rip van winkle

he handed me a parcel gift-wrapped in the deepest blue. it seemed like night, the paper, light and cool. i ran my hands over the smooth wrapping looking for a place to rip it open from. it seemed like it would never end, while he was saying i think you can use some of it. i smiled curiously. i slid my index finger under an opening and undid the package. there was a box inside in the same soothing blue. it felt like there was something moving inside endlessly, not unlike heavy breeze, but very different from liquid. i opened the box, not knowing what to expect. as i did, my mind began to wander. i found myself thinking, but with no clarity. i looked up at him and he had an excited expression on his face, wondering what my reaction would be like. i felt sand in my eyes as i slowly grew drowsy. i gave him a hug, thanked him, even though it was quite unclear why, as i curled up into what seemed to be a soft blanket and a warm bed.
i woke up, after what could have even been twenty years, with a box full of sand next to me, and neatly folded wrapping paper.


of stories


her ears were bleeding, her eyes were dry, her heart had stopped, her legs were blue. it was perhaps the stories that had kept her alive, as they blew over her in the wind.


if you listen closely, there are voices around you that tell you everything. they sing, they laugh, they wonder, and unless you believe, their chatter won't make sense to you.


a door-to-door salesman knocked on my door yesterday, and offered to sell me some lies. they're real lies, he told me, and they'll work for you, anytime! i learnt my lesson the hard way, i suppose, not to buy lies from a lie-monger.