Which Ends With A Sexy Nymph
08/09/06 7:45 AM – 8:08 AM
The infinite is unfathomable, so we can stick to the ground. When in Gotham, remember to doff your hat in Crime Ally. We are not the sprites, merely mind wrapped in meat. It is enough – we go further than most.
The daylight creeps up in its city form of rectangles, climbing rectangles. The day progresses and it is more comfortable than it was. We find it better to apprehend the smells of water when there is less humidity. The sides of the rectangles are rough. Looking closer, the picture of the whole is lost and complexity emerges. Upon closer inspection, the complexity gives way to simple forms again. The theory is useless if it has no application. We return to Newton, looking for new tools. But Newton was a madman, never loving, only working. But that is a misrepresentation. Newton loved more basically, and died the man that fought the counterfeiters.
When in the East End, look at the rooftops at night. The feline form jumps from roof to roof. Are we merely what we love, or does our existence grow beyond the bounds? We stick to the ground. If the questions are answerable, we will find answers in time. Let me alone, let me alone, cries the sullen. But existence is the substance of the interference. We are alone when we die, and not before. But that’s only on this side of the gray curtain. Where are you going, oh, man? Where is your vaunted mind? It goes where I go. Its sadness is in the muscle, its joy in the bones. We are ourselves, are we not? We are all turtles, carrying our house with us, wherever we go. You cannot escape it; the shell is sewn to the skin, the skin to the muscle, the muscle to the bone. Go ye therefore and sweep out your house. Ha. The impossibility of the task is overwhelmed by the fact that it can be done. Only one little bit at a time. Climbing from the pond, she glistens in the moonlight, and the stars stick with surface tension, dappling her skin.
The infinite is unfathomable, so we can stick to the ground. When in Gotham, remember to doff your hat in Crime Ally. We are not the sprites, merely mind wrapped in meat. It is enough – we go further than most.
The daylight creeps up in its city form of rectangles, climbing rectangles. The day progresses and it is more comfortable than it was. We find it better to apprehend the smells of water when there is less humidity. The sides of the rectangles are rough. Looking closer, the picture of the whole is lost and complexity emerges. Upon closer inspection, the complexity gives way to simple forms again. The theory is useless if it has no application. We return to Newton, looking for new tools. But Newton was a madman, never loving, only working. But that is a misrepresentation. Newton loved more basically, and died the man that fought the counterfeiters.
When in the East End, look at the rooftops at night. The feline form jumps from roof to roof. Are we merely what we love, or does our existence grow beyond the bounds? We stick to the ground. If the questions are answerable, we will find answers in time. Let me alone, let me alone, cries the sullen. But existence is the substance of the interference. We are alone when we die, and not before. But that’s only on this side of the gray curtain. Where are you going, oh, man? Where is your vaunted mind? It goes where I go. Its sadness is in the muscle, its joy in the bones. We are ourselves, are we not? We are all turtles, carrying our house with us, wherever we go. You cannot escape it; the shell is sewn to the skin, the skin to the muscle, the muscle to the bone. Go ye therefore and sweep out your house. Ha. The impossibility of the task is overwhelmed by the fact that it can be done. Only one little bit at a time. Climbing from the pond, she glistens in the moonlight, and the stars stick with surface tension, dappling her skin.
posted by Spike at 5:22 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home