Bergen is a city of seagulls and white. It is a colossal sea animal washed up long long ago and now disintegrating bloated and slower than death the seagulls are blowflies hovering continually high above the bony cadaver floating on the wind lamenting through the awful scissors of their beaks plunging to snatch up morsels of meat. Sometimes the bells weep sound rolls over the roofs and back particularly when white snow is powdered over the city the churches the boats are all whitened in cocoons of snow except for the gulls they reside above the snow on the wind. I live in a hollow room and sometimes I have to hide in the corner the squawking birds are squinting through the windows with white eyes. White stems of rain always fall along the thin windows except when it snows and the whiteness becomes more gauzelike the flakes come to convulse on the sills but in summer everything is different and now an inhuman hard white light thumps day and night against the panes. The whole world is white there’s nothing to eat but still strange carbuncles are strewn over the earth’s surface and abruptly burst open and head-nodding white flowers grow the seagulls alight and inspect the flowers with tilted bone-heads.
Issue 3 of The Golden Key is available now, either to read online or to download. The theme is Things Unseen, and it features lots of wonderful speculative fiction and poetry. I’m so delighted by this issue, I can’t even tell you. Go check it out now! And if you like it, maybe consider making a donation to help us toward our goal of paying our excellent contributors in the future.
My dear friend LiAnn Yim has a piece of flash fiction out in NANO Fiction volume 7.1!
LiAnn’s writing never fails to delight and amaze me, and I am so, so excited to see this in print. Besides being my co-editor on The Golden Key and my own ideal reader, she’s also the sharp eye behind Lightning Cake. Congratulations, LiAnn!
Go order a copy now and check out “The River of Discard”! Apparently, they sell out fast so make sure you get your copy before they run out!
Six sentences for Sunday, Nov. 10:
Come summer, all the rooms are booked and every sit-down restaurant has at least a forty-minute wait.
Tourist season reaches its peak at midsummer, when the festival takes place. For that entire week, you might as well not leave the house if you want to get anywhere in less than an hour. Cars swell the streets with an influx of traffic and many of us who live nearby move in with our relatives and rent out our houses to tourists. Those who stay park cars on our lawns for a nominal fee. None of us who have lived here long enough ever attend.
My friend M.K. Foster has a poem out in the new issue of Gulf Coast, “Fugue for the Sky Burial of Your Father.”
Go check it out, I’m telling you.
Does it happen for anyone else that the more sleep you get, the more sleep you crave?
I don’t ever feel like I catch up on my sleep debt and am then recharged and ready to plow ahead again. Instead, I just get want to rest more and more.
Essentially, I would probably sleep through two-thirds of my life if I had my way. It’s either that, or I’m forgetting how to sleep altogether. There doesn’t seem to be any in-between.