Albie

January 6, 2010 at 2:32 pm (Uncategorized)

I thought this might bring some happiness. I’m pretty much entertained by everything Albie says; he’s got a way of being simultaneously batshit nonsense and incredibly sharp. The other day someone showed me this page of his here on The New Absurdist, where you can read about thirty of his little flash stories. Like, for example, this one, called “Clearing”:

The forest looked sick, sick to death, sick to death of swaying, sick to death of swaying in the wind. The wind, if visible, would appear to be a smear on a window. Something purple jittered in the forest, a figure? Maybe. A clock was chiming in the forest, golden pokes of sound making a point over and over. The wind backed away from the forest and took to raping and disembowelling the space high above the greasy jewels of the trees.

A postman, head bowed to read the address on a letter, entered the forest.

“We will all receive this letter,” he said, barely noticing the traces of racism that the memories of his bitter father still smuggled into him.

“I will receive this letter, one day. I will probably even be the one to deliver it to my own door.”

The underground car park in the forest lit up as the postman approached. Or at least the office block above the carpark lit up. Well, the small office at the back of the office block lit up, not all of it. It was early yet.

I say ‘lit up’, I mean a candle remembered it was still alight.

Or was it just alight once, a long time ago and it just thought it was still alight?

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