A blue, blue, blue baby. Inside a rectangular glass box. Snow White’s baby, with the same little piece of red apple lodged inside his strangled throat. He has the face of an old man and lines and miles of wrinkled skin, two curled fists, and a small, tiny, tender, screaming mouth, pressed against the surface of the glass lid, so that his lips do an eternal kiss. Isn’t that the strangest thing you have ever seen?
No one knows if this photo is real. Date, unknown. Perhaps it was a fetus savagely ripped from his mother’s womb and thrown into a display case for scientific purposes. But blue, his skin is oh so very very blue. A dark sapphire blue; a blue that would exist if the skies and the oceans met and collided into one melted lump.
The photographer says he plucked the baby from his heart. Savagely ripped, of course, because groundbreaking discovery can only come with personal pain and sacrifice. He says he woke up one morning, weeping, struggling, hard, so hard, for each, breath, that he took, in and out (or was it out and in?). He says he could not stop the sound of his dripping teardrops (or was it the rain?), could not stop the piercing pain, could not stop anything that was happening from happening.
The world is wrecked; out of order; has broken down. Ironically, for something so destroyed, it shows no signs of devastation. Just an unfeeling, cold greasy and shiny skin, stretched out thin so the light shines in just a bit, gloriously tempting and oh so out of human reach.
Out of some wild baffling desperation to voice out what words had left dry, he opened his mouth, only to find a thin black string lying in the middle of his tongue. He pulled it, and he pulled it, and he pulled it with all his might, with both his hands, but the string got longer and thicker and darker until he had accumulated a pool of it in the palm of his hand. Don't you believe me? Don't you? Everyone has it, he claims. Everyone has an invisible baby, breeding and breathing where the heart is, suffocating. If you try hard enough, you find the string, somewhere. It could be right beneath your fingernail. It could be hidden among the strands of your hair. Tricky bastards. We hide it from ourselves, he confesses.
Should we listen to this crazy old fool? Crazy? We are all a little crazy! You don't make any sense. You'll go crazy if you make too much sense. We are all a little crazy. He rants and raves like a lunatic. Are you drunk? Yes, yes, we are all a little drunk. Maybe one day, we’ll let them lose. Baby, baby... Run a little. Crawl a little. Cry a little. With love, yes, always, always, with ugly, bitter, nasty, sad, beautiful and miraculous love. Wouldn’t that be the strangest thing anyone has ever seen?