The Revelations by Erik Hoel (some good books to read TXT) 📗

the moving tastes of crunches, keeping nose from the cold, tucking it under the arch of leathery wings which belong, long fingers which belong, warm but empty belly which belongs, lets long fingers curl hard and naturally and instinctively, thoughts of hunting, yes, amid the black here, the black and calm of waiting, seeing the small twongs of sound bounce around and give the world, yes, it is safe, safe, cousins, brothers, sisters, yes, the other black bodies as soft as underbellies of night, rubbing, an expanse of skin, a thousand skins, which all belong, all love and strife, the true world is here in the cousins which belong, the brothers which belong, the sisters which belong, the world inside which belongs, while the world outside is a great loft of flyings and huntings and smellings and here is the home of the all, the home, the cave, and now the great belonging is moving, is rising, rising now, touchings of skeins of leather yes, now it is time to hunt to find the night to be amid the tall and the open and find find find the little wells little treasures of food food food, cousins around yes the smell of flying the quick beats of hearts, twongs, hear all movement, here, spilling out into the outside all of the all the escape of the cave the mouth the dark the home, emerge into the open, all of us, to spread to cry to mark to move to hunt to feed, yes, yes, to be bat bat bat bat bat bat bat bat.

SUNDAY

Kierk wakes up with the expectation that he is seventeen again. That he has to get to high school, which means driving in the glare of morning across the salt marshes, then leaving surreptitiously during lunch to get high in his car, to come back and take a calculus exam disheveled, to have a free period in the library and spend it with his feet up, balancing his chair on its back legs, reading Heinlein, to run with his track team-mates that evening along roads as basic to him as blood, an entire day of seventeen-year-old life waiting as thick as water, as edible as bread. Everything had been potential.

But when he finally realizes what self he’s in he just groggily props himself up on an elbow, his thinning and matted hair clinging to his forehead, and, surprised at his lack of hangover (a vivid sensory memory of a mouth filled with hot water), rolls and drops out of bed and does his now-daily exercise routine, breathing heavily as his life up to now recedes away along tracks.

Outside Kierk isn’t really watching where he is going—he has his Hello Kitty notebook in hand and a pen is burning a hole in his back pocket.

Carmen and Alex are out for a stroll, passing between them a whipped mocha. Carmen is in shorts with her hair up in a ponytail and sports pink sunglasses, while Alex is wearing a tight V-neck and cargo shorts and sandals. It’s beautiful out, though every time they pass from the rectangular shade of a building to the brightness beyond Carmen lets loose a series of uncontrollable sneezes, and finally has to explain that it’s due to her photic sneeze reflex. Two years ago she had gotten herself genotyped, and fifty percent of the reason for getting her genome read had been to prove to her disbelieving friends that she really is genetically disposed to sneeze in response to bright light. Normally the sunglasses help but today it’s so bright that her genes are having a go of it and so she keeps sneezing wildly and Alex keeps laughing every time she does.

It’s on the tree-lined paths of Washington Square Park that Carmen spots the figure standing on one of the benches next to the dog park. He is facing away from them, looking instead at the cavorting and speedy to-and-fro of dogs. There are cries and shouts and showers of woodchips. Carmen leads Alex silently up behind Kierk, whose back stays to them as he cranes this way and that. Carmen can see his grin as he takes in the whole scene. The dogs have between them a big red bone that they keep stealing from each other, and then, as one of them takes off across the park bearing the bone in its mouth, it is like the platonic realm itself has opened up as a pack of dogs of all shapes and sizes come rough and tumble after. A merry chase of dog bodies and dog thoughts commence.

Carmen stands up on the bench beside Kierk as he is following the game. Before he turns back she nudges him with an elbow and he, in surprise, nearly falls off. His laughter fades when he sees her expression, which is like she had just caught him performing a musical instrument she hadn’t

known he played. Alex waves at him.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for a dog person,” Carmen says.

Kierk shrugs, squinting, watches the parabola of a thrown ball.

“I had them growing up. What are you two doing here anyways?”

“Weeeee are in the process of exploring, so you should come! That is, if you can stand another day in our company.”

Alex holds the Hello Kitty notebook that had been lying on the bench forgotten, already flipping through the pages.

“This. Is. Amazing.” He backs up and begins to read aloud. Kierk just sits down on the bench and sighs.

“ ‘How is a metamorphosis of thought preceded? What augurs summon a breakthrough of this scale, what omens and signs and eyes? Is it all poetry before, is it all madness? Is such a vision preceded by passion? By failure? By belief? As with Saint Paul, does it come upon a traveler as blindness? Could it be preceded by love?’ ”

There is a pause. Carmen is looking at him anew for the second time.

“Hey, wait a minute, this is actually . . .” Alex starts,