Aldus Issue 2 - Web Version

A L D U S , A J O U R N A L O F T R A N S L AT I O N sleepy tower: not for a bond of blood, but for the band of street musicians with their dogs. I don’t haggle with them, I follow their lead. In the distance, enemies of friends and friends of enemies approach. I leap down from the tower, landing uninjured upon a well-tended family-friendly lawn. I had no wish to strike anyone with my kick. It was just an exercise in keeping my balance. Monday is trying to intimidate me, so I seize it by the ears. It changes back into the familiar moon that has its days and its hours of glory. A second challenger is creeping up from behind. Its name is Tuesday or toothpick. I screw my right leg into the mat and jab my left into the gut of the workweek. Thunder. The sky trembles with all its clouds and the absent sun. The week is over. Suddenly I smell the word snake inside me, I crouch down with legs extended. Who is half animal, half ship? The harbor opens toward the rear. Will my affronted freight accompany me? The word crane draws me to my feet. The name of any bird makes me proud in the region between neck and chest. It is a human right to be an animal.

Change direction and play out the reverse. Without thinking of the next form. Nor even of the self, for often the self belongs to the past. The waist sash circles the focal point of my writing.

One who thinks his way forward radically with his left hand should not neglect his right temple. The East vanished long ago. On a sphere, every change of direction is just an excuse.

A breeze from the right, then another from the left. I know them, I’ve traveled without a ticket on a breath of air. Then I thickened my script, loosened it, aired it out, spun it and wove it. As a child, I had a faithless weaver for a wet nurse. She forsook her shuttle and slipped into a secret hole. She was naked, not political. At least not yet. The flutterings of woven fabric: these are my hands. The silk thread shimmers blue and loud. A needle lies beneath dark green seawater. It is the magic needle that the monkey hero once used to calm the stormy seas. I bow 118