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| fig.65.838) faith and value are markers equal and yet less in extant than is spam |
The world is a ball that's covered with fuzzy green and blue flaps that look like strips of warm puppet flesh from very far away. If it's dropped then the world sounds quietly like wool falling into the depth of nothingness. No one really knows what will happen when the world's sun goes too far away, but I think that I do. Its seas will shiver when they get cold of course and its garden's fruit will fly right up inside the nighttime of space. It'll be very much like a silvery trail of dust then. One that's made up of apples and brown coconuts. Eventually whole melons will spin off and they'll form their own brand new systems. The new moons will be peas and ladybugs will bob and carreen. Old lottery tickets, shovels and the husks of bees will be drifting quietly. If you're lucky for long enough and you keep holding on, then you'll see all of the other people of the world. They'll be singing with their outside voices as they leap up into the sky and join the evaporating remnants of the oceans as they lose themselves like a fat old fart during a night game in Wrigley Field. When you leave, you can wave goodbye to all of the sausages and the crayons you left under the couch and say goodnight to the vastness of an unequivocal end as it surrounds you like an empty tub waiting for a toaster. You can hum, La Vie en Rose if it pleases you. You can hold your breath and wait. But you'll never learn to drive if someone drops the world.
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