Washing my hands yesterday, I glanced above my head and saw a snake-in-a-bottle. It had a scorpion in its jaws.
Habu sake, it’s called–or snake-wine (translated from Japanese). I have no idea why there’s a grimy bottle of it in the kitchen where I work. As horrible (and un-pescatarian) it is of me, I kind of want one for myself. There’s something about remains, the leftovers of the once-living. Just last week, my housemates were rearranging the living room and found a long-dead song bird under a chair. It’s somewhere in the backyard now, but again, a (big) part of me wanted to stick it in a jar with something to eat all of it away but for the bones.
I think this is all somehow related to my current obsession with zombies. We’ll save that for another post.