In which there is an update.

This happened:



Dunno. Shit's been writing itself lately. I've got a longer (and way better) one coming along, so it'll be up in the next week. Not in love with this one, really, but it has sentimental value. Maybe I'll work on it some more at some point.

Saturday nights in neon lights, Sunday in the cell.

I have endeavored, until now, to write and draw beautiful things: effervescent phrases; the darkest of which were eyes closed against the sun. Beautiful things. This is where it gets ugly. This is when the sun goes down, and it comes up again only through the bars of a prison cell. The night starts here.

--

The boot flew across the room. It left a smear as it hit the wall, printing it with mud. I untied the other, yanking the laces out of the holes without thought for once again having to re-thread them, even though knew that I would. Re-thread the laces. Through the holes. Hurriedly. Late for something. Wishing I had left them alone. I would tie my boots after I threaded them and put them on my feet. I would wear them to work, to school, over pants, under a skirt, every day, the soles would wear, and I would replace them.

I threw the second one across the room too. Harder, at a wall made of cement. If it had been made of drywall and cracked with the force of my throw I would have torn the wall apart until my fingers bled. Instead, I punched it. Heard my bones crack. My knuckles came away without skin. I dragged them across the wall, slowly, leaving bloody streaks above the mud from my boots. It was wet, and my blood was wet, and I mixed them together until the mud on the wall until the blood from my hands made a fingerprinted set of swirls, and it was brown, and my blood was camouflaged by the mud in swirls that were brown, with no evidence of human suffering, and my palms were filmed with mud. My knuckles were clean. Except for my blood. It ran to my elbows. It dripped on the floor. It wasn't that bad. I wasn't lightheaded. I could mix it with mud, and the dirt that collected from my shoes, and that would make it invisible.

En Inglés con Español, y entonces en Español con Inglés.

¿Qué es la significa de una araña con siete piernas?

The spider was first on the bathroom ceiling, small enough to tolerate. She stayed overhead until Thursday, when she was on the wall near the mirror. It was there that I realized her strange asymmetry was not due to longer forelegs but to the absence of one; she had only seven. Tenía sólo siete.
A strange condition, for a spider. They do not live particularly perilous lives; predatory, sure, but their prey, unlike most carnivores, cannot bite or kick or maim. I concluded that she must have been born with the defect, because I cannot think of an injury that she could have sustained that would have altered rather than ended her life.
Pero, ¿qué es la significa? It feels meaningful. Something with nature, and accidents, and overcoming obstacles. But the pressing feeling is pregnant with this: she does not know that she is missing. Her gait is altered, but from one that is not hers, and has never been. She does not limp; her back leg has become front and she pulls more than propels. That is all.
Una araña con siete piernas no sabe la significa de siete. Entonces, no hay significa.

What is the meaning of a spider with seven legs?

La araña estuvo primera en el techo del baño, bastante pequeño tolerar. Ella se quedó en lo alto hasta el jueves, cuando ella estuvo en la pared cerca del espejo. Allí realicé su asimetría extraña era no porque de las piernas más largas, pero de la ausencia de una; ella tenía sólo siete. She had only seven.
Una condición extraña, para una araña. Ellas no viven vidas en particular peligrosas; predador, sí, pero su presa, a diferencia de la mayor parte de carnívoros, no puede morder o dar patadas o mutilar. Concluí que ella debe haber nacida con el defecto, porque no puedo pensar en una herida que ella podría sostenido lo que habría cambiado pero no terminado su vida.
But what is the meaning? Siente significativo. Algo con naturaleza, y accidentes, y obstáculos de vencimiento. Pero el siente está embarazado con esto: ella no sabe que ella falla. Su paso es cambiado, pero de uno que no es suyo, y nunca ha sido. Ella no cojea; su pierna trasera se ha hecho delantera y ella tira más que propulsa. Es todo.
A spider with seven legs does not know the meaning of seven. Therefore, it has no meaning.