives me headaches.'
Gastric distress, I thought between farts. `Okay, you don't have to talk.'
All set for a hard time, I rolled off the bed and tied up my gown in a burst of activity.
An attractive woman in her mid twenties with a round face. No egg-sized purple birthmarks, no cellulite, no surgery.
`What we must do now is eat at once, you go and see what you can find in the kitchen, I need to go and call Gerard.'
The guy who ran the drugstore downstairs knocked. `You just got another call - this one from France - a girl called Celine. What are you running here? An international whorehouse?
`Skoob eht era erehw?' she said, pocking me.
`Honeythighs, let me explain—'
`Who are you sleeping with!'
`I bustled past her towards the door. The drugstore man was gone.
`Where do you think you are going?'
High-pitched footsteps echoed across the digital corridor. She emerged from room 108 running, spilling nearly all the spaghetti over the orb ball. Did loving really mean dying?
`And so far away, many thousand times larger than our own sun.'
I marvelled as I spoke, what could be so big? The books had names like `The Holy Bible', Kamasutra' and `David's Coppers Filed'. Anybody walking past the book case or bumping into it would no doubt be impressed with the fantastic parade of canon literature. Even if nobody ever saw the books, they still made really nice decorative objects. And one day in the future, they will surely find a reader: a guest or a neighbour, or the cleaning lady's son, who has to hang around for a few minutes waiting for his mother and uses the time to rummage around in the book cases. Or perhaps the landlord's budding daughter, who has just been reading the Travels or a Hemingway story at school.
* * *
Now beginning to feel weary, I removed my gaze from the cat and fish of the `ejaculation on canvas' painting on the far wall. The sun shone in through the green branches of the elm outside the window.
`Gnippohs og ot deen I', the backwards girl chirped.
What did she mean and how did she get here so fast? I wondered while admiring delightful lips and golden hair. They flickered for an instant and subsided. Where are they now? The face of it I failed to understand.
`Could you talk like most other people for a change, just for ten minutes, say?'
She watched me and smiled. The hollow place behind her pupils contained nothing but sorrow. Perhaps a little resignation.
`Difficult - only if I try real hard. It gives me headaches.'
Gastric distress, I thought between farts. `Okay, you don't have to talk.'
All set for a hard time, I rolled off the bed and tied up my gown in a burst of activity.
An attractive woman in her mid twenties with a round face. No egg-sized purple birthmarks, no cellulite, no surgery.
`What we must do now is eat at once, you go and see what you can find in the kitchen, I need to go and call Gerard.'
The guy who ran the drugstore downstairs knocked. `You just got another call - this one from France - a girl called Celine. What are you running here? An international whorehouse?
`Skoob eht era erehw?' she said, pocking me.
`Honeythighs, let me explain—'
`Who are you sleeping with!'
`I bustled past her towards the door. The drugstore man was gone.
`Where do you think you are going?'
High-pitched footsteps echoed across the digital corridor. She emerged from room 108 running, spilling nearly all the spaghetti over the orb ball. Did loving really mean dying?
posted by Karl | 12:25 PM
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