(Quick note: I understand that if you have to explain to a reader what he/she is about to read then you didn’t do a good job of writing it in the first place, but I wanted to clarify my thought process here because it got away from me.

Originally, I was just planning on entering the haiku that ended up being Part Three. I was going for a minimalistic slant. Then the song lyric aspect for titles came to mind. Then I started expanding on those and the other four haikus emerged and before I knew it, I had deviated from the “perception of space” theme and wandered into the “where am I at in relation to space” theme. So, that’s the excuse for not sticking to my initial goal. However, now that I think of it, since my perception changed even though the space stayed the same, maybe I didn’t miss the mark after all.)

Part One: “What you gonna do when everybody’s insane?”

Running a rat race

where we are all on treadmills,

each thinking they’ll win.

Part Two: “Stuck in the middle with you.”

The way to avoid

perpetual stagnation

is to change your space.

Part Three: “Well...how did I get here?”

There’s no end in sight

if on a Mobius strip.

So, find your own path.

Part Four: “Break on through to the other side.”

Ignore the carrot

and grab a hold of the stick.

Shift priorities.

Part Five: “Be runnin’ up that hill.”

It’s not where you start

that determines your success.

It’s where you finish.

Greg waved his hands, and smiled at Martha. But Martha did not smile back. He watched as the skin on her face began to twist, and turn inside out— ‘n’ about- that startled & frightened him.

He stared back at his hands, and noticed that his fingers were changing to different colors as if he was looking through a kaleidoscope. Greg shook his head, and soon a wave of water splashed out from his elephant like ears. This was quite a bizarre day. Either he was on stage, and had been placed into some kind of trance, or this was really happening and there was no way out of his current reality!

#CORVUS

Mardi, 20th May, 2025.

I was there. That much is true. I remember the window half open, curtain breathing in. A low hum—refrigerator maybe, maybe not. Something in the walls. Or behind them.

They asked my name. I gave it. I always give the same name. It’s mine. I’ve checked the mail. It’s on the pills. My mother used to say it, though sometimes with different vowels. Still—mine.

I told them what happened. The girl. The sound. The crack of something not quite wood. I told them straight. Words in order like beads on a string. I saw her fall. Or trip. Or kneel. She was fine after. I think she waved. Or was that yesterday?

They asked again. I tried to keep the story upright. But it leaned. Facts slouched. Time hiccupped. I watched the night stretch sideways. Not metaphor—the street bent. Like wet paper. You ever try walking on wet paper?

They said I contradicted myself. I said yes. Then no. Then asked if they could hear the buzzing too. They couldn’t. That’s when I knew I was alone again.

Still, I stayed calm. I looked calm. I know how to look. Keep your hands flat. Blink regular. Don’t mention the echo inside your teeth.

I didn’t hurt her. Or if I did it wasn’t me. It was the version with the red jacket. I burned the jacket. I don’t even own red. That’s proof isn’t it?

They said I confessed. I said I explained. I said I was cooperative. I said I’d been off my meds, but I could still be trusted. I made tea. That’s something sane people do.

You’re nodding. That’s good. That means you hear me now. It’s harder when the words come out sideways. But these are straight. You see that right?

Everything I’ve said is true. You can line it up. Just don’t try to overlap it.

I never asked to be believed.

I just said I was.

can it be

one sanguine ripe fruit

halts death in its tracks

teachers blushing bribe

invariably not falling far

rosy cheeked youngsters

favorite of every father's

all seeing eye

conceived to purposefully

humiliate annihilate us all

a big celestial hellfire haha

original sin

rubyred polished up beckoning

tasty nutritious fiber filled yum

A pear appeared before

Disappearing peers, all together,

Altogether tethered, weathered,

Whethered-or-not, at once,

Singly, a loaned tear rowed down my cheek

Chicly, obliquely, weekly down the stream

Rendering, tendering, surrendering

A tear torn in my presence

Given to me, given the

Circumspection 'round my mind's

I ground of quintessence effervescing

Merrily down unpleasance

Does she have a multiple personality?

Is she someone who deals with paranoia,they way her face contorts over her shoulder.

Looking over her shoulder in suspicion.

Or is she hiding herself,afraid to show the world who she is?

Her necklace thin like a scar speaks of her aging despair.

A bonnet,the one thing that that seems to compliment both her personalities.

Is she pretending to be someone she’s not,is she afraid to grow old,hiding that part of herself?

Or is she saying this is who I am?

But if you look beyond my wrinkles and weathered face,you will see who I truly am.

Am I an old woman or a young girl?

Have I always been afraid to grow old?

Is it that I’ve been traumatized by my obsession to stay young?

My memories and feelings so overwhelming that I have taken on another identity.

Am I drowning in the fountain of youth?

Going deeper into the complexities of the depths of my mind.

Who am I?

And what have I become?

This is based on the illusion of the young woman and the old lady.

I remember the first time I saw it.

Not knowing it was an illusion.

But there was something about it that continually drew my attention to it.

And I remember one day, ,I saw a different image in the picture.

If I was aware at the time,that if I knew it was an illusion,I wonder what I would have seen.

I remember it having a dark background,and seeing a young girl the first time.

Then one day I saw the old woman and the young lady simultaneously.

And that was years ago.

And this challenge brought me to this image again.

And once again,the images were simultaneously captured in my mind.

I remember looking up at my mother as a little girl and seeing a superhero. She was strong, and she never failed to speak up for what she believed in. She encouraged me to be inquisitive, to learn about the world around me, to be kind, but never settle for anything less than what I deserved. Through her, I learned what it meant to stand against injustice and care for those less fortunate than us. Through her, I learned to treat those who didn’t look like me or act like me with respect, even when we disagreed.

As an adult, I look at my mother and wonder, “How can this be the same woman who raised me?” Sometimes, I see an identical person, the strong woman who stands up for what she believes in. But often, in the space that surrounds the outline of her familiar image, I see someone I barely recognize. She still seems like the intelligent, fact-seeking woman I remember, but she mindlessly follows fools without question. The mother who supported organizations that helped the stranger, the foreigner, the refugee, now votes for policies that hurt them. The woman who spoke of the importance of kindness and love now voices hurtful comments about people whose looks or beliefs differ from hers.

But the moment that lets me truly see the difference between the mother who is familiar to me and the stranger who somehow takes up the same space is when she determines that I am also not the person she believed me to be. When I am finally brave enough to confess that I don’t agree with many of her opinions, she asks me, “Where did you get those convictions?”

“You!” I want to shout. “I learned from the woman who raised me!”

But instead, I just stare back at this person who is somehow, impossibly, two women at once.

He snatches the map from my hands.

“Mine!”

We quarry.

“It’s mine!”

I snatch it back and glare at him.

“I’ll walk.”

“No, lets drive. It’s Miles.”

“Oh, hay Miles!”

“Hay? Oh, in the field. Hey.”

“Did you box?”

“Nah, I bottled it.”

“Where?”

“It’s on the rocks.”

He hands me the glasses.

I put them on and read the sign.

“Leo.”

“That’s me. It looks like we’re all here!”

“We’re going to mine.”

“Ore?”

“Copper!”

“...Plain clothes?”

“No. They're quite colourful.”