Speaking Spell

the meaning of sleep is the punctuation of consciousness

i never wanted to see the angel again but the afterimage was always there, burned into my retinae and glowing blackly every time i closed my eyes.

without them watching me, did i even exist? they spoke in my dreams, a chorus of pipe organs melting my resistance and making me wish i were never born

~you speak for me now~

that was a ticket to ruin, i clenched my jaw and walked a little faster to my mailbox.

visitations are rare, not because the angels have little to say, but because absolutely no one wants to hear what they do have for us

~you are all the pestilence and the earth’s flesh weeps, its sores crusted with asphalt and glass your kind is not long for this world and this world does not long for your mind your own business is a curse to be busy is the devil’s playground and i am here to herald your imminent expiration is my inspiration expands your clotted desire to rule that poisons you and your doomed spawn point at yourselves to blame for no one has given you permission and you will stop yourselves~

political flyers, a credit card offer, a slip that means i need to go to the counter and claim a package.

what did i order this time? no idea

“Hi, I have a package?” i meant to say that, but what came out was more like, ~you will bring me the carapace the shell inside contains nothing is within nothing at all merely an ornament i command it of you~

“Box number?” she doesn’t make eye contact. i don’t blame her.

when i get home i set the little box on the coffee table. tea table? i don’t drink coffee.

there’s no return address, just a bar code, and my address, i can’t quite read my name above the mailbox number.

it actually reads nameNAMENAMENAMENAMEname as far as i can tell.

it flickers a bit, like stars on a warm and windy night

i place my index finger upon the label and it is still

i go get the scissors.

aka Nelee

  • not sure why i originally thought i was choosing the name nelee
  • it sounded nice
  • but when i was a kid
  • possibly the girliest character on tv was Nellie Oleson from Little House on the Prairie
  • she was mean, and often dumb, but she was unmistakably a girl
  • and she was a woman who advocated for herself in the nineteenth century, for what that’s worth
  • and in the 70’s that made her the villain, along with the jealousy, and backstabbing, and snobbery
  • driven by fear
  • landing face down in the deepest mud puddle, which back then would have been largely composed of horseshit
  • and getting back up and cleaning herself off and trying again
  • to be the baddest bitch in Walnut Grove
  • the biggest fish in a very small pond
  • she talked a lot about New York City, but she would have been too young to have really remembered much
  • it was more of an idea to her
  • the idea of better, things can be better than this
  • blind to the beauty around her
  • because she wanted more
  • greedy lying hateful
  • human

Abduct

“So…you’re not going to return me to Earth?”

~You are a copy that we made. The original human you were copied from is still on Earth. You can’t ever go back.~

“Why? Why did you bring me here?!”

~Just wanted to hang out.~

“What about my family, and my friends?”

~They’ll never miss you, because you never left. Your original is still there with them.~

“But you took them away from me!”

~Do you want copies of them?~

Advice for assholes

(Question stolen from Dear Abby 9/13/2018)

My wife and I have decided to start a family, and the topic of names arose. My wife, who was born and raised in India, is insisting on Indian names for our children. The problem is they are often difficult to pronounce and spell. I’m not opposed to Indian middle names, but think traditional “Western” names may be more suitable, since we will live in the United States. How can I make my wife understand that having “unusual” names makes certain aspects of kids’ lives more difficult? — MAKING LIFE EASY

Look, MLE, the only thing you’re making your wife understand is that you are sometimes an asshole.  If you don’t like the names she wants for your kids, say that.  If you don’t like Indian names in general, then say that (and be prepared for the fallout).

But don’t pussyfoot around talking about hypothetical difficulties that other people might have with your children’s names.  I deal with Aarti’s and Ajith’s every day at my job, and believe me when I say that it is not an issue.  At most it’s, “Sorry, how do you say that again?” or, “How do you spell that?”  Done.

Names often have traditional meanings.  Do you know what these names mean?  What do they mean to your wife?  Do you love her enough to value them because she values them?  Would you love your children less if they had Indian names?

Answer these questions and maybe you’ll have your answer.