Thursday, February 19, 2009

Hedrot & Alleycat

Hedrot, the naturally nervous beast, claws his claws into the dirt, stretches his back long and licks the charred ridge of his outer nostril.  


"I am low, I am high, I am altogether done with this world," he says in a soft roar as he tips over and balances on the sierra of his spine.


Alleycat's listening, mimicking Hedrot's movements with just a few milliseconds' delay. Most think Alleycat's the elder. He looks it, but it's not so. It's just that echoing someone else so long adds years to your demeanor and you features, even your tone of voice. But though it shaves away more of his youth each time, Alleycat continues to mirror Hedrot. Sometimes it seems like it's all he knows how to do, all he was born to excel at, but he's ok with that.

He's happiest at Hedrot's side.

Alleycat says, "This grind's a bore. Let's find a different grind. One without tax seasons or draughty rooms, no greedy petters, no stinky, ugly-colored ointments."


Hedrot: "I agree. Let's you and me tear our own black hole right here, I'm starting to imagine it, it's like using a drill bit to prime a hole for you to hammer a nail in. That's where we are, that's what I'm doing. Black holes. I'm priming."


Alleycat: "Black holes, raw chicken, fresh tuna, hot sun, a window all our own, greenhouse warmth, peoplelessness, total calm."


Hedrot: "Black holes, you and me and us doing what's done when we're in a place where we can do whatever we please. I see it now, in 3-D, inches from my nose. I feel the sensation of it like dew on my whiskers."


The sun shies from the sky and drizzles darkness over the landscape. Hedrot and Alleycat are still in the lawn, stretched out on their backs. They're going over it again and again. But going nowhere actual. Not to any black holes or anything like a black hole.


Their adjectives and nouns about what's on the other side collide so beautifully that they can almost see themselves there, alone on their backs, describing whatever comes next.


Sometime around morning, their throats almost raw with dreaming, Hedrot feels a rain of seeds on his upturned belly. He looks up and his eyes catch a trio of bulb-like brown birds at the wooden feeder that's strung to the epic branch of a tree above them.


Then, wordless, syncopated, Hedrot and Alleycat jump into action, ready to do whatever it takes.

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