Tyler Bley Half Of Me Is In Shadow Strangelets are small things that strangle other small things or they are small strange things. It would be nice if a mini myth weren’t like a small dung beetle tackling a large ball of dung but rather if the dungball were proportionally small. If a half-truth – which itself is a diminished entity – didn’t leave out half of everything but if the missing half disappeared, left the stage topless in oversized pants, not making the truth bigger but merely making it fit. ‘I’ve noticed everything you like you make smaller by using the diminutive pronoun or noun in reference to them.’ She was a meek, friendly person; I couldn’t imagine anyone like her doing such a thing. ‘I want to cuddle them.’ ‘You should live in one of those creepy miniature villages.’ ‘Ptuh…’ She knew which miniature villages I was talking about. I’ve been in one myself – walked around in it with a mouth continually agape – and found everything there utterly creepy. Big strangeness filled with strangelets and half-truths and children who looked like Arnold Schwarzenegger. Professional Displeasure ‘He’s a goddamn gerrymander. I don’t care if he’s gray and has a wet droopy bottom lip – I pegged him for the arbitrary type when he fiddled with the places I like to sit on his lap.’ ‘My ventriloquist dummy sits and spits there on my lap and people think my fingers leak – some folks find it gross, don’t ask me why. Anyhow, he’s run away now: poor blighter. Caught in a quagmire of media on some street. I have yet to turn on the television, too afraid though…’ ‘This roped-off street. Goddamnit. Caught. A trapped rat. Crowd goggling. It sickens me. A camera pulls out and watches me cry. Wooden tears. At the end of a working day I emit filthy speech. Gotta be something to do with professional displeasure. The day is an iceberg.’ ‘No disobedience allowed, he always complains. My master likes sodomy - fresh pair of socks is my reward. These are the complaints you often hear him voice. Lies? Not really.’ ‘Fluorescent green rats keep me company in the dusty trunk – amid so much velour and wood-smell. I hate him.’
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