I keep counting my fingers & getting different results.
The Peruvian Book of Screams is filled w/ such incidents. But I never thought it would happen to me. Ever since the sad turtle approached me in a wretched bar reciting Poe in reverse did the nameless emptiness rest on the ignorant sofa. A golden holier-than-thou ghost unbuckled the turtle’s belt & hurled its trousers on the sofa embellishing all the stringy truths through metaphors & dirty forks. I finally comprehended the ghost’s actions.
Did the dilemma validate the documents in my valise? The manuscripts represented the lost chapter in the Book of Screams. I’d hauled the battered attaché case for months w/o peering inside. I only knew that the contents were to be emptied unto an ignorant sofa. The text was blank; it only consisted of the script of a movie spooling in my mind.
The sofa is a dream leading into a tide of disaster. As it floats towards the shiny iceberg I grab a rickety raft & lurch my flat ass on a plank. The bottom of the raft gives way & displays the icy blue water below. The intestines of my suitcase swirl to the depths of the sea.
I hang on to a board until I spot the sad turtle coming my way. I snatch his shell let him take me to shore.
One of our students is leaving next week & I took it upon myself to give her a little guidance.
I told her to tuck all the experiences she has had with us in her left armpit. One day while shaving, she will look in her armpit & all the memories will flow out: all the laughter & all the tears & all the tears & the laughter.
Unexpectedly, additional emotions will spin out like a tornado sliding down Niagara Falls . Then, a cold sweat will pour from her pores like sticky marmalade on a hot porcupine.