Two Definitions

Spiral: [spahy-ruhl], /?spa?r?l/, verb1. The shell on the beach was shit on by a turtle, but the towheaded boy could have cared less. He didn’t know its history and, being young and blue- eyed, put the calcified coat of a treasure to his lips. He moved his tongue around the inside, transporting little pieces of grit inside his warm mouth. He bit. The noise, to the boy, sounded like the sound of blocks falling. He spit and out came an egg. The egg was white and looked, to him, like a little moon in the sand. He spit again and out came another. This went on for thirty minutes until the boy had hundreds of eggs at his feet. A sea turtle swam to shore and dug a hole for the eggs. Unexpectedly, the boy fell in. It was cool; he felt safe and soon, fell asleep. When the moon was high the eggs began to hatch. Tiny turtles emerged, with hungry bellies and clawed feet. One turtle scratched the boy’s eyes and he screamed but no one heard. Back and forth digging in the sand, he tried to free himself. He thought of ribbons, spinning tops, of ladders, but he was too tired to transform into any of these things. His mom was sleeping the whole time in a house near the sea, dreaming of a snapping turtle biting her thumb. She wriggled in her sleep, shifting the fitted sheets that hugged the lumpy mattress.

2. Of course there are ways to get around anything. You can build an apparatus out of teeth and then restack it to go any which way you desire. Up, down, left, right, behind, over, above, between, through, on, in, etc. Make sure to be aware of all the tools you’re given, especially your eyes. They will take you beyond what you thought possible, past all the jump ropes and wind chimes that have ever existed. If you have a towel that is wet, wring it dry, and move on. Same goes if you’re handling a sponge. You’ll feel much better afterward, and will concentrate easily on reaching your desired destination. This constructing of ladders and other things is just a pause, an ellipsis for you to ponder for a moment. Enjoy it.



Triplet: [trip-lit] /?tr?pl?t/, verb 1. The life of a jack in the box is not as bad as it seems. Just ask Little Timmy. Little Timmy was put into a box when he was four, fastened with coils and strings, even soldered in some places, and told by his mother and father that he was now to live his days as Jack. But my name is Timmy, said Timmy when they first told him. I know, Sweetums, said his mother. But now, you have a job, what your father and others call A Purpose. Be proud to be Jack. We will keep you on the mantle and let your sister Sally play with you when she’s been a good girl. Okay, said Timmy. He had stopped the water from spilling out of his eyes. He had A Purpose. Something in his new, spring-filled chest swelled. Pride. His life, from that point, was a serious of ups and downs. He felt at his best when Sally carried him throughout the house, pressing him back down once he popped up. He loved to hear the turning of the handle on his box: Up, up, down; down, down, up; down, up, up: these were the rhythms that had replaced regular boy thoughts in his head. He now lived for motion, which is what a life strung out of feelings is destined to be.

2. This is the squashing of mushrooms on the forest floor, not out of malice but rather, excitement. Find a forest thick with dew and rich soil. Soil is most nutrient filled when snails are present, so bend down and scoop up the earth before you commit to any dirt. If you see the small white shells and if the earth, though black, smells green, then wander off the path and begin to step with purpose. Feel the caps give then crumble. Some will emit a fine, white powder. Breath it in. Do not step anywhere where mushrooms are absent. If all of the mushrooms are flat in the forest and you find yourself unable to move any further, close your eyes and concentrate on the understated rhythm of things.