Pulled through grinding gears of mirrored faces

If - as a child - you decide to hold your heart up to light, and find yourself holding your palm up to flame, your parents will not likely scald you for the weakness of your vessel against the elements, instead explaining that untamed heat will not consider your weaknesses, and that your power over it is in your own self control. If - as an adult - you hold an infants palm to flame, you likely have never scrutinized your heart under light. What process is it which scalds you then? That, if not a friend, would be honesty. One which could stretch beyond your nerve endings.

If you are a single celled organism, you probably need to divide a few times before you are made aware of this.

If you decide to climb

or, if some decision made millenia ago in a dark corner never observed, results in a force which sends you tearing through the stratosphere, keep in mind that any direction you turn in may result in the response of a row of glistening teeth, that perhaps you would have never encountered had you remained bacterial and incubatory. Though this is not accounting for love in the dark at kitchen surfaces, pouring bleach on seeds of foreign dreams, messages curving gracefully in unlit geometry, paths carved in the wake of a prison escape, that pose some invisible threat to the composure of their desired futures.

The higher you climb, the tastier your soul may appear. Your heart an amalgam of puncture wounds and held in the grip of the teeth of children who will never grow old, but which multiply in number until the force that sent you toward the heavens is unable to carry them, negated under their combined weight.

Built from scratch. Each time. In the shadow of a closed system, encompassed by skin, you exchange light with the simple habits which allow you passage. Feeding them intelligences incomprehensible from the peak on which you stand, but broken down and nullified based on assertion from the singular frame of reference which led to you. Telling them, in no uncertain terms, to love the monster you carry relentlessly, for this is on what your survival depends, mercilessly flagellating while they pull you up, a process which grinds them to their very core, inevitably leads to weakness, and finally sleep. A blindness they will be punished for.

Meanwhile, floating in a park, a grin firmly asks what appears to be a dog to 'sit'. It rolls and scrabbles around, a limbless yolk, glowing acidic, and chuckles at its unquestionable constituents. Eyes fixed on a crazed light, its every motion a gesture toward mouth, obedient responses to its barked commands pulling its chin high, as though its entire structure can be validated by something's yielding response to an empty threat implicating its superiority.

Hearts beating in synchrony. Their combined size dictating their amplitude. From a perspective of distance, one may drown out the other, forcing it into quiet servitude of whoever dictates themselves the larger. Equal, their desire may pull open a rift which encompasses the harmony alluded to by their combination.

Lucidity

In length or girth.

An attentive eye will note that detail in sense can hold what it offers - more. The duration of a stare - a star - ever complex vector in direction which picks at the edge of the horizon with every tick. And empty tock.
Above and below myself I'm hollow. I fill myself with what I'm not until there's nothing contrary to me. The venom in which I invest my time is denial. From the vista of a moment's context, below the waves it hooks into cracks through which they didn't peek to hold it's eyes to some horrific light, decimating them in their entirety. My own selective blindness. From my perspective, it selects your downfall based on what you did not account for. That moment, the one in which I invest, is what allows me to leap. That moment does not account for, say, a change in direction.

I'm walking to a meeting to discuss global economics, when a stranger standing in a doorway grabs my arm.

Walking implies movement, and I wasn't actually moving at the time. At least not with my legs.

We silently perform tasks in the stomach of some gigantic beast whose tongue forms where he's blind.

And it's a good thing too. Before that he was all teeth.

Apparently insects don't understand English. Neither do many other animals. Good thing they don't try to eat us, or else we'd have to reason with them. They especially don't understand comedy. Instead opting for a crystalline structure which encompasses and selects for different elements of the surrounding environment. Where the fuck are they going? And what makes them have sex? How come they aren't as attached to themselves?

So, love is blind. There are monsters under the bed. I am a carnivore. Pain is painful. You know, there's probably a way to navigate. Assuming you're not content with your current position. How intelligent do you need to be?


I'm walking to a meeting to discuss global economics, when a stranger standing in a doorway grabs my arm.

Walking implies movement, and I wasn't actually moving at the time. At least not with my legs.