Wordlings for a Friday afternoon
Jul 25, 2008 - 10:54 AM PST
while the gunners play at DNA
the bullet of a million suns
embassy of starlight. the millions of ships immersed in the slime. all those little ships of dna. it's dna that's the alien here. Call him Dan. This world would've been a fine place were it not for the comets freighted with Dan. Dan came down, one day at a time, one night at a time, when the stars were bright, and Dan in his portentious bus, his scintillant prodigy, an omen for no one to see, not this time -- funny that the thing that brought Dan here in the first place would then later be awesome to his progeny. A prodigy to his progeny. But dna never remembers its fathers, not explicitly in a form that ego can parse. ego never parses his progeny, nor has specific benefactors to thank for all his inheritances. Ego. Dan Ego.
Reality's for accountants. We must sail our imaginary seas in
incredible ships of impossible design!
Why would we use our quantum printing press and our million-dimensional minds to mill ingots of only quotidian design?
You could lose your life in the sunshine, just as you could lose your life in the clay. Anyone could lose what they did not own, but to lose what you do not own is to lose your lease. Life is leased to you after all, and the lienholder is you. Or, rather, You (to distinguish from the ego-thing you know as yourself). That is who runs these planets up the hill. I would turn this into fiction but people want something they can see happening in their daily lives. But I want something I could never see happen in my daily hill. That is why I write that which is illogical and, far as we know, cannot happen.
Life is for life. It shouldn't infect our fantasies! The fictional realm is a place of pure possibility! A place of infinite feathers, and infectious possibilities! Infinitely warm and rebus friendly, and here we are restricting to it only that which could happen in world.
To restrict it to the precinct of our fantasies
restrict reality to the precinct of our fantasies
in a little guarded room surrounded by razor wire
fantasy languishes in a guantanamo reality
what's warm should happen in wool
So the plasmas spasm at play and engender starshine. nuclear starshine dna embryonic in the sun -- Helios Genetrix! the sunsplay spasm and nuclear plamshine. sunsplay on the nuclear plantation.
the million-boned sun
nuclear parasol
just a little scum becomes
an ego.
just a little scum of the earth rises up, like a slime mold, reaching for the stars, elongated. A slim slime mold importuning the sky for more. a slim slime mold supplicates. cracks and gells across the cold floor. wiggles and writhes across the moist concrete.
the early worm gets the bird!
Sometimes when you dash across the moist concrete, the sun comes out and dries up all the rain and further progress is knives and you must stop and rest a bit, and before you know it you're dried! Before you know it, you're worm jerky!
All us little ships of dna
trying to stay on the moist part of the sidewalk
before the sun becomes too high
a family of accountants
busting out of our guantanamos
into the plasmas of a starlight afternoon
Wordlings |
Los Angeles, CA
•
United States
, Age 44
Wordlings for a Fr... 