Wrapped


scholar 

Once there was a man who knew too little. His name was Horace and he lived in the government archives in the basement of the library. His hair was not white but covered with dust. He wore briefs that were slightly too tight and he never shook hands, preferring to bow when introduced.

Horace had been directed to go underground and find the truth in the stacks about buffaloes, cotton gins, Betty Blake and polygamy in the Wild West. He went (it was the sixties and his budget was unlimited) and made himself a burrow in the southwest corner behind the 1840-1845 issues of the Santa Fe Gazette.

He wrapped himself in recycled paper soaked in cold water and made himself into a papier mache scholar. After hours he would nudge himself out of his burrow one vertebrae at a time and smack against the graduate carrels to break himself loose.

Every night he was reborn, skin new and luminous as a frail moon, and he ate through the archives, ten times his weight every day. He grew fat with knowledge, bulging at the seams like a gluttonous sumo, a cerebral soma deep with academic mulch. He swallowed and writhed, wrote and spun webs until morning, when he emptied the recycle bins into the deep sink in the janitor’s closet and clothed himself in wet parchment to wait for midnight again.

Advertisements

0 Responses to “Wrapped”



  1. Leave a Comment

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s




Enter your email address to subscribe to this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email.

Join 50 other followers

Blog Stats

  • 165,147 hits

Archives

Categories

June 2006
M T W T F S S
« May   Jul »
 1234
567891011
12131415161718
19202122232425
2627282930  

%d bloggers like this: