“No, who said I love you? I don’t love you. Who said I loved you? I never said that.”
If you must talk, say, “this _____.”
Babies in catapults, women in trampolines.
King Chief the Brave tells his Chief Warlock where’s a good place to hide a saber blade, how about here? (Runs him through.)
“We are not-you.”
“A means to eats.”
“Other folks kill us, other folks take our fry. There is a burning disregard that comes down from the mountains after the snowcaps melt in September.”
Animal sacrifice, and the world’s first soap.
“Let’s go fishing?”
A dangerous idea, and a sabre-toothed one, a dangerous and a sabre-toothed idea.
“Should we move to a better cave?”
Someone finally says something nice.
Many centuries, no improvements.
Some language, wrong impression.
Raw cave, dark meat.
These are your bones in blood, here? Right here?
You are ground by the parts of you which you will never see?
I told you once, “your quahogs are a mystery to us both, whereas my rock lobster is red and plainly obvious.”
I saw a bird the other day, sitting on a nest full of yolks and broken shells, see? The Mother sits on her mysteries, humans can claim that the throne of mysteries, upon which The Mother sits, is that life which is borne from memento mori, not from out from under us.
What could life mean to matter! Nothing but work, and that endless. If it is like something to be an electron, who’d want to become trapped in an organism with no supernatural predators?
In the last place I lived I had a bad upstairs neighbor. At all hours, they walking in circles and I could hear every step. Occasionally there would be rapid pounding, like they were banging a hammer on the floor. Since that building had a lot of crazies, I assumed they were an old creeper in rags pacing around and muttering all day, all evening, and all night, or at least two out of three.
Turns out my upstairs neighbor was actually 24 years of age and training to be a nurse. They were from the Caribbean and talked to family on his phone a lot, and he walked around his apartment while he was talking. The occasional pounding was his mother chopping onions! It made me less bitter to know the details, even though he continued to pace at all hours in a chain-gang rhythm for as long as I lived there.
In the last place I lived, I had no downstairs neighbor, so I was immune from worry about being a bad upstairs neighbor myself. I guess that let me acquire some bad habits. For this I sincerely apologize.