Asghar Abbas's Blog - Posts Tagged "hiatus"
Mass that's not at Midnight.
I didn't really find one there, in it, very much inside the white surrounding, a porcelain cask, not empty. I really did not. But I have been keeping a mermaid in my tub for a while now. Stranded in there, not without water, with no waters but her own.
For the longest while, when the moon was small and not warbling, there was only one in there, in that particular fantasy, then there was another, then another, and the other, one, two, three, and then there were none. Trio mandili pidmanula. Setting aside my bone-hilted fillet knife, I put it on the edge of the tub. Done. This book, though, was the last book I read last summer, the final summer read.
Before I blinded the mermaids myself. Before all the deluges of inconvenient truths started to make their way toward us, before the ocean came to us and sang to us those watery dirges. Before all the rains that made us feel so empty.
Even then, we weaved through them, drenched and dry at the same time. That being said, this was the last summer book I read last summer. Final summer read. The very last Before. Even those blind mermaids saw it, even the blind mermaids can see that. It is empty, and even though there isn't anyone in the tub right now, I'd like to say this to that particular no one: I do not love you, I want to fuck you even less, I will not write about you now. Anymore. Okay, just one more thing, then we can talk about this book, resume the review, such as it is. You are my favorite mermaid.
I am telling the shadows. Now I'll put the blade away, look at me surrounded by all the knaves I am tucking away the knife.
Why the mermaids indeed. Why this song? Who could know any of this? What does it even matter? Just look at this weather, the climate is changing.
For the longest while, when the moon was small and not warbling, there was only one in there, in that particular fantasy, then there was another, then another, and the other, one, two, three, and then there were none. Trio mandili pidmanula. Setting aside my bone-hilted fillet knife, I put it on the edge of the tub. Done. This book, though, was the last book I read last summer, the final summer read.
Before I blinded the mermaids myself. Before all the deluges of inconvenient truths started to make their way toward us, before the ocean came to us and sang to us those watery dirges. Before all the rains that made us feel so empty.
Even then, we weaved through them, drenched and dry at the same time. That being said, this was the last summer book I read last summer. Final summer read. The very last Before. Even those blind mermaids saw it, even the blind mermaids can see that. It is empty, and even though there isn't anyone in the tub right now, I'd like to say this to that particular no one: I do not love you, I want to fuck you even less, I will not write about you now. Anymore. Okay, just one more thing, then we can talk about this book, resume the review, such as it is. You are my favorite mermaid.
I am telling the shadows. Now I'll put the blade away, look at me surrounded by all the knaves I am tucking away the knife.
Why the mermaids indeed. Why this song? Who could know any of this? What does it even matter? Just look at this weather, the climate is changing.
