A wrenching and roaring sound revved from the deepest darkest part of the chamber, echoing off the steel basins and wired scaffolds. X32008.6_V1 stepped off the platform, encircling the rotating lever. Steam issued in short bursts, as pulleys worked, and iron gears grinded.
Within an instant, a vertical strip, a beam from the east, poured cream and white on V1, and the surrounding pasty platforms and tarnished girders. Verily, it thought, the door needs oil. Within seconds, the fluid bi-pedal proxy silently lumbered to the door, peering into the morning midst.
The frozen hills impressed a realm enveloped in lazy winter, seamed in by brown departed shrubbery, and a few slithering stratus wisps. The full solar flames danced along the medley of rust and plating V1 could only consider its most humble threshold.
A cautious and curious columbiform flapped and frawed overhead, causing V1 logically to imagine biting jealously on its koala bottom lip.
2/26/08
2/19/08
The Crane Wife
"And all the stars were crashing 'round
As I laid eyes on what I'd found
It was a white crane
It was a helpless thing
Upon a red stain
With an arrow its wing
And it called and cried
And it called and cried so..."
---
"The Crane Wife 1 & 2"
THE DECEMBERISTS
2/7/08
Mappa Mundi
She walks in, and I think of that house.
A smell of antiquity, and Egypt.
She wears rubies from Asia, and curtains from France.
Yet she suffers, what once was tall and worldly,
is now sullen and begging.
To this day, I respect and dare not compete.
I probably should. Casting a shadow in the
recesses of commerce, unknown
and applying henchmen from far away lands.
Geniuses in their own way, yet a mess of
conservative immaturity. Such is the culture of some,
such is the mess of centuries of inhumanity.
But I am not swayed. There is a light, crawling
through the gel-like underbrush
of the dark recesses of my dungeon.
Peeking through the Royal Blue.
It is stark and I dive in searching.
Should have brought a boogie board,
it's disgusting in here.
Somehow I find the boards of retreat and
take refuge in the plastic dust collection. Idle.
In this we find this pauper and the wife of Pizzaro,
strangely detached from each other,
eyes shifting in the hallways of the status quo.
There is only a need to embrace which neither understand.
Thus the two remain.
Cribbed.
Similar minds in endless passing,
which is halted abruptly
with the declaration of a stronger brand efficiency.
A smell of antiquity, and Egypt.
She wears rubies from Asia, and curtains from France.
Yet she suffers, what once was tall and worldly,
is now sullen and begging.
To this day, I respect and dare not compete.
I probably should. Casting a shadow in the
recesses of commerce, unknown
and applying henchmen from far away lands.
Geniuses in their own way, yet a mess of
conservative immaturity. Such is the culture of some,
such is the mess of centuries of inhumanity.
But I am not swayed. There is a light, crawling
through the gel-like underbrush
of the dark recesses of my dungeon.
Peeking through the Royal Blue.
It is stark and I dive in searching.
Should have brought a boogie board,
it's disgusting in here.
Somehow I find the boards of retreat and
take refuge in the plastic dust collection. Idle.
In this we find this pauper and the wife of Pizzaro,
strangely detached from each other,
eyes shifting in the hallways of the status quo.
There is only a need to embrace which neither understand.
Thus the two remain.
Cribbed.
Similar minds in endless passing,
which is halted abruptly
with the declaration of a stronger brand efficiency.
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