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January 23, 2006

a note about the earth future to you moon people

I see so many angles, so many corners fill the streets, spill out into the woods and beaches. The fractals and twists of nature give way to helixes made of miters and folds and rhomboids. True curves and convolutions are anti-progress, and so eventually all hidden holes and trees and meandering streams and even the coastlines are replaced by fractured angularity.

The pyramids get to stay, stranded in the sands for eternity. After a hundred thousand years they still stand, though their sides gain deep erosive pits and depressions.

In time some of our art fades into the past, and millions of pictures and sculptures are put away, burned, painted over, until we see corners out of every corner of our eyes.

Small groups of people across the world protest our continued disconnection with the Earth. They advocate overthrowing the government, smashing the dams holding back the ocean, bombing the New Center of World Government, which is in the center of Colorado. It figures. Colorado is square, the most knock kneed-shaped state.

Even insects and birds and animals change by the encroachment. In time the cockroaches and ants look like boxes with legs, and birds are the color of progress, that is no color at all, nearly transparent flying critters of angles and fluttering soft feathers the shape of computer chips. In one million years the birds die, and even the cockroaches die, and their scattered remains are pin pricked and encased in smooth glass.

Square birds? I know much of this is metaphor. My mind struggles to put these odd stories into language. They start at a point deep in the pit of my stomach, rise through my chest, and I spit them out like bad medicine.

Odd stories. Odd stories. The stories are odd; they hold angles and corners and twists and turns, pieces of Earth, all pieces of me. Pieces of me. That’s what they are. Pieces of me. The unknown. The unknowable.

The stories are a spiral galaxy, the Andromeda, our own Milky Way, a barbell-shaped galaxy on the other side of the Universe, a word from afar, a place untouchable, with massive momentum and stardust. I am a space probe, sent to gather data, and my arms and legs are extensions which capture sensations and emotions and ideas and relay them to people in a sterile box, people who have to measure results, people who put conditions on my data.

I would give you cold evidence if I had it.

posted by at 11:55 PM

posted by: Jack on January 24, 2006 09:25 PM

posted by: Jim on January 24, 2006 11:05 PM

posted by: Carroll on January 25, 2006 12:49 AM