Iwan Krol Quotes in Boy Swallows Universe
So the freckle is always consciousness. My personal big bang. The lounge. The yellow and brown shirt. And I arrive. I am here. I told Slim I thought the rest was questionable, that the four years before that moment might as well have never happened. Slim smiled when I told him that. He said that freckle on my right forefinger knuckle is home.
“Yeah, it’s dead,” I say.
“Stupid bird seemed so determined to kill itself,” he says.
Caitlyn slaps her hands.
“Wren!” she says. “I remember now! That’s a wren.”
And with that, the dead blue wren comes back. Like it was just waiting for Caitlyn Spies to recognise it, because, like all living things—like me, me, me—it lives and dies on her breath and her attention.
“I know you’re just the voice in my head,” I say. “You’re a figment of my imagination. I use you to escape from moments of great trauma.”
“Escape?” the man echoes. “What, like Slim over the Boggo Road walls? Escape from yourself, Eli, do ya, like the Houdini of your own mind?”
“773 8173,” I say. “That’s just the number we’d tap into the calculator when we were kids. That’s just ‘Eli Bell’ upside down and back to front.”
“Brilliant!” the man says. “Upside down and back to front, like the universe, hey Eli? You still got the axe?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” the man says. “He’s coming, Eli.”
Iwan Krol Quotes in Boy Swallows Universe
So the freckle is always consciousness. My personal big bang. The lounge. The yellow and brown shirt. And I arrive. I am here. I told Slim I thought the rest was questionable, that the four years before that moment might as well have never happened. Slim smiled when I told him that. He said that freckle on my right forefinger knuckle is home.
“Yeah, it’s dead,” I say.
“Stupid bird seemed so determined to kill itself,” he says.
Caitlyn slaps her hands.
“Wren!” she says. “I remember now! That’s a wren.”
And with that, the dead blue wren comes back. Like it was just waiting for Caitlyn Spies to recognise it, because, like all living things—like me, me, me—it lives and dies on her breath and her attention.
“I know you’re just the voice in my head,” I say. “You’re a figment of my imagination. I use you to escape from moments of great trauma.”
“Escape?” the man echoes. “What, like Slim over the Boggo Road walls? Escape from yourself, Eli, do ya, like the Houdini of your own mind?”
“773 8173,” I say. “That’s just the number we’d tap into the calculator when we were kids. That’s just ‘Eli Bell’ upside down and back to front.”
“Brilliant!” the man says. “Upside down and back to front, like the universe, hey Eli? You still got the axe?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” the man says. “He’s coming, Eli.”