TWombly-dedum
Tread lightly on Baktunian centers of power or risk their black-hole’s pull. The next front does not rest contented in what is known or in rebuilding old niches. The mountainous anthills are but dead ends to be forsaken for the darker valleys, forest of unexplored knowledge. But it is not a de Leon journey towards an impossible goal.
\interval lude
safe
Ticking noise in darkness. Interval opens door. Light falls on Lude and safe huddled in corner.
Interal: Have you come to? There is cake and milk waiting for you in the hallway. I didn’t bring it in because of what happened last time but I promise to get it if you will behave.
Lude: I found an epsilon on the wall. It wiggled for me.
Chomsky, Rushdie, and Plath lunching at Bernadin. Plath grazes on sea bream, eyeing the steak.
“ATMs are hiding the money. They’re hiding the money.”
“Any day passes between logic, whistling, going for walks, and being depressed.” i bore a hole onto the back of my hand - there is a reddish scar in its place. skin around the fingernails decomposing.
“Something broke”
A: When a city falls, [pause] well shoot me down, my mind’s a complete blank. When a city falls, I guess you can listen to the noise.
B: Ahem.
A: I’m trying, maybe spinning spheres, of light shining everywhere. Then there’s quiet, nothing but a blank, blank space.
[B sighs, prompts C]
C: It’s like silk, low and mellow. No hurry, just the soft moans of an animal in its last breath.
B: Why do I always have to be the string that stitches, the needle and the thread?
A: I’m trying, I just forget. Our minds aren’t built for this task.
D: Something broke alright people? If it’s breakable, it’s fixable. Don’t matter if a few pieces get lost or misplaced, wasn’t perfect to begin with.
C: The Berlin wall fell in 1989.
A: I remember that. Well, actually I remember that it was said to have fallen. Well, at least I was there after the fall. Not very a tourist-worthy attraction come to think of it.
B: And the rest is history.
C: Well it’s important.
D: Me amoeboid, you progress, and that road there falling off into eternity needs to get travelled, so get a-moving boys.
I smoke to perform the notion of external return. Each cigarette I light unites me with the hundred other times I have performed this act. Each one a moment of historicity to add to the stack growing ever weightier. Or perhaps lighter, less momentous.
