Journal entry: 10 Cheshvan, 5761 (8. November, 2000); 12:23
[Private]
What's happening to me? Where am I going?
There’s a red sea not far from here. Would you like to go?
There’s a burning bush just up the road! Would you like to see?
How many fingers am I holding up? I bet you can’t count.
Are you worth the time? I’m busy.
A large circle of glass segregates the two lands. Near its base small cracks are starting to web and wind- they’re going to be the downfall of this separation. If they’re left to keep growing- widening- then, no one should be surprised when the glass rains down upon the bordering countries and slices housewives in half. No one should be surprised to find their mother tacked to the house by three killing shards- as if crucified. And even if, somehow, these cracks are stopped- imagine how easy it is to make new ones. One only has to pick up a stone, stand a few feet away, and throw. It’s not so hard to break down walls- even those dividing countries. It takes a few stones- and a few people able to get close enough without the guards shooting them in the backs.
Jump-cuts of vision.
Do you want to feel this? The threads of life bind the heart-cutting.
How many instances, in the average lifetime, do you suppose we stare into the eyes of Death?
My guess? Every second of every day. There’s no hunt- no cat and mouse- you are born in its grasp, from which there is no hope for escape.
But what if I were to tell you that I met
Hasten! Do you not feel the bloody hands reaching for your throat?
The sounds of industry are only so far off- a room over.
On that table in the back room, they laid you- restraints were snaked around ankles and wrists (can’t have you running off, can we?)
It was dark when he came. Must be late.
[/private]
wounds of black and scarlet burst in the superb flesh.
IN THE NEW ERA
What's happening to me? Where am I going?
There’s a red sea not far from here. Would you like to go?
There’s a burning bush just up the road! Would you like to see?
How many fingers am I holding up? I bet you can’t count.
Are you worth the time? I’m busy.
A large circle of glass segregates the two lands. Near its base small cracks are starting to web and wind- they’re going to be the downfall of this separation. If they’re left to keep growing- widening- then, no one should be surprised when the glass rains down upon the bordering countries and slices housewives in half. No one should be surprised to find their mother tacked to the house by three killing shards- as if crucified. And even if, somehow, these cracks are stopped- imagine how easy it is to make new ones. One only has to pick up a stone, stand a few feet away, and throw. It’s not so hard to break down walls- even those dividing countries. It takes a few stones- and a few people able to get close enough without the guards shooting them in the backs.
Jump-cuts of vision.
Do you want to feel this? The threads of life bind the heart-cutting.
How many instances, in the average lifetime, do you suppose we stare into the eyes of Death?
My guess? Every second of every day. There’s no hunt- no cat and mouse- you are born in its grasp, from which there is no hope for escape.
But what if I were to tell you that I met
Hasten! Do you not feel the bloody hands reaching for your throat?
The sounds of industry are only so far off- a room over.
On that table in the back room, they laid you- restraints were snaked around ankles and wrists (can’t have you running off, can we?)
It was dark when he came. Must be late.
[/private]
wounds of black and scarlet burst in the superb flesh.
IN THE NEW ERA