“Conduit Was Two Couples Blathering” by Tyler Dempsey

Person 1: 

“Judgements of “others,” of our minds when we consider what one would think? Animals do it—our dog reddens when she slipped and you saw it. The Network-of-Feeling-Looked-At death-gripped Earth’s nut sack. It’s evolution’s engine.”

 

Person 2: 

“Two winters Marla and I watched a house in Felton. Like you’d been left a film producer’s in-law suite; when Marla moved furniture from storage essentially that’s what it was. I’d frequent a concrete square out back—trying not to blow bong-sized smoke-clouds into the home’s ventilation system. Smile at larger-than-life-Redwoods, California sun suspended in shafts. Wonder aloud about circumstances bringing me here. So foreign to my dirt-farmer origins. My murmurings aimed at the lemon balm growing at concrete’s edge, little friends, who over two winters spilled over concrete and explored nether-regions of three-foot air. Attacked nostrils if you looked toward the back door. The only difference, from lemon balm one-foot away, is I talked to it. Payed attention. Asked questions. Stupid things you do with people, because I was a kid who was lonely lost and profoundly stoned. Maybe, the lemon balm asked these questions: “Am I lovable?” “What do I have to do?”

 

Person 3:

“The best way to communicate to the world and people on it I loved them the tiny time I was here.”

 

Person 4:

“. . . transcribed “Love Languages,” when we left Yosemite, or maybe driving into Yosemite—we saw the river otter?”

 

Person 1:

“Inadequate communicating you occupy the forefront of my heart. The throne. Give life meaning. (Among other things.)”

 

Person 3:

“Writing’s another language. More room to roll around by.”

 

Person 4: 

“Rabbit-hole—words, and phrases, in ever-shrinking “Common English” neglecting communication, intelligent humans facing shear inadequacy because our whale of emotion isn’t capturable with a butterfly net of language we’re . . .”

 

Person 3.

“Tendency to get watered-down. Lazied away.”

 

Person 2:

“Existing in this elevated room with you. We hover.”

 

—

Tyler Dempsey got a form rejection as a “tortilla” from Taco Bell. He ate it and his stories fell out. If you’d like the stories as a book, and possess that magic called “making books,” contact him @tylercdempsey.