November 2, 2023 • 13 mins
Día de Muertos is a time for remembering the dead, so here are two Worlds of Possibility pieces about people with loved ones who have passed. "How to Be a Ghost" is a story by Annika Barranti Klein, and "Tithe" is a poem by Héctor González. To read the full text of these pieces, visit: https://www.juliarios.com/how-to-be-a-ghost-by-annika-barranti-klein-and-tithe-by-hector-gonzalez/
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
(00:00):
Welcome to the OMG Julia podcast,where we talk about creative lives and processes.
I'm your host, Julia Rios,and today I have a Dia de
Moertos special for you. Here aretwo pieces from Worlds of Possibility, both
on the themes of lost loved onesand remembering our loved ones. Dia de
(00:23):
Mortos is a time for remembering ourancestors and the people who have passed in
our lives, whether they be pets, family members, beloved friends. We
tend to make little frendas and putout their favorite foods and just it's a
(00:43):
time for remembering people who have passed. So with that spirit, I am
giving you two pieces. How toBe a Ghost is a story from the
February twenty twenty three issue of World'sPossibility. This story is by Annaica Baranti
and well you'll see it's about aghost. Content note for that one,
(01:07):
it involves the loss of a lovedone. Surprisingly, both of these do
traumatic injury leading to death and mentionsof hospitals and intensive care units. The
second piece will be Tithe, apoem by Ector Gonzales. Hector has written
other things for Worlds of Possibility.So you can find their work in previous
(01:30):
years, including in the first anthology, and How to Be a Ghost is
also in the first anthology by AnnacabarantiKline. Tithe is about the ghost of
a child and refers to the deathof a child and to parents grieving.
So just keep in mind that weare dealing with some pretty serious and heavy
topics in this particular episode. Butas with all worlds of possibility things,
(01:57):
even though we're diving into a darkeremotion, we are coming at it through
the lens of hope, of resilience, of comfort, of care. All
right, let's get into it.How to Be a Ghost by Onnica Baranti
(02:38):
Klein. Most days I don't misshaving a body. I miss specific things,
sure, the sublime pain of steppinginto a hot bath, easing myself
in slowly, the little surprise ofbiting into a sun ripe cherry tomato,
the way the skin would burst onmy tongue and the juice run down my
(03:01):
chin. That was nice. WhenI miss those aspects of having a body
enough that I can almost feel theache of its absence, I float into
a television and let the electrical synapsespop me around it. Isn't the same
as feeling, but some days it'senough. They say you haunt the place
(03:24):
you die, but there was nothingspecial about it, so I mostly just
float around from place to place.A drift through space is meant for the
living, unmoored from my body.I like the fortune teller's shop on Sixth
Street. I guess most fortune tellersare grifters, and maybe she is too,
(03:46):
But it seems to me that sheis just very good at telling people
what they want to hear. Everyoneleaves the shop feeling better, and isn't
that the point. The shop hasvelvet curtains for the windows, and beaded
curtains in place of interior doors.There are candles and little bowls of buttons
and pins. Sometimes, when thereare no customers, I hear the fortune
(04:12):
teller whispering spells and arranging her findings. So perhaps they are magical, or
maybe any object is magical if youtreat it like it is. She keeps
romance and mystery novels and a cabinetwith a false back. I'm not sure
what hides inside the cabinet. Isuppose I could check, But what is
the fun in that the woman comesin once? A week on Sunday evening.
(04:39):
I like her. I followed herhere in the first place, and
I like it here, so Ilike her. The woman's daughter is dead,
and the woman is convinced that thefortune teller will make contact with her
in the beyond and reunite them.The fortune teller doesn't know how to do
that. To be fair, Idon't know how to do that either,
(05:02):
and I am literally a ghost.But I want to help, so I
try to figure out how I followthe woman. After she visits the fortune
teller, she stops at the falafelstand and gets a Falafful sandwich, feta
fries, and an iced tea.She sits at one of the weirdly tall
(05:23):
tables and drinks the tea. Thenshe eats about half the sandwich, but
she doesn't touch the fries. Theylook so delicious. Not being able to
eat is probably the primary downside ofbeing bodyless. She throws her trash away
and gives the fries to an unhousedperson outside. I try to look away,
(05:44):
but that's difficult when you technically don'thave any eyes. Then the woman
goes to the park by the riverand sits on a bench. She sits
there for a long time. Eventuallyshe goes home and goes to sleep.
The next day, she dresses forwork. She walks from her apartment to
the flower shop on the corner,where she gets a huge bouquet. She
(06:08):
brings it to Saint Jude's. Idon't want to go inside, but I
stay with her. Inside I seeeverything at once, the living and the
dead, and both are relentless.There is a reason I don't haunt this
place. She gives the flowers tothe ICU nurses and then goes to the
(06:28):
park again. After a while,I go back to her apartment to wait.
The tomatoes on the fire escape haveshriveled up. She comes home in
the evening, looking tired. Shemakes herself a meal in the microwave.
It does not look delicious. Atleast she is eating. The week is
a blur. She doesn't go tothe hospital again, but keeps up the
(06:51):
routine of dressing for work and sittingin the park. After a while,
I start to remember this is whereI got her hurt. Someone found me
on this bench and brought me toSaint Jude's. I wish I knew who
it was that found me. Itcan't be easy to rescue someone and then
have her die anyway. On Saturday, she doesn't go anywhere. She just
(07:15):
lies on her daughter's bed all day. I decide to see if I can
go into a living body the wayI can go into a television. I
can. It's warm in here.Her heart beats faster when I get inside.
I concentrate very hard on slowing itdown to normal. Eventually it works,
(07:36):
and she seems content. On Sunday, she goes back to the fortune
teller. I slink along behind herand slide into a bowl of buttons.
The woman nearly weeps as she saysshe thought she felt her daughter. I
knock over the buttons. I don'tmean to, I just do it gives
(07:57):
me an idea. I went toothe fortune teller's body. It occurs to
me that this is a real grayarea when it comes to consent. I
push the thought aside and focus onthe air in her lungs. I'm okay,
mom, I get the words outthrough the fortune teller. My mom
(08:18):
starts to cry. The fortune tellerstarts to cry. I can't cry because
I don't have any tear ducts.I flee the fortune teller and curl up
inside my mom's heart again. Wego home. I'm okay Anaka Barantiklein lives
(08:41):
in Los Angeles in a tiny apartmentfull of books and people. Her poetry
has been in Fireside and Calleida Trope, and her short fiction has been or
is forthcoming in Asimov's Weird Horror,The Future, Fire Mermaids Monthly, and
Fusion Fry. She is a memberof SEFWA, a former roller derby referee
(09:03):
and an erstwhile knitter. She isusually working on a novel. Find her
online at Anika Obscura dot com andyou can find a direct link to that
over at Julia Rios dot com onthe page containing also the full text of
this story. This story on theweb also is accompanied by a title card
(09:26):
taken from the February twenty twenty threecover art by Lesia Korl. Lesia Korl
is a Ukrainian artist whose work previouslyappeared in the August twenty twenty two issue
of Worlds of Possibility. She createsdigital art in a traditional Ukrainian style.
Lacia says, despite the constant rocketattacks and blackouts, the Ukrainian people continue
(09:50):
to live and work for their future. Thank you for your support. It's
incredibly important to us. If youcan donate to help Ukraine, Lasia suggests
doing that, and she suggests sendingmoney to the Prettila Foundation. As of
right now, that website says thatit's undergoing an update and currently doesn't have
(10:11):
a list of places to donate,but hopefully that will be back up soon,
and there is still a link toit from Julirios dot com. I
love this story because I loved thatit really gets deep into that ghost POV
and then the way it slowly unfoldswhat's happening and who the ghost is and
the sort of hope for happiness andconnection that comes at the end. Our
(10:35):
next piece is called Tithe. Itis by ec Door Gonzales and it's a
poem. I just caught our eightyear old sitting on a chair on our
porch again. I felt a faintbreeze. The door was open. He
was sitting there, staring and smilingat the pounding rain outside. So now
(10:58):
I am too chores can wait,work can wait, Life can wait.
I am watching the rain with mydear boy. He died on this day
seven years ago. He sits mullingthe rain silently. I missed his smile.
(11:20):
I sit next to him, doingnothing. I have never asked anything.
I just accept this as always.After a few minutes, he touches
my hand. It isn't cold,it is relieving slowly. My heart feels
lighter, my years feel younger,my eyes shine brighter. I've stayed at
(11:45):
this old house just for this.He feeds off my grief. My tears
flow freely. My eyes are closedwhile I weep and weep and weep,
And as every year, I justfeel a light kiss on my forehead.
(12:05):
I wipe my tears, and therain is still going. I am alone
on my front porch, happily grievingand smiling. Ector Gonzales they Them,
is a queer, non binary Mexicanspeculative writer living in Austin, Texas.
(12:28):
They regularly explore the messy Venn diagramof emotions with other things like immigration policy,
gender norms, food and whatnot.Their first comic, Fluorescence, part
of the Chispa Comics Universe, willbe released in February of twenty twenty four,
but can be pre ordered through yourlocal comic shop. You can find
(12:50):
them on Instagram as at Mexicanity,cooking up a storm and talking again about
feelings again. I love that thispoem really focuses on that sort of feeling
of connection that comes through of theidea that grieving can be a process that's
(13:11):
not just sadness, although that isa big part of it, but also
that can be comfort and can beconnection anyway. I hope that wherever you
are, whatever you're doing, you'rehaving a lovely day, and that if
you're remembering loved ones of your ownwho have passed, that is bringing you
(13:35):
happiness and comfort as well as grief. Thank you for listening, and I'll
catch you again next time.
Welcome to the OMG Julia podcast,where we talk about creative lives and processes.
I'm your host, Julia Rios,and today I have a Dia de
Moertos special for you. Here aretwo pieces from Worlds of Possibility, both
on the themes of lost loved onesand remembering our loved ones. Dia de
(00:23):
Mortos is a time for remembering ourancestors and the people who have passed in
our lives, whether they be pets, family members, beloved friends. We
tend to make little frendas and putout their favorite foods and just it's a
(00:43):
time for remembering people who have passed. So with that spirit, I am
giving you two pieces. How toBe a Ghost is a story from the
February twenty twenty three issue of World'sPossibility. This story is by Annaica Baranti
and well you'll see it's about aghost. Content note for that one,
(01:07):
it involves the loss of a lovedone. Surprisingly, both of these do
traumatic injury leading to death and mentionsof hospitals and intensive care units. The
second piece will be Tithe, apoem by Ector Gonzales. Hector has written
other things for Worlds of Possibility.So you can find their work in previous
(01:30):
years, including in the first anthology, and How to Be a Ghost is
also in the first anthology by AnnacabarantiKline. Tithe is about the ghost of
a child and refers to the deathof a child and to parents grieving.
So just keep in mind that weare dealing with some pretty serious and heavy
topics in this particular episode. Butas with all worlds of possibility things,
(01:57):
even though we're diving into a darkeremotion, we are coming at it through
the lens of hope, of resilience, of comfort, of care. All
right, let's get into it.How to Be a Ghost by Onnica Baranti
(02:38):
Klein. Most days I don't misshaving a body. I miss specific things,
sure, the sublime pain of steppinginto a hot bath, easing myself
in slowly, the little surprise ofbiting into a sun ripe cherry tomato,
the way the skin would burst onmy tongue and the juice run down my
(03:01):
chin. That was nice. WhenI miss those aspects of having a body
enough that I can almost feel theache of its absence, I float into
a television and let the electrical synapsespop me around it. Isn't the same
as feeling, but some days it'senough. They say you haunt the place
(03:24):
you die, but there was nothingspecial about it, so I mostly just
float around from place to place.A drift through space is meant for the
living, unmoored from my body.I like the fortune teller's shop on Sixth
Street. I guess most fortune tellersare grifters, and maybe she is too,
(03:46):
But it seems to me that sheis just very good at telling people
what they want to hear. Everyoneleaves the shop feeling better, and isn't
that the point. The shop hasvelvet curtains for the windows, and beaded
curtains in place of interior doors.There are candles and little bowls of buttons
and pins. Sometimes, when thereare no customers, I hear the fortune
(04:12):
teller whispering spells and arranging her findings. So perhaps they are magical, or
maybe any object is magical if youtreat it like it is. She keeps
romance and mystery novels and a cabinetwith a false back. I'm not sure
what hides inside the cabinet. Isuppose I could check, But what is
the fun in that the woman comesin once? A week on Sunday evening.
(04:39):
I like her. I followed herhere in the first place, and
I like it here, so Ilike her. The woman's daughter is dead,
and the woman is convinced that thefortune teller will make contact with her
in the beyond and reunite them.The fortune teller doesn't know how to do
that. To be fair, Idon't know how to do that either,
(05:02):
and I am literally a ghost.But I want to help, so I
try to figure out how I followthe woman. After she visits the fortune
teller, she stops at the falafelstand and gets a Falafful sandwich, feta
fries, and an iced tea.She sits at one of the weirdly tall
(05:23):
tables and drinks the tea. Thenshe eats about half the sandwich, but
she doesn't touch the fries. Theylook so delicious. Not being able to
eat is probably the primary downside ofbeing bodyless. She throws her trash away
and gives the fries to an unhousedperson outside. I try to look away,
(05:44):
but that's difficult when you technically don'thave any eyes. Then the woman
goes to the park by the riverand sits on a bench. She sits
there for a long time. Eventuallyshe goes home and goes to sleep.
The next day, she dresses forwork. She walks from her apartment to
the flower shop on the corner,where she gets a huge bouquet. She
(06:08):
brings it to Saint Jude's. Idon't want to go inside, but I
stay with her. Inside I seeeverything at once, the living and the
dead, and both are relentless.There is a reason I don't haunt this
place. She gives the flowers tothe ICU nurses and then goes to the
(06:28):
park again. After a while,I go back to her apartment to wait.
The tomatoes on the fire escape haveshriveled up. She comes home in
the evening, looking tired. Shemakes herself a meal in the microwave.
It does not look delicious. Atleast she is eating. The week is
a blur. She doesn't go tothe hospital again, but keeps up the
(06:51):
routine of dressing for work and sittingin the park. After a while,
I start to remember this is whereI got her hurt. Someone found me
on this bench and brought me toSaint Jude's. I wish I knew who
it was that found me. Itcan't be easy to rescue someone and then
have her die anyway. On Saturday, she doesn't go anywhere. She just
(07:15):
lies on her daughter's bed all day. I decide to see if I can
go into a living body the wayI can go into a television. I
can. It's warm in here.Her heart beats faster when I get inside.
I concentrate very hard on slowing itdown to normal. Eventually it works,
(07:36):
and she seems content. On Sunday, she goes back to the fortune
teller. I slink along behind herand slide into a bowl of buttons.
The woman nearly weeps as she saysshe thought she felt her daughter. I
knock over the buttons. I don'tmean to, I just do it gives
(07:57):
me an idea. I went toothe fortune teller's body. It occurs to
me that this is a real grayarea when it comes to consent. I
push the thought aside and focus onthe air in her lungs. I'm okay,
mom, I get the words outthrough the fortune teller. My mom
(08:18):
starts to cry. The fortune tellerstarts to cry. I can't cry because
I don't have any tear ducts.I flee the fortune teller and curl up
inside my mom's heart again. Wego home. I'm okay Anaka Barantiklein lives
(08:41):
in Los Angeles in a tiny apartmentfull of books and people. Her poetry
has been in Fireside and Calleida Trope, and her short fiction has been or
is forthcoming in Asimov's Weird Horror,The Future, Fire Mermaids Monthly, and
Fusion Fry. She is a memberof SEFWA, a former roller derby referee
(09:03):
and an erstwhile knitter. She isusually working on a novel. Find her
online at Anika Obscura dot com andyou can find a direct link to that
over at Julia Rios dot com onthe page containing also the full text of
this story. This story on theweb also is accompanied by a title card
(09:26):
taken from the February twenty twenty threecover art by Lesia Korl. Lesia Korl
is a Ukrainian artist whose work previouslyappeared in the August twenty twenty two issue
of Worlds of Possibility. She createsdigital art in a traditional Ukrainian style.
Lacia says, despite the constant rocketattacks and blackouts, the Ukrainian people continue
(09:50):
to live and work for their future. Thank you for your support. It's
incredibly important to us. If youcan donate to help Ukraine, Lasia suggests
doing that, and she suggests sendingmoney to the Prettila Foundation. As of
right now, that website says thatit's undergoing an update and currently doesn't have
(10:11):
a list of places to donate,but hopefully that will be back up soon,
and there is still a link toit from Julirios dot com. I
love this story because I loved thatit really gets deep into that ghost POV
and then the way it slowly unfoldswhat's happening and who the ghost is and
the sort of hope for happiness andconnection that comes at the end. Our
(10:35):
next piece is called Tithe. Itis by ec Door Gonzales and it's a
poem. I just caught our eightyear old sitting on a chair on our
porch again. I felt a faintbreeze. The door was open. He
was sitting there, staring and smilingat the pounding rain outside. So now
(10:58):
I am too chores can wait,work can wait, Life can wait.
I am watching the rain with mydear boy. He died on this day
seven years ago. He sits mullingthe rain silently. I missed his smile.
(11:20):
I sit next to him, doingnothing. I have never asked anything.
I just accept this as always.After a few minutes, he touches
my hand. It isn't cold,it is relieving slowly. My heart feels
lighter, my years feel younger,my eyes shine brighter. I've stayed at
(11:45):
this old house just for this.He feeds off my grief. My tears
flow freely. My eyes are closedwhile I weep and weep and weep,
And as every year, I justfeel a light kiss on my forehead.
(12:05):
I wipe my tears, and therain is still going. I am alone
on my front porch, happily grievingand smiling. Ector Gonzales they Them,
is a queer, non binary Mexicanspeculative writer living in Austin, Texas.
(12:28):
They regularly explore the messy Venn diagramof emotions with other things like immigration policy,
gender norms, food and whatnot.Their first comic, Fluorescence, part
of the Chispa Comics Universe, willbe released in February of twenty twenty four,
but can be pre ordered through yourlocal comic shop. You can find
(12:50):
them on Instagram as at Mexicanity,cooking up a storm and talking again about
feelings again. I love that thispoem really focuses on that sort of feeling
of connection that comes through of theidea that grieving can be a process that's
(13:11):
not just sadness, although that isa big part of it, but also
that can be comfort and can beconnection anyway. I hope that wherever you
are, whatever you're doing, you'rehaving a lovely day, and that if
you're remembering loved ones of your ownwho have passed, that is bringing you
(13:35):
happiness and comfort as well as grief. Thank you for listening, and I'll
catch you again next time.
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