Will I be struck by a neon light? A dictionary? A bible? The intangibles of crime, like a bright feather dangling over a small head, cast a lurid pall over each citizen’s life.
To help the police identify the assailant’s voice during a homicide, a recording device will now be implanted inside the nasal passage of each citizen.
A camera rigged up behind the citizen’s left eyeball (to photograph the assailant’s face) is rejected as too expensive and impractical, as it can easily be dislodged (by said assailant) with a spoon or a finger.
Facing an indecent assault, a citizen is advised to befoul his/herself by biting a plastic pouch tucked beneath the tongue containing a rancid solution.
[I think the above is in my first collection, All Around What Empties Out. It was written around 2002.]
Monday, November 16, 2015
- Linh Dinh
- Born in Vietnam in 1963, I came to the US in 1975, and have also lived in Italy, England and Germany. I'm the author of a non-fiction book, Postcards from the End of America (2017), two books of stories, Fake House (2000) and Blood and Soap (2004), six of poems, All Around What Empties Out (2003), American Tatts (2005), Borderless Bodies (2006), Jam Alerts (2007), Some Kind of Cheese Orgy (2009) and A Mere Rica (2017), and a novel, Love Like Hate (2010). I've been anthologized in Best American Poetry 2000, 2004, 2007, Great American Prose Poems from Poe to the Present, Postmodern American Poetry: a Norton Anthology (vol. 2) and Flash Fiction International: Very Short Stories From Around the World, etc. I'm also editor of Night, Again: Contemporary Fiction from Vietnam (1996) and The Deluge: New Vietnamese Poetry (2013). My writing has been translated into Italian, Spanish, French, Dutch, German, Portuguese, Japanese, Korean, Arabic, Icelandic and Finnish, and I've been invited to read in London, Cambridge, Brighton, Paris, Berlin, Leipzig, Halle, Reykjavik, Toronto, Singapore and all over the US. I've also published widely in Vietnamese.