One gains momentum through compatibility. Another via cataclysmic events and blood serum. The person who writes our exit strategy suddenly appears in the rearview inscribed with dark blotches and exhumed calculations. Buried, doomed, and inundated with reduced surface temperatures. This then, is exactly what Archie Bunker had in mind.
Three girls declare their impermanence by dangling their feet above the water. No matter how we plead they will not submit to our interrogations.
The short-waisted one says, “Significant variations make themselves known over long periods of time.” She transforms dusty objects into gold.
The girl carrying books says, “Absolute flux equals absolute stasis.” She radiates passwords into the troposphere. Algal bloom, trace of squares. Nowhere else will seismic activity stay so lean.
The third girl isn’t a girl at all but a set of disparate coordinates relating to no known location. She says, “You may not necessarily understand the answers to these questions.” Even the lack of context provides context. In order to look in her eyes you must increase data parameters.
The God of Sand-encrusted Jewels does nothing more than radiate iodine vapors. Or, offer unsolicited dating advice. In this realm you may find that experts and frauds are not easy to distinguish. Ex-lovers maintain lifeless poses until they begin the exchange of silky filaments. Sensitive crystals, the potential of bandwidth.
Primary query results in small, circular images of iconic landscapes.
For instance, floral print on a sleek dress. Or, the carcass wedged between flat-edged boulders.
Suddenly, you crave the smell of manufactured paper. A system of rollers, unable to recall living matter.
Suddenly, the mornings get cold. We arrive at work only to produce loop structures and spiky grains of dust. Generally speaking, corona helix meets interstate cloverleaf. The loveless shade of corollaries breeds intimacy. Notable selections follow.
1: The fact that the woman sleeping next to you paints imaginary landscapes does not mean she will become absorbed with bouncing sunlight. Threadless warp, inverted axis.
2: Units of language rather than survey poles. The person at the desk next to yours speaks loudly, into a phone, “Python is a programmable code which emphasizes readability.”
3: What happens when the person who manages the people and the person who manages the person who manages the people arrive simultaneously at this curious point in space? Will there be room for both of them? Will they both allow for footholds in the moss-covered walls of the gorge?
4: The woman you live with and the woman sleeping with the woman you live with suddenly conclude the same. It’s not enough to release customized fields into the database, you must also yield to the dark filaments of volume transitions. When green and purple are mixed to produce a musty brown these two paired segments will finally concur.
5: Flowery, mimetic, and distributed evenly.
6: Enzyme meets alliteration. One sees through the tissue of skin. Another suggests the coarse powder of touch points. Subsequent changes rely on reproductive organs, spreadsheets, and carpels.
Silos puncture the horizon. Because symptoms absent themselves in the presence of funnel clouds, the woods beckon. The girl carrying books says, “Centrifugal force means never having to tell another to not come closer.”
Under cloudy skies, a systems analyst practices taking the berm. In a small room three gods attribute details to supposedly real things. A wooden pail, the handle of an axe, an ancient cardboard box filled with short, stubby nails.
Like other rays of light, the God of Feathery Garlands is able to easily pass through transparent objects. He says, “When one of you purchases a piece of earth, another is doomed to rent forever.”
The God of Archived Locations represents a halo and its counterpart without the benefit of color. He complains of being French and attributes the decline of marine life to municipal architecture. His wife plays bass guitar in the long-running punk band he fronts.
The God of Pivot Tables is not a god at all but creates a stir by one simple act of levitation. He says, “Not remembering is not the same as forgetting.” He says, “Let’s synchronize and obey.”
Wispy ex-pats congregate at the mouth of the river. One of them points at the border fence separating them from a world of cluttered studio materials, but these pinwheeling talons hug him close. He says, “Where do you think I’ve been?”
Underneath this easy exterior, tattoos predominate. Volunteers rush in to keep moisture on a stranded whale, but nothing can stop the sun. For each non-event there is a corresponding.