After crossing from Australia with the help of the Von-Bingen reality shifter, Delfina and the protagonist, Pierrot, have arrived in Auckland, the Land of the Great Auks. Meanwhile, the narrator has grown impatient. The previous instalment is here.
While I read the introduction,
a bearded gentleman
with a dodo bird on a leash
strolled past.
“Auckland? I thought we were heading
for the South Island.”
“This reality must be a little different.”
A bearded wildebeest
blocked my way, dressed
in a handwritten billboard:
The TheRmoDynaMic
ApoCalyPse Is NigH
It WiLl Not Be DeNieD
RePenT By NexT TueSdAy
WeDneSdaY At The LaTesT
“What is obvious is misconstrued,
true mysteries are left to the noisy unaware
and the subjectivity of the softly subjunctive.”
Should I venture an opinion?
In Efedrina’s study of terrestrials,
I was merely an experimental subject.
I chose simplicity.
“I’m going to the supermarket.
We’re out of cat food.”
Delfina and Pierrot are on their way to New Zealand, travelling backwards through time inside a cardboard box that was meant for a fridge. Pierrot became a translucent alien like Delfina when she buried him in sephine. The previous instalment is here.
Delfina explained time travel
à la mode.
“As we travel, our presence creates
new timelines, more realities
in the eternal infinities.
On nights when distant thunder
tore the canvas clouds,
Efedrina’s thoughts drifted far away.
“I miss the bismuth sun
and the overwritten sky.
The Wheel of Metâdia
is always turning.
The fire lilies drift skyward
to herald the summer,
and soft woolen dreams
become fish, fallen
from the winter sky.”
Previously on Alphabetic Fish: the protagonist has vowed to renew himself, but has done very little except write his diary. He met an alien called Efedrina at the pharmacy. Part A is here, and Part B is here.
I thought I knew my purpose,
so clear it was:
books were pages I might turn
to learn,
and never a moment
for artichokes I might deflower,
petal by petal,
dipped in lemon juice and oil.
Previously on Alphabetic Fish: there were no such fish, but the forlorn protagonist made a vow to turn over a new leaf, or any leaf, as long as he overcame his shallowness. The previous episode is here.
Today I will begin my real life,
the life that’s tailor-made for me.
But first off, I’ll check the weather,
innocuous conversation might be on the cards.
We’re swirling leaves carried on the flow,
pebbles skimmed across the waves,
seabirds too ungainly to reach the sky.
We only touch time’s surface,
and never understand its depths.
~/~
On Friday, she knocked softly at the door.
She was elderly and frail, and she
held a schoolbook out to me.
I know that we all travel from A to B,
but C and D and fish are
forever in my thoughts.
Light. A remnant from the birth
of the universe is sneaking
through the glass.
Birds. They called each other,
chirping more quickly
than they should,
a sense of urgency
because the world
is ending.
Me. In a cold bed, taking notes
in shorthand, or possibly Klingon.
More about Ablative Promenade I here.
More about Ablative Promenade II here. The Promenades are best viewed in VHD or UHD full screen, and they have soundtracks.
A while back, I thought that Ether was the luminiferous and invisible substance that filled all of the universe, and my idea of cryptic currency dealings was putting a coin in a machine, pressing buttons, and no cup of coffee appearing. Now I think that non-fungible tokens (NFTs) might be edible if you cook them with pasta.
2021
In the beginning, my home was a barracks
filled with strangers.
With picks and shovels in gloved hands,
we dug sephine from the earth,
from glimmering veins of pale crystals,
soft like melting snowflakes.
“I cannot find a single word
I favor,
not a one, and my heart,
it pulses
like a stroboscope,
in flashes.
“Still, I started life as a half a packet
of Tim Tams, so I have no reason
to complain.”
Part of the Kaosa 2 art video, which was shown in the Fracas Exhibition at the Articulate Project Space, low-def version with soundtrack. A collaborative response to the Umeda Underground in Osaka, by the phototropic photographer Paul Sutton (insta) and moi. Video and soundtrack © Paul Sutton and Steve Simpson 2021. Where’s the poetry? The dog ate it.
Deija, the Martian Princess of Glass, was lounging on a chaise longue in her Dapto Castle. Her butler was nearby, drinking bluegas through a striped straw.
She sighed.
“There’s nothing new under the sun.
Is it worth invading the rest of this sorry planet?
It might all be like Dapto. This place
has infected me. I have a rash.”
“In misdirected desire, the cicadas sing
their enticements to my lawnmower,
but its blades are dulled, and merely
caress the grass.”
“I didn’t ask about your feeble
suburban atmospherics.”