supposedly when the tonnage of hydrogen, or some other gashat that is light and combusted by the machine that is the sun, runs down - there will be an expansion. not like something in baseball or football where a city gains revenue and disinterest, but something grand and luminous and colorful that will engulf this planet and then over millions of years, recede. what was once our small source of pride and pull grows giant and glowing like a bulbous ember and then returns into the echo and fade of itself: a small pale knob slid down the motherboard almost to the off position.
some days are rained out. like this. we wash better when there's reason for it, or because the water's warmer. i have a hard time figuring.
the figures are simple, but difficult because. it will require sound and the wires to accompany. some news. a bit of older. the mirror full of different faces and light. the sky full of things like this.
send word when.
send all the words.
4 comments:
the chaps must be on recycled papers. you owe me chatting, bub.
What about Im Press
or Press(d) for (All) Time
or Press Sure
your writings remind me of thomas pynchon's. but you're more melancholy. and maybe less drugged up.
...maybe about the same intoxication
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