He dug and dug and told them when they came that he was digging an altar hole to worship the Upside Down Devil (who seemed to be a mash-up of a flop-limbed, booze ensorcelled cartoon goat-god [complete with staggering hard on] and an old photograph of a Chinese war widow circa 1927 [covered in blood dark jelly, in mid twirl for the camera].)
You’re not digging for gold, you’re not digging for worms, you’re not digging for a place to hide a body? they asked asked out of the side of their mouths opposite their shotguns.
No, no, no, I only dig for the devil and I never find him cause he’s always upside down and stomping his feet right beneath mine and when I stop, he stops and then I can’t hear where he goes off to, but I figure he must jump in the air and fly off on those wings he’s always picking at with his great big claws.
That weren’t a sturdy enough excuse to use as body armor.
It sat floating in the liquid abyss, a great glob of bone and earth and grass and hair and things dripping. It did not spin. It did not bob to and fro, though a steady stream of haunted wind went in and through it, both moaning against the other like a jazz man blowing through Buddha’s petrified throat. You wouldn’t hear the sound unless your ears had been initiated into the Side Ways. And you wouldn’t dare ask to be, even if you knew how.
There are these things that only exist in words, in the ocean of meandering thoughts, things we can only describe with absurdities, things that sit invisible until we pepper them with poetic intent. And the use of describing an impossibility is in the taming of the brain into accepting that the assembly line of language that is constantly humming can have a wooden shoe made of the signifier “wooden shoe” tossed into the ticking innards to splinter.
When they find me without skin, look in the folds of my curdled brain for the knife.
“…this was before they started pulling bones from their faces to implement in their structures. You can see in these carvings that their jowls have a more rounded look, unlike the carvings from the last few years in which the figures depicted look as if they have the distended jaws of a snake at supper time. It was around this period, in fact, that men took on the grey hue that is now associated with the Womb Born.
As humans continued to dissemble themselves for purposes of art, fame, sex, etc., etc., they eventually replaced their blood with thick nutrient paste that coagulates instantly. As a side effect, the flesh becomes as oatmeal. However, if you’ve ever ripped a human being into two and shook out its organs, you will still find some of the red blood that was so revered by our forefathers as a delicacy. Now, if you’ll turn to the east…”