Dispatch № 61: But Only Just
It falls on stone statues with both facial features and inscriptions worn indecipherable by centuries of exposure to the elements.
Dispatch № 60: Skyglow
Many years later, I laid down and gazed up from the floor of the Gobi Desert, a place with a sky so dark that the Milky Way practically slaps you in the face. There’s no missing it.
Dispatch № 59: Untethered
I lost track of the cicadas in a span of weeks during which I was trying to put my head back together and in a general state of tunnel-vision.
Dispatch № 58: Meandering
If you find yourself at an intersection with a choice between roads that seem equal, choose your bath based on something specifically arbitrary. Choose the street with the sauntering cat, for example, or the one with the yellow house.
Dispatch № 57: Glitch
The world vibrated and sang for a brief time, and there was a sense of building pressure, as when one dives deep underwater.
Dispatch № 56: Music, Remembered
Music connects memories like a string of fairy lights that comes on when a song flips the switch of spontaneous recollection.
Dispatch № 55: Emergent Remains
Nothing stays buried forever. No matter how deep in the sand, eventually things emerge. What happens after that, though, is anyone’s guess.
Dispatch № 54: Resident Alien
When it rains, they emerge from the ground and hunt.
Dispatch № 53: A Reliable Bubble
The same elevator music as ever. The same door chime. The same fluorescent light making everything shadowless and tinged slightly green.
Dispatch № 52: Abandoned
They are often easy to identify, especially those drowning in vegetation. This is particularly true of those engulfed in the same infamous kudzu that is so reviled in the American South. Whole properties disappear under draped green carpets.