#phaino

My words are mostly meaningless, strung together in a net so loose and ragged that all but the oldest, slowest fish can slip through. Gut it. Slit it’s ghost-white belly open and muck out its guts. Inside the monster’s dark stomach is the litter of generations, and this one, this whiskered old fish, so heavy for its size, within the clawed hands of its transparent ribs lies one clay brick. Pull it out. Submerge it in the shallows to wash off the gore. A serviceable brick. Well-made and right. Under the water its surface shines like all stones, only to dull when sun-dried, but a good brick. Cast the net again. Pull in the slowest old bottomfeeder. Two bricks and you can begin to build. Stack them on the shoreline. This is how we build the house of memory.