Breath

Cities breathe. We lie in the dark. We wait for the dawn, then toil on machines of oil and dust. At dusk, the new day is over. Dusty children play hopscotch in the soot and ash of yet another sunset. Our sun setting, the muted light filters gently through our selfish maze of exhaust and rebar. Stars vanish under the low, yellow hum of sodium. We lie still; waiting for ourselves to be made right by the progress of yet another gadget. The robots will save us, we proclaim. Yet, our rising sun will never break.

Upon a faint and distant dawn, the solemn bells of our forefathers, peel. It awakens some to another day washed in the incense of putrescence. Others lie in bed waiting for life to consume, them, us. We still light our ways with metal and ash. Their acids digest and seep and bother no one in our immediate future; until, skin melts. Our brown wastes stretching autumn leaves into summer. Out of sight out of mind. We can't know, refuse to think, what our ancestors would think of our machines of gloom.

One day our children will condemn us to our fate. Our scales always balanced in our sight. Yet, distance proves our eyes askew.

“But,” we say in unison, “we recycled.”

How fucking noble?

Something something... don't mind if I do.

To wit, it comes.

The ground shakes as I scrawl the letters backward in the dirt. Starting the incantation in reverse, is something new. It might draw up 'The All-Knowledge'. It's something like a piece of the greater, infinite, intelligence of the universe. It was lost to us in the primordial soup, of the galaxy's formation.

This is not even a gamble. I die today. Either I will become insane and then explode or I will be fundamentally changed. If this works, my guess is that I will be absorbed into the fabric of space time; to become pan-dimensional.

Overhead the stars swirl. I know that this is it.

I think of blue sky; first bulbs of April; red leaves on a breeze; the day after a long, deep, snow; a girl from childhood; a long-lost companion... -Sigh- *

140 CHARACTERS AND GOOD TASTE BE DAMNED!

gently washing the rain falls as sludge into the crevice of an unwashed mind it stops looks around entertains the thought of checking out...
decides to stay a while there is no certainty of anything other than self which is why solipsism is so sexy to this fellah and wants to ....
ignore it most of the time as he'd never get anything done other than think about how far this conspiracy goes how deep my own mind plans...
it's own paranoia and then he remembers sex and these feelings go out the window along with parts of religious dogma and rambling...........
incoherently into the night and out the window.

Somewhere... maybe there.

Downstairs lies hope. In the dream of space and the final of my frontiers I look down. Solitude is hopeful, loneliness a curse. There is an edge so sharp and fickle, I must stand on it, baiting the ground to swallow me.
-"Fucking chickenshit earth!"
It doesn't take my dare.
I walk back to the stately hallows of my manor and sleep until my eyes are sandpaper.
Then, I drink, until I cannot walk.
Then, I furiously masturbate, until the seed stains every wall.
Yep, here's to the end of the world.
It was such a big one.