a year in stories::thirty one

All day in my head today. You, impossible you. In just eight days, together again, and then two weeks from then and living again.

I keep not talking about important things on here because I’m writing these stories every day and I’ve never been very good at updating about everyday things, but maybe the most important court case in history was decided about a week ago. The former US backed Guatemalan dictator, Efrain Rios Montt, has been tried and convicted of genocide and crimes against humanity. This is the first time a former head of state has been convicted of this in civil court by their own country. It’s enormous, a victory thirty years in the making by the survivors of families who died in these crimes. Decades, they were ignored, and now: justice. This also implicates the current Guatemalan president as well as the Reagan administration, which means possibly hundreds of former US high ranking government officials could be tried in Guatemalan court. They have that right, and while it’s unlikely that the US will allow anything like that to happen, it’s still a beautiful possibility. To know that these war criminals will possibly face justice for their crimes–I mean, I don’t even know what to say.

And then I heard today that Republicans want to impeach Barack Obama over something probably frivolous. However, I do think he should be impeached and tried as a war criminal. And if we start with him, we need to keep going, to both Bushes, to Clinton, to so many others. Especially Kissinger. Oh, to be alive in a time when heads of state can be convicted for their crimes!

Anyrate, all that aside: this story is about a skeleton and a painter.

Playcrack the Sky


She was a painter and she lived alone in a house made of bones on a lonely shore made of teeth in an empty bay shaped like a hook of a forgotten sea of the shallow ocean pressed against the Waste. The painter took the canvas made of wood cut from trees behind her house made of bones and brought it to the shore made of teeth and there she set it down and looked at the sky and saw it was clear and she took the paint made from berries colored blue and with the paint colored the canvas to match the sky and when she turned to the sky and saw it was blue she smiled and when she turned to the canvas and saw the same blue she kept smiling. She put down the paint and took teeth in her fist and she ground the teeth into dust and took the water from the forgotten sea and made enamel paste and spread this paste on her knuckles on her fist and then sat down on the teeth of the beach of the bay of the sea to let it all dry. The paste caked on her fist and then solidified in the sun’s baking heat and with the other hand she buried her hand in the teeth colored reds and whites and yellows and blacks and beneath the teeth she found more bones and the bones were a hand that grabbed her as she grabbed it and yanking and pulling she ripped the bones from the beach of teeth and with the hand came an arm and with the arm came a ribs and skull and spine and legs and feet. The skeleton stood and stared at her and tilted its head to one side but the painter walked away from the skeleton and back to the painting now dry and the sky still blue and the painting still matching. She brought the fist before her face then turned to the skeleton and then to the painting and she thrust her fist caked in hardened enamel paste into the painting and the painting broke apart and the wood splitting and the canvas tearing and then came the sound.

The sound came like rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr and then like kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk and the skeleton watched the sky break and tear and shatter to bits while the blackness of space fluttered through the holes in sky blowing the ripped fabric of sky as waves against a shore that was not there. The skeleton turned to the painter and saw that she laughed but heard nothing for a skeleton cannot hear but the skeleton cocked its head again as the painter laughed or screamed in glee and then she took teeth from the beach of teeth and chipped at the hardened paste on her fist until her fingers were freed and then the painter turned to the skeleton and mimicked its posture and moved her mouth but the skeleton shrugged which she took for answer and she waved it to follow as she walked away from the beach from the bay from the sea of the edge of the ocean pressed on the farside of the Waste. In the house made of bones she sat on a chair made of bones beside a table made of bones and the skeleton studied the room but said nothing for skeletons cannot speak but watched the painter who did speak for painters can speak and she spoke a long time and first her face appeared smiles and joy but as she talked the smiles and joy faded and there was pain on her face and the ache of loneliness and as the sorrow filled her face the skeleton watched her climb into a bed made of bones with only the blackness of space to light the room through the windows made of bones where breezes from far away from the beach from the sea from the ocean from the Waste blew to cool the fever of her art of shatter. And then the painter became invisible in the darkness for the skeleton could not see and perhaps she slept but the skeleton remained still until the light of the sun and the light of space mingled and filled the house made of bones and the skeleton walked around and studied the bones and the skulls and before the painter woke the skeleton chewed her to Death for a skeleton cannot eat.