THE WAND OF THE CREEPY FACTOR KID Chairman Mao’s literary magazine, The Indefinite Zero of Carbon, disappeared shortly after a fairy swooped up and pinged him with a dazzling wand, although, as some blubbery historians suggest (see the essay “Colony Fight Beyond Tomorrow’s Marrow”) it was an undeniable hit among academes and grocery store check-out lanes alike, even garnering international recognition for its absorbency and toughness. When prodded by the press about this new hole he had punctured through the publication circuit, Mao dithered to specify a reason, wandering into lush anecdotes about quail that fed on failed robot projects or the bad blues that overcame him while he vacationed at an Alaskan bungalow. No matter how he came to greenlight the decision, witnesses of the aftermath of that heroic Day-Glo era say he no longer took joy in leaning back in chairs, and he seemed on the verge to blurt out, “Who wants to play Prelude to Insanity with me?” Like some phantom magician, he continued to make other things disappear – elevator buttons, dog collars, sleep – until one day, as an orange wind slipped up over the twittering hollows and mail carriers paused along their routes to reminisce over lost crushes, he, too, had nixed himself from the picture, slinking behind a portrait of himself, and pretended to know how to cry.
Posted on: Thu, 13 Mar 2014 02:24:47 +0000
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