A hollow feeling Jan 14, 2010
I really had a dream about almost tripping over an old person kneeling at a casket.
I'm sorry old guy in a tweed jacket, I had to get to the room where the man I thought was the preacher left off mid-s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s s WHAT THE HELL IS THAT NOISE it's the goddamn roadworkers fixing another busted pipe, not a month after they repaved the road. The jackhammer sounds like it's against my wall. I keep waking up cold and sweaty. The light when I open the shades—I fall asleep again. Really happened.
For the World Is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky :.
at the horizon of which time becomes a coy loop :
an instrument of obedience to those who dare disturb the universe .
a shell inscribed with rule 30
If the universe breaks my heart I will become a shuddering mouse
I will beg for sandwiches I will listen to the ether through a D cell
I will cry and the world will pursue me and I will steal the worlds of others,
climb into a dumpster, and howl in this deep lagoon this hollowplace
this unstill dreamscape awash w/sweat+chill
I am awake because this spider bite spider-bite spiderbite itches.
.- I -.
Using to think adjectives such as GLASS and BLUE
Made BOWL and LIQUID morebetter I conceed was
A FOLLING of THINK. Am I umber folds for nothing?
My cloth is no good enough to your desires? This
I am told is was you say to all of my friends. All of
.- II -.
Them they are is made to me. you think i love E
nglish? Let me tell you something. Let me tell Y
OU Really, Forget youR IndigEnous NeighborDs
Shove off! list to your own music, chumdaddy.
"That was the message."
.- III -.
I will allow you to ask a question. In fact, you
might have asked a question all along! Don't
you fell siily! Sit down, there is no need to get
red of the facia. Now I fell siily.
.- IV -.
THE ICEWEASELS STALKED ACROSS THE TUNDRA.
THE SQUEAL OF GLASS WAS THEIR PAWPATTER
AND SHINING MOONLIGHT, THEIR EYES.
IT HURT TO LOOK AT THEM.
.- VI -.
This part is getting smaller and farther afield.
This is a perfect place for P. S. I thought about putting this in
I wrote this poem just to irritate you,
but you know what they say —
beautiful nodeshell, beautiful lie.
.- III -.
.- II -.
WHAT DOES CREEPY MEAN asked the robot and
IT MAKES YOUR SKIN CRAWL came the response
which didn't make sense to the skinless robot.
HOW MANY SYLLABLES DOES A SPIDER HAVE
GRASPED IN ITS PINCERS; DOES IT WEAVE ITS WEB FIBBONNNACCCCCI;
CAN IT KNOW HOW WORDS CAN EXIST AND NOT BE ACCEPTABLE?
Robertfrost tried to tell us. He answered with
"We dance round in a ring and suppose,
But the Secret sits in the middle and knows."
What he didn't say was that the Secret is a SPIDER.
.- I -.
The center of a circle is the point equidistant from every point on the circle. Simulacron3 says, "The fragrance of chocolate cake just out of the oven is pervasive here." There is no chocolate cake in the center of a circle. Id est, the closer you get to the center, the farther you are from the edge, the line between order and chaos, the universe's eternal war, of which, sitting as we are between a vast empty chasm and a churning nuclear furnace, we have a pretty clear if staggeringly incomplete view. But we map our thoughts to our own bluegreen oblate spheroid and live our lives inside its wonderfully comfortable environment (as environments go, around these parts—do you know the temperature on Io?) constrained to a map. We are this way also with our words (which lest we forget will wash away), capturing ideas in snowglobes and shaking them and putting them on our bookshelves. However, we have chocolate cake. We have birds and wonderful green trees and rain. We have a claim staked on the border between TooMuch and NotEnough, often called Chaos or Beauty. Go read those pipelinks now.
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