Marginalia, no.96

It is significant that the condor used my father’s chamber pot.

~ Bruno Schulz, The Street of Crocodiles

We used to make long summer road-trips to Iowa for family reunions.  My father bought a CB radio to keep us entertained through the purgatorial stretches of desert highway.  We each had to choose a handle, an alias to identify ourselves by.  My father’s was ‘Timberwolf.’  It made me think of that scene from the movie version of Never Cry Wolf (1983) when Tyler dreamt he was killed and eaten by a pack of wolves – a dream that forged a spiritual bond between himself and the animal, according to Tyler’s Inuit friend Mike.  I always wanted a familiar, something like Prince Rupert’s dog.  I never had one, unless it was the little songbird that frightened me by landing on my head, or the moth that flew out of my mouth after I pretended to drink from the toy kettle in the back yard.



Filed under Marginalia

2 responses to “Marginalia, no.96

  1. A moth flying out of your mouth is not a detail you can so cavalierly dispense with, sir. Was it laying eggs?

  2. Ian Wolcott

    Thankfully, no. It had apparently been hiding in the spout of the old kettle and I must have sucked it into my mouth when I pretended to take a drink. It was a weird feeling for a 7 year old, the fluttering, and then opening my mouth to see a big white moth fly away.

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