‘Travel’ they say! Still there is too much shit talk. The cause of it all I wonder while rich businessmen conceive impossible and infeasible methods of controlling the whole ordeal. It’s a business plan; you move the whole of gravity a few million feet through space. Political activists rage outside global warming. It has been reasoned that it is perhaps 4 seconds in flux. This is understudied. Everything is the same when the morning water is in the toilet. It still flushes, goes around and all that. Time runs at the same pace although galactic confusion of light, rock and other mysteriously great thing are all gone! But still the sun rises outside the window. Consider that I am hypnotised at this very moment. Consider that the world has fallen off the cosmos, the whole world.
“Sleeping souls of the assembly.” Not that it mattered incredibly. “Visual art, ever conceivable?”
Nothing was learned but sure enough the Mathematicians had saved themselves from death by baffling the lords, ladies and no break to be had. By the time the ‘head man’ called an end to the enquirer he had sat through the longest endeavour into abstraction need known. The mathematicians surrounded by the impossibility of the whole situation in vein scribbled nonsense equations for thirty six hours with the government courageous. Following a very long admin affair everybody is ushered in and the ‘head man’ began;
“Tell me everything, we, need to kill a couple right in the midst of it! ‘It’…whatever that is. Climb a big wall.”
Mathematicians are called to the assembly to consider the size of the fangs on a viper caught earlier, not in person of course. “Wow, they’re huge! Enough venom!”
Humanity ignores reality pretending it is all a show, all ‘unreal’. Hot and spicy wrap. Nobody quite knew what to make of it all and it was certainly something to see yesterday. A little before a gigantic brown bear appeared out the side of a fast-food establishment eating the manager like Ornette Coleman and Frank Zappa. Soon after which it’s branded as the Devil and/or much worse. Well that was all a couple of ‘new-age’ money making ‘healthy inspired-religions’ following the saxophonist until they find out he’s playing versions of paint. The colours manifest the tone how they please and the protestor becomes something of a religious figure. On the balcony he starts up his monstrous amplifier to which his saxophone sounds, modified by 5 spillages of thick gloss.
