The Lung Library

One of my lungs is a papier-mâché replica of an inverted owl, the other the actual diving bell used by cicadas to explore the ocean floor.

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This was biker-cicadas, cyber-cicadas, anyone. They wouldn’t even sign the register. Eventually I issued them with tiny lung library cards.

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It wasn’t clear what the cicadas were looking for on the ocean floor. Most I got out of them was ‘Moon Cicada say so’ on the ouija board…

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Of course while they were down there in my lung, I had to lie very still not breathing much, and so I had these repeated near-death experiences.

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It was so regular, in my brain I’d just check into the Near Death Motel, a little joint on the event horizon run by Mrs Pneumonia Friend.

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Regulars were Captain Anoxia, a retired astronaut, and Bluenose the Pirate. We’d lie in the darkened dining room and tell tales of breathing.

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All our dead pressed themselves against the Light Fences and called to us to join them. Ceaseless rivers of moths poured into their mouths.

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