The Stars in the Sky are a Mirror
They praise themselves, and that vanity—that self-lust—is the only distraction I need to do what it is I’ve come all this way to do.
The stars in the sky are a mirror to them.
“Look at my breath,” I say. “Watch it twirl and become part of the night.”
But they can’t hear me because I am nothingness; they only entertain reflection.
“Look at my breath,” I say again. “Watch it twirl—watch it become the stars.”
They take out their phones and scroll, searching for themselves, and they find it: they see the lust for meaning and mistake it for purpose.
“I breathe, and the stars expand. I breathe, and the mirror fogs.”
Their phones are dark. Their art is obsolete. Their plight was insignificant.
“I breathe, and the stars dim—I breathe, and the stars sleep.”
They scream; they love the sound of their own voices.
Xphis
Sam was lambasted by her creative writing professor for never having read Moby Dick, but why should she? She’d read the phenomenal Whalefall by Daniel Kraus, and that felt like a sufficient amount of brine for one lifetime. Besides, she wanted to write something fresh—something cutting-edge. Why the hell would she want to be corrupted by stuffy—required…
Where babies come from
On the porch, swaddled in muslin, a baby wailed. Tom Brown and his wife Cara looked at each other in surprise. They’d prayed and prayed—they’d prayed so much that it had become more superstition than faith, and now here it was, a baby. Tom pointed to the lawn where a white-breasted stork stabbed at the ground with a sharp orange beak.
Lust for meaning , I felt that line
Oohlala ✨