Soviet Milk

by Nora Ikstena

And here it all was: the truth about the wretched, hypocritical creature we call man. A muddle of blood vessels, convolutions of intestines, glands and secretions, lymph nodes and arteries, phalli and vaginas, testicles and wombs. In this narrative, death was just an accidental, unavoidable stopping point.

Real

You deserve to be. You deserve to be put in prison.’ ‘I would like to be in prison.’ ‘You’re not normal and I don’t understand why God has given you such talent.’

I cackled loooool

somnambulant

A big word for elmo

‘Doctor, do you believe in God?’ she asked. ‘I still haven’t had the opportunity to meet Him,’ I repeated. An odd sensation gripped my stomach. ‘What a pity. It’s one of the most beautiful meetings in life. Love and fidelity for a lifetime. A friend who always supports and forgives you.’

‘Because it often seems to me that someone has stolen your joy in life. They’ve torn it out of you like that bell’s clapper. And you can’t ring any more – just like the bell. Are you offended?’

Bro...

It seemed to me that since I was born I’d been trying to get my mother to connect to life. As a helpless infant, as a child of limited understanding, as a fearful teenager, as a young woman. And she always seemed to be striving to turn out her life’s light. So we struggled – always ending in stalemate. Although one day the light would be extinguished for ever.