my mom found the head of a kitten on her property and its detached paws... i asked her where jesus was in this image and i can only hope the kitten is now romping around in heaven waiting for us to get there and its going to tell us how jesus brought it back to life and gave it a name. we have no idea what beast brought to bear on the tiny thing or why nature must be so cruel but there it is. i wouldn't mention it but it's one of those dark horrifying things that people don't talk about and yet there it is lingering in the mind. Like the young starling I 'saved' who was so panicked to be captive died in a stretched out mode of panic and fright looking frozen ever outward and crawling with ants... Whatever targeted the young weak innocent thing is probably at the root of that creepy guy in those posters- with that look and those eyes... we all know about. And if my life weren't currently grinding and tragical/comical i would definitely think my mom was in some sort of dark suspense thriller. and then in light of that the strange dreams, the wind- the large branch in the yard, the ominous background music, where else do you go from there. a curious footnote. you think, are those shingles a sign of something? a portent. some insidious thing.
and then go on talking about banal things like wii tennis and some xbox game called the hunter something. and a dvd compilation on contemplation you bought on amazon (i hope it doesn't suck) or being in love with the word codswallop. all of those trappings and fittings until the sinister twinge of the violin. but we go on. we read books on chaos theory. we think- pattern. we think jurassic park is a good example. we believe there's something stirring. we grow watchful. we worry about our own cat with nervous glances at his well being. we remember the word fractal but can't define it. we think- snap-out of it. we draw the blinds and think about the book we read about praying the hours. knowing we're nowhere near vigil but we grow tired. we grow exposed.
but we keep putting on ointment (the shingles which quietly annoy and grow hot) and burts honey lipbalm, distractedly as our foot arches and turns in place. checking our messages and finding the only thing to watch is antiques road show. but we don't hear a word. we glance up and some picture of the brooklyn bridge is worth 30,000. we wish whatever it was, wherever it is was worth a goldmine. we look for something to do now that the nails are done (pink sparkle) and the cuticles trimmed, 3 cut in, probably from that one day when i was dehydrated and drank nothing but tea and cranberry juice.
but nevermind. and then you remember the neighbor. the one with the jesus sign and the fake flower story from a friend and you think unstable. you think unhinged and ungodly- are there bodies under there? it was in a story i read. but wait they weren't fake it was maryhigginsclark. nevermind. maybe it was really about the goatshead and the probably satanic rituals happening where you might have lived. and you hope for light to break and to sleep through the witching hour so you can sit in your garden full of flowers and think- no, no, everything is going to be just fine.