otoh

[This bit of fiction is even more inscrutable than usual. Whatever you call someone that publishes something that no one else is expected to understand, that's what I am.]

I dreamed of Egypt — a play on words, I know, for a city built on Denial. I passed the gates to one Kingdom, but didn’t go in. Soaring edifices and stairways paved in gold. Two jars with lazy eights seem to go on forever, but they’re chipped and crumbling. Beyond this point, there is no turning back.

I hear music from my past — scratchy and tinny, the hi-fi tilts and wobbles. The record skips, playing the same phrase over and over as if repetition makes it more true. We hold hands and dance around the issues. Beyond this point, there is no turning back.

Then I’m in Winnipeg, dying. I said I wanted to be here — I thought I did. But I can’t bear to continue the journey. Once the choice is made it doesn’t matter how hard we try to hold on. Our hands will never touch. Our hearts will never let go. Beyond this point, there is no turning back.

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