(It's not) Singing for Uncles

A horse that can only go in a straight line, a bored cloud factory pipe, a girl who trusts the cat.

Shark girl

A girl in a white dress kneels down beside the seeping wound of a beached shark. Wading in the blood, she holds her hands almost to her face and looks down at her own reflection.
“And in you, I’ll make a home,” she said.
She carves with her hands a hole so deep it burrows through the heart of the shark. She comes closer to the centre and away from the guilt in the waves of the sea, or the guilt in the pool of blood left on her doormat. She reaches the linen of the bed made and turned down, not in the heart but in the stomach of the shark.
She pulls the linen up to her ears and closes her weary eyes, pretending for several minutes to be fast asleep until it is no longer necessary for the girl to pretend. Deep into the night as the girl in the white dress lay sleeping, she had visions of unhappiness, of a place outside. She lay dormant in the bright green swells of melting colours and of things much greater than the shark. The emerald visions crept out of the head of the sleeping girl, leeching themselves into her surrounding air, emerging from the two holes in her nose, from her eyes, propelling themselves outside from her ears and splashing and washing onto the walls of her room.
Fused with the shark’s acid, her visions smelled of lukewarm citrus, as if they would cling to her teeth and not come off despite how hard she may scrub at them. The visions swished and swirled in search of objects they could use to build the sleeping girl a path towards the big shark skull. They clung to a small hill of swallowed seaweed, and from there they kindly rendered a smooth road between her room in the stomach, and a lonesome cavity in a tooth they found in the shark’s gaping mouth. The short wooden legs of the girl’s bed began to slip down the new seaweed path. Slow at first, the bed then carried the sleeping girl safely down into her new place of slumber.
When the girl woke it was dark inside the shark. She reached to her right and lit a quiet lamp with a shade made of bones; of teeth strung together and placed as a garland around the brightest part of the light. It shone upon her white dress, illuminating not the ivory but the shame beaded, and strung, and stitched. All around the girl was a soft hue of pink and of red, of a darkish purple and the shadows of sharp shark teeth.
“The green men must have taken me here,” said the girl. “They must have tried to walk me home.”
“We are all just trying to walk each other home.” replied the shark, its voice echoing from inside its head. “Now come and melt into my heart, sit in the dampness and sing to me your quiet song.”
“I want you to promise that you won’t ever swim back to sea”, said the girl to the shark.
“I won't, " promised the shark. “Now come into my heart and let go; you are safe here.”
Inside the shark’s heart the girl sat in a doughy green armchair. She tucked her legs under a writing desk in the centre of its main aortic chamber, and began to read from a large book the minutes catalogued from the shark’s time spent alive in the sea.
“I see,” the girl said after a long while. “Now I understand you, shark. Now we are the same.”
She began to decipher the images sewn into the shark’s great big muscles, for they were the same as the images in the space between the clouds in the infinite blue sky, and the images imprinted onto the whiteness of her dress. She flipped through the pages until one blank was revealed, and from there the girl began to write to her shark.
Spiteful, wrote the girl.
“Grateful,” argued her shark.
Pride, wrote the girl.
“Survival”, defended her shark.
Between us is a vertical dimension. Wrote the girl. Our personal, vertical damnation. Show me the way to the softness inside of you. Let me set it alight and free us.
The girl’s shark sighed a long, colourful sigh. Lit up with amber light was a path towards its big cavernous liver. The girl smiled up at her shark.
“Thank you.” she said.
She took the knife tucked under her dress and used it to etch into the shark’s liver walls:
Om, Om Namah Shivay, Om Hriing Namah Shivay, Om Sri Durgayai Namaha, Om Aeem Hriim Kriim Durgayai Namaha.
As the girl stood scribing, her words shot up and transferred themselves into the pupils of the shark’s glassy, half-dead eyes. From there they latched onto its scleras and shone with clear light out towards the sea, and in pools of golden celestial beams, back into itself. The more the girl in the white dress scribed, the more her sacred scripture filled up any space left inside her shark’s wide eyes.
“I see the light in my eyes from afar,”said her shark. “What is it you have done to me?”
“I have shown you the way.” Replied the girl.
The girl stood tall inside her shark, and with big, sacred, voluptuous gulps, she drank her shark’s sanguine liquid, and drained it dry. Shrinking all around her was her shark as she devoured its warm, fat organs. It shrank and it shrank until it clung to the slight grease upon the girl’s dewy golden skin and stayed there, wrapped around her body like a suit. Staring out to sea with her hood of bone, the girl in the sharkskin suit stood barefoot on the sand once more. No sun, no moon, no stars, but no darkness. This is the way of the clear light of the mind.

Eves dropping

I myself am good fortune.

You don't need that thing you're thinking of needing.

Alfred

He's just grateful for the contact, even though he has been stabbed. He feels lucky that the hummingbird chose him, he would have chosen it too.

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nice wan brutha.

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