assume a new identity every quarter hour:

be saintly, paranoid, the lonely owner of a

cat. butter a slice of bread on both sides.

drop it. frown at the result and repeat your

experiment seventeen times; take notes

for posterity. sing a song he doesn’t like.

gather dust balls and put them on a shelf

high above your head. plant a baby spider

in the middle of that cosy nest. go and

jot down three questions for him: one that

keeps repeating itself, one containing a

little bit of weather and traces of music.

make the last available in five languages –

no morse code, no braille, no invention

of your own. practise oddly puckered lips,

prepare your tongue for unfamiliar twists.

quit something. anything. sudoku. zen, a

road to nowhere. replace with new addictions

search anagrams for patience is a virtue –

train active pie use; stir cutie, naive ape!

unhinge a door. lose interest in pot plants.

verify a rumour that involves him and a fruit.

write a five-step manual: how to play the

xylophone with closed eyes: do re mi fa sol.

yank out the phone cord. count back to

zero from your chocolate bar’s use-by date.

————

Michaela A. Gabriel was last seen in Vienna (Austria) living out slightly sadistic (or is that masochistic?) tendencies by teaching adults how to use computers & speak proper English, and conducting parallel love affairs with words of various length and reputation. The tattoo on her forehead quotes Tom Waits: we’re all mad here.

Michaela was tempted to let the Defenestrationistas come up with her bio note, but couldn’t decide what scared her most: that they’d get it completely wrong, or that they’d get it absolutely right. After all, people will believe anything they read on the web. Even this.