Doorways in the Sand

Bits and pieces. Pieces--

Splayed and static, dry-throated, stomach churning, a red-eyed study in Bruise and bacteria, at some 12,000 feet with a Speicus of my own, I reflect upon the whispered taunts: DID YOU REVIEW ME YET?

Sigh, no. No, I did not. Soon as I get off this mountain. Promise.

Bits and pieces. Pieces-- Flips each chapter back-to-front, just like the machine, but now things are rightways forward. Not the same. But you can't have everything all at once.

A rabbit hole is a doorway in the sand, but this tardy rabbit is an acrophiliac, always climbing and perching-- not a social climber... until the end, that is-- evading destiny until all tunnels collapse (and uncle comes back from the dead). Time to be a grown up.

But sand is a shifting, gritty thing. And so is destiny. Fred's destiny doesn't feel so right at the end.

But Bits and pieces. Pieces--where I swoon like a sixties Beatles fan at stuff like this:

Some upwelling in the dark fishbowl atop the spine later splashed dreams, patterns memory-resistant as a swirl of noctilucae, across consciousness' thin, transparent rim, save for the kinesthetic/synesthetic DO YOU FEEL ME LED? which must have lasted a time-less time longer than the rest, for later, much later, morning's third coffee touched it to a penny's worth of spin, of color.

The last other gargoyle perched on high with not a thing to say other than "This book is a Boojum." (It's not really. It's an odd little alien engineering mystery, a bit psychedelic, an inverted Wonderland given the sci-fi treatment with a Zelazny smart-ass spouting fizzy beat-prose... snap, snap, snap. I just had to think about it for a bit...)

I doubt I will ever know it thoroughly, though. I am a recorder...

Thanks to Carol at Books Reviews Forevermore for the invite to the Doorways in the Sand Flash Reading Group at goodreads, where I lurked like just another gargoyle over their thought-provoking comments.