Yes, the world seems to become more complicated every second, doesn’t it? I myself am still trying to wrap my head around the past four months of blog entries which I suppose I’m responsible for. As far as I understand it, this blog is kind of a literary version of Lost, where layers of explanations peal back even more bizarre explanations. I think.

   I’m an owl in an illustration by Klauss Haapaniemi: (number 12). Figure that one out. From what I gather the past 96 characters and accompanying stories are my creations. I guess I dreamt them after I became unstuck from fiction. I’m now fact. To describe myself, I’d say I’m a fancy-looking owl with a lot going for me. It’s not an easy bio to write but maybe for now you can suspend your head-scratching disbelief and enjoy my short-short story for the day…


Some Sub Rosa Dreams


    It’s not respectful.

    Obeying someone’s last request is not respectful?

    She wasn’t in her right mind at the time.

    At what point in her life was she in her right mind?



    You should’ve turned left back there.

    Now you tell me.

    I’ve only been there once. It was ten years ago.

    We planted the Magnolia trees.


    Ten years ago. We planted those trees out front ten years ago. It was a kooky idea but it worked. 

    That wasn’t ten years ago.

    My point is that she had some pretty wacky ideas.

    More bizarre than wacky. 

    One orphan’s placenta planted at the base of each Magnolia tree.

    Yeah, I wouldn’t exalt that as a feather in her cap.

    You try to get ten orphans’ placentas in 24 hours. You did a bang up job, Mom.

    Are you going to talk to the owl like that?


    After we get her cremated remains in the owl are you going to talk to the owl like that? Because if you are then I don’t want anything to do with this. My brother won’t help you either.

   There are other taxidermists in town.

    But none of them are going to put your mother’s cremated remains in a forty-year old owl.

    She was determined to be reincarnated as an owl one way or another. People respect that kind of determination. Taxidermists especially. 

   As long as you promise not to talk to that owl as if it were your mother.

   She harbored that secret dream her entire life. 

   Sub Rosa.


   That’s the street. Turn here.

   I love you.