Serial Library passage July 2

2 Jul

People who think you are less than what you are might not make it to the end of the street if they go for a walk after dinner this evening. It’s been pretty hot in the middle of the day these days, but it seems to cool off sufficiently at night to take a little walk. The dog might run ahead, frolic in the stream that runs through the ravine at the far end of the neighbourhood. You might never go back home. It seems so far away, now, too far to travel and still get home before it gets dark.

By discovery, I mean precisely that area in the midst of a series of fresh water lakes where the animals have to swim, or else resign themselves to remaining stationary for the rest of their lives.

Femur came, and then Septum came. How could this be a failure? How, in any sense of the word, could this turn out to be a failure? But the failure is always in the words, the way the words wedge themselves between us and become inconsolably remiss, devoid, under-populated, impossible to pull away from, like some oversized wood splinters wedged deep into the flesh of our fallen memories.

There are ample armpits in this world and Femur has licked her share. She likes the taste of armpit. And she will lick a fair number more of armpits before her time runs out. The armpit, Femur feels, leads onto the runway of the human soul, and from there you can take off in any direction and never return to the same place twice, arriving today in a deep thicket of grass, tomorrow on the tip of a small rise above a river lain crosswise in a deep and treacherous canyon of rock and love and wasps and wisps of Spanish moss twisted atop the molten shreds of what remains of our misty and drenched state of dreamland.

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