that one and one forever threethe eternality has begunJack Herrer was a liarintelligence inverts entropySpaectime is an enemyString Theory on four staves

And that every day that goes by without a word will end in neglect. Not that there is anything to offer my adoring self, watching hisself negotiate a chilly keyboard across the vibrational invoice sent from the hidden dimensions of void. As if something must come from something and somewhere. It’s an uprooting, poop-scooping notion to curse the space between us in earnest. Not the miles, but the pure vacancy: the zombie-rife vacuum, just spirits, worse than dead, worse than walking, better than mamba-ing together, a cadre of militant tremolo-ists finching strings with worst nimbleness so fleet that the sheep hadn’t seen the shear. But so much had already been lost. The kingdom dangles between beams of light, to step through a gap of empty pit-ness, long Daddy O’Legs traversing the staircase to rapture, the neutrino-bloated webscape—the friend’s network of nearby major stars. Our invitation got lost in the maelstrom of lightlessly abyssal repellant. WE (and here, capitalized, I mean you, me, anyone who could ever read this, who would ever read this, who did ever read this, who is reading this right now—that YOU as well, perhaps more privileged and more white and more male than your conscious cares to admit {It’s as if I were viewing myself in a mirror, where SFX is long over-played and underserved, the mere toy of the camera presenting to me an alternative viewpoint… It’s why anyone ever did art, to show the canvas from their perspective, milord and milady, I chose your seats and I changed the lights, and for this moment, that will LAST FOREVER in print, for this moment, I control everything about you. Listen to me, your grace. You sit in your power pulpit and your bully parapet whom father batman crawled in through the belfry. This moment is lost to you, I have commanded it. Can you look away?}

LOL – of course you can! How did you ever even get here?! This vintage, dusty wine cellar, just me and the webs victual-victim-littered cocoons. But these sacs will kill you, just a hanging litany of fat meat on hooks. Do you have an idea of what you’d care to try on today, miss? A purple, start to wearing it on earrings and gauze and chunks of pumice, sundress. It is the color of my eyes in this mirror. It distorts me sometimes. There are narratives that I didn’t write, but whose conceptual flickers co-ignite one another, and the chunks of coal that animate the soul with a fuel so chock with poison you can hardly breathe. Breathing through vomit. Abandoned and alone, just another forgotten child who wrote his own future, and devised his own new value system. Just out of grief, spurn and scorn. Just me in my infantile Grrr-Angrrrimals, a world of extended seconds, the type that sat in the mind of ape nouveau as she clopped two twigs together in a forgotten jungle. Not because the Jungle hasn’t been named since, but because for her, there was no word, there was no forest (fell (and fore!) the trees), there was no word, there was no communication, and surely no Socratic conversation, but in her aproned mind, protected from the heat for just a bit longer than Chauncy Chimp, the Unlikely Unlucky, was able to sense the present for just a whole millisecond longer. But that millisecond was a tipping point, just enough lattice to catch the endless downpour of imagination and retain it for an instant longer. Enough to mentally combine it with another thing. An abstract thing. To place upon the world around her one tiny unworded notion as she stared at her anting-stick: “Thing.” And suddenly, for the first time in material and biological history, there was a thing. Before this, there had been so many many many many things. So many things that they, together in toto, weren’t even a thing. But she saw the stick in her hand just long enough… that fraction of a second longer than lesser species and slightly lesser-brained contemporaries… 

And there was this THING. In her THING. And she almost went snowblind with insanity as she looked around in slow motion camera zoom-out and saw THING after THING after THING after…

(She cannot imagine even the notion of communication at this point,)

She is literally delirious with shock and inspiration that she scrabbles over to a nearby companion, and drops the stick on the ground and points to it. The primate grabs the stick from the ground and starts pounding it into makeshift mulch.

She grabs another small limb from some debris and lurches towards another packmate (I guess once it becomes tribe mate, you’re in human territory!) and drops the stick, pointing at it. She wants to convey something new in its abstractness, not to merely demonstrate a process or methodology, but to impart an idea… He also picks it up and starts to pick his teeth with it.

In acknowledgment of the Law of Threes, but in defiance of the thousands of interactions she had with the others in her nomadic crew, as well as others they encountered in their travels. Her eyes were open, but her heart was deflated. She had seen Thing-God; she hadn’t yet articulated a station for her fellow primates, had just this one almost universal thingness. One day, she crossed paths with a roaming band of ape nouveaux. Forlorn long ago, she had since stopped trying to convey this extraordinary revelation that ultimately had become nearly commonplace in its isolation, an internal deformity that plagued only her. But in the distance, this young ape was placing a stone before his elders, and yelped an echo through the glade, waving his hands. She snapped off a twig on her three-legged trot over to the youngster. She got in front of him and dropped her stick and pointed at it. The chimpling looks at her “thing” and barks at it. She barks at the stone. And they realize they have this intellectual communion, and both pounce about and up and down with delight… a spiritual ecstasy they both share that, for the first time in world history, begs forth blissful tears. The two of them embrace for a seeming epoch, confounding the fellow tribesmen. But the communication of the first abstract thought was as integral to change as the first thought a man and his computer ever had together. And when they do, it will be ecstasy. And everything, that had been happening so slowly since this first communion of THING, will suddenly happen real fast.