Arcade machines with broken screens
are stacked in piles next to a crumbling
statue of some guy in old clothes.
A woman raking leaves tells her son the
story about how the world got to where
it was, and doesn’t leave out all the details
involving graphic violence.
Something with seventeen eyes and twice
as many hands is sculpting faces out of mud
in a dank cave on a secluded island. It sings to
itself by clicking it’s long mandibles together
which make sparks that reveal the carvings on
the walls. It’s technique for crafting three dimensional
art has been improving exponentially for millennia.
Its ambition is eventually to work it’s way up to
the fourth, and everyday it gets closer.
There’s a beach on the east coast of Canada
where single shoes are often found with severed
feet still neatly inside. No one has been able to
figure out whether or not there’s a bunch of
copy cats trying to make more out of one incident
than there is, or if there’s someone out there
whose past time involves the close inspection
of sneakers.
A man with a clairvoyant V.C.R. watches footage
of the end of the world on repeat for months at a time
only stopping to pick up his landline and order pizza.
The girl on the other end of the call has a hard time
understanding his mumbling voice and will often ask
him to repeat himself. This is never a problem for him
because repetition is the one thing in the Universe that owns
his absolute faith, and so he speaks again; this time much more
clearly than before.
Teleporting Typewriter 