chapter 1
the world, awash in light, blinds me.
and now: a heliointerference...an uncertain shimmer, a wavering iridescence.
my radio on crack, snapple, pop -a static blur of knitted brows and tightly pursed lips.
and then...
power off.
chapter 2
the world, awash in light, blinds me.
and there, in the distance, the wavering iridescence of heat off baked sand.
i am white linen and lavender oil
and now...
ribbons tied to my fingers fly like anchored kites in the desert wind.
i am not thirsty or hot, or tired or depleted.
i am
just
h e r e
there, on the horizon where the air rises like mirrored mylar: a tiny form.
it wants me.
and perhaps for some deep seated need to be desired,
or because i am attracted to things i don't know and can't see...
maybe just because i'm a material girl and this is the only material for miles around,
or maybe as a result of some scientific necessity, i find myself levitating and gliding -like on rails- to the stain on the horizon line.
and now i wonder if, from its distance it sees me as i see it:
as a rupture in an otherwise sterile-white landscape.
chapter 3
ribbons now streaming behind me and linen pasted to my belly by sweat.
my approachment tells me this unimportant thing: the stain is only a wooden box (no wonder it looked like a stain) and there on its side, a series of chipped and faded gold leaf letters -the only ones i can read, say:
V I * T * O L *
i raise my hands, palm side up and ribbons are flying everywhere.
they are one with the wind,
they are knotted in my hair
they encircle my throat. and they wave in flaglike fashion around the box as it rises to waist level.
i reach down and lift the lid.
chapter 4
crow, crow, disc
crow, disc, crow
disc, crow, crow.
2(crow) + disc = box
i say:
"why are we here???"
the sound of my voice triggers a hidden Something and the disc begins spinning. crow(1) places her beak onto the spinning disc and it makes a weird, scratchy sound, and then crow(2) opens her mouth and says,
"why ARE we here?"
silently, i think "oh...so this is like a tape recorder." and say,
"testing, testing...ONE, TWO."
and the noisy crow looks at me dumbfounded while the silent crow lifts her beak from the disc and says, "OH GAWD!!! they sent us another CRI-A."
confused, i say, "what's a CRI-A?" and the silent crow replaces her beak onto the disc. and the noisy crow says,
"a CRI-A is a puppet, full of Empty and whales."
"oh...I am not full of Empty. and i am not full of whales...that doesn't even make sense...i mean, what would a whale be doing in the desert?"
"not WHALES, stupid...WAILS...W-A-I-L-S. and so i have a question for you: if you're not full of Empty, what are you full of?"
"i don't know how to say it...i guess...um...i guess i'm full of me."
"yeah, you're full of yourself, all right...fucking CRI-A."
"NO. you're wrong. i am this breath, this floating, beribboned spectre. it's because i opened you that you speak. without me, you're invisible at best. i see you; i hear you. i verify your existence. you ask me what i am full of? why not just ask me who i am? i'm a weaver. an alchemist. i am the thing that juggles light and silver, sand and sweat. i don't need you to validate me, so let's just say it this way,
FUCK YOU
and the noisy crow smiles at me and says,
"you are right; you are VITOL."
and her wings unfold and her skin cracks open and underneath the feathers and skin i see fur and flash of green. and the skin peels back and now black and brown and white and green as simon emerges from the crow's dessicated form. and now both crows vanish and it is me and simon and one deaf and dumb disc, spinning for no reason at all.
and simon says to me,
"we gotta get out of here...oh god...it's too late." and he is looking at my chest. i follow his gaze to to a rapidly growing stain upon my dress: red on white linen. but i say to him, "no, it's never too late." and i grab him and say, "where are we going?"
"down."
and the desert floor becomes as quicksand as we pass down and through it and wind up in a cavernous space i know so well. home. i put simon down and follow him the length of our torch illuminated corridor to my stone bedbroom. the linen dress is gone and i am whole. and we lay us down and we sleep.
