Wrote this blog entry this morning and then found out my grandmother is dying; her Alzheimer’s has taken a turn for the worse.
THIS VEIL OF DARKNESS AND DEATH
It’s morning. Smith’s stiffly moving about the apartment, naked. He has toothpaste foam in his beard. He goes into the spare bedroom to weigh himself. 172.8. I’m worried because I think he’s losing too much weight. A friend suggests he may have picked up a digestive parasite here in Morocco.
I watch his penis dangle heavy in its foreskin. I start our morning coffee, thinking about his anatomy. The foreskin would be a nice place to smuggle things. I don’t know why my mind likes to ponder the logistics of criminal activity. Must be my paranoid survivalism.
“So I was thinking about how we could smuggle things. An obvious place would be my twat.”
“Your twat? No, they have special dwarves for that.”
“Twat Dwarves? What songs do they sing? Whistle Whilst You Work?”
“Oh, no. They sing ‘Burble while You Work.’
We giggle. Smith thinks I’m finished. He pads into our bedroom. I follow him.
“Actually, I’m not done. I was thinking your foreskin would be a good place to smuggle things.”
“Like what? They’d have to be awfully small.”
I think about this a bit. I mostly want to secure our bank cards. I could get a card in my twat, but it’d be uncomfortable, might bend and break. I could fit a roll of dollar bills in it, though.
“Oh, like a dollar bill. I’m sure you could get a dollar bill under your foreskin.”
“But why?”
“Or hash.”
“I could put hash in here.” He fingers his ear. “But not black hash.”
“Oh, you could. Sometimes earwax can be black. You know, I’m glad we have fun. A sense of humor is the secret to happiness.”
“Yes, a sense of humor is all that can get you through this veil of darkness and death.”
