Sunday, April 3, 2011


It comes at the most inopportune moments, I find. Like last night.

First of all, my boys weren't sleeping well anyway. There must have been some kind of atmospheric anomaly (i.e. dad made chili for dinner or something). Anyway, I was up a couple of times at the rude hours, and finally around 5 AM I crashed into my bed again, only to be hounded by the most vivid mind-picture.

I know what happens in these circumstances. I say, "self, thou shalt remember this later," only to wake up and either disremember it completely or remember it enough to regret not writing it down. So I have to give in these days, and write this stuff down.

And dammit, my notebook was not at bedside where it should have been. When it is, I write in the dark the most disturbing sentence fragments in the worst hand. When at last I behold it in the light of day, I shiver. It looks like the handiwork of a madman.

In this case, I found a scrap of paper with crayonized illustrations by the hand of my two year old, reversed it, and stood by the light of the microwave oven in my kitchen with a pencil that I had found there and wrote the following:

  • peach-orange translucent fish flesh
  • someone else was speaking, telling the story he was seeing but he had no control of his own faculties; as if what was happening was theft.
The idea is that some monster, or some part of a monster, fits the first bullet point as it takes control, perhaps, of the character in question. The character can see the second bullet point, or perhaps the first, in his mind's eye, but he can do nothing about it--because the monster is inhabiting him to the point where his mouth is forming the words of the story without his permission. But there's a definite feeling of take going on here.

So where will I use it? Who knows. But at least I wrote it down.

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