Saturday, 11 February 2012

Metachemist cum Poser

Never snap out of it. Too heavily interred. Heart plunging, pulling the face together, leaden, balled into the chest. It slides and rolls and catch! It slides down deep. Deep into the bio-slammer. A trance still. Still in the mind. A mind can be tricked. Has been tricked. It would be tricked again.

And again a transformation, sudden and unexpected as much as the recession is routine. Without psychoid-surfing decantation implements, the stream came pure, purely self-absorbed. It'll fade sooner than thought. Or just disappear. Erased from memory. Like, if you touch a liquid marker to a piece of tissue, the ink flows forth like spawning microorganisms, then dries up pretty quickly. Then the color's just not the same as when it was fresh. Forget about blood.

Ask a Cow
No scripted formula adequately describes this manner of change. It's so much more abrupt than that, and casual. Casually abrupt. Trying to catch the thought that triggered it remains a charade. Like trying to distill thinking. Many babble back & forth about it without saying anything 'cept how the discussion resembles what's being discussed. There must be some kind of language; the one available doesn't apprehend unacquired processes.

Produce the milk. Then you can drink it [if you want] That's a potent potion.



by Cale & Eno