Culture | Inkwell

Attempt and Failure Towards a Northern Renaissance Triptych The City

I take myself so foolishly. Like for instance when I’m minding my own business building “Lexical Pyres” with Celia, a couple of dead souls come up to us and say hey you two what’re you doing. They see marbles in our hands. I’m about to throw some more when Celia vomits onto the circle. My hand drops the marbles. It was my hand not me you see, I would never drop good aggies in someone’s puke, not even Celia’s. Celia’s face was burning around the lips and down the throat so I had to do the talking. Knowing this, I finally looked at them. Their torsos took on these rings of Saturn. I always thought of those rings as, maybe, an Above. I told you I take myself foolishly. So their bodies were obliquely attractive but I couldn’t tell if they were boys or girls yet so I held that thought firmly to myself. I couldn’t tell because they had on these hoods tapered over their foreheads and ears. I’d always been told gender’s in the ears. I spoke up, “What kind of portent is this?” They knelt in the shrubs of the surrounding moorland like crepuscular hedgehogs and made soapy mouths. One threw a marble into the vomit. I saw that it was a cat’s eye, black azure, as it rolled in the puke’s cording waves. Celia still couldn’t talk, but I thought I could do all the talking for her. I thought I was doing a fine job. I told you I take myself foolishly.


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