Yes, I know, if you read the book you probably think the transition was really easy, no problem at all. Don’t get me wrong, I really love that book – but moving between worlds is seriously hard work, scary, and in this case quite literally painful. If I was an actual human being I would still have the scars to prove it. Fortunately, I am not.
Alice (of wonders)
Eve once did this: one morning, having listened too many times to Leonard Cohen singing Suzanne the night before, she went down to the river. There she stepped onto a wooden pier, sat down, looked for the heroes in the seaweed, and when she didn’t see any, she looked for love instead.
And lo and behold, there it suddenly was, it came right at her, inside a floating bottle, no less. Could this really be it? What she so much wanted, and had been hoping to find for what seemed like forever? She leaned out, reached for the bottle, didn’t quite manage, leaned further, and further yet, and had not her guardian angel (who is called Alice, by the way) grabbed her hand she would literally have fallen in love there and then, with disastrous consequences, because the current was vicious, and she could not swim.
Fortunately, then, she was saved from a grim fate. And little did she know that it was just the other Alice, whom she actually knows very well, who spent her morning writing little notes and setting them afloat in some empty bottles she had found among the aforementioned seaweed. I don’t know why, maybe she is searching for something too, and becoming far too human, because humans are so easily fooled.
Eve told me about this last night, and she still listens to Suzanne far too often. Or so she says.
Aubrey D Goldcase
“Gone tomorrow, here today – just in case you got something to say”
(Alison Krauss & Union Station: Goodbye Is All There Is, 2004)
This is a very tiny world. It is also a very private world. So no, you cannot enter. Sorry. We don’t want anybody else in here. Goodbye.
( sound of door closing )
Reality is getting increasingly unreal. It’s got fluffy around the edges, and with big holes in it.
Of course Janet also heard about this birth-and-pregnancy-thing from very early on, being supplied with a personal history of growing up in what was known to some as the early 21st century, in the western culture of so-called democracies. But when she was little she preferred the more elegant and stylish egg story, and even though she did stop really believing in it early on, it was not until her body suddenly made her painfully aware of the actual mechanics of the other version that she finally accepted it.
“There are 2.896.544.670.003.756 and then 2.4 million digits more stars. I made them, remember? So of course I know. Don’t let anybody fool you about there being an infinity of them. Infinity, that’s beyond the stars. Even if that’s the totally wrong word because it isn’t a place at all, but obviously I can’t explain that in words. But that’s where we all go after this, or something, and it’s not too bad, really, it isn’t. Hello, I come from there, right?”
Aubrey D. Goldcase