(no subject)

[proximoception]

Tinsel fell for four days deep into his back before hitting what felt like an answer. The sky was all birds by then and a soup holiday was minutes away from declaring itself. What to do next was not at all clear from the precedents. Invention was needed. The entourage looked at one another in feathered helplessness. A bell struck another bell and that bell struck back. Columns of air rolled over one another until everything sparkled. Finally a word was said, so strangely that no one heard it. Great canopies of hope collapsed. The future gave away its ending in astonishment. Fifty guns fired fifty cans of creamed corn through fifty feet of cotton candy to their doom. Do you know the sitcom about the man who works with retarded children by cutting at their hair till they're taken for geniuses? Do you remember how his wife moved her mouth when something funny was going on, that counterclockwise fishy rowing, that seemed to be gathering a ball of reaction in itself so heavy she couldn't close her mouth to express it? Everything was just like that, and I mean everything. Parts of everything no one clapped eyes on in eons produced themselves in paisley heterogenes. Sal was there and still mad at you. The love circus closed two tents and in the third there was I'm told cannibalism. It's like the very sea was gargling. Earlobes popped, one by one, among the everyone assembled. You prayed yours wouldn't be next. And then the-- but wait-- but listen-- the-- it was impossible-- but then the-- and everyone-- let me finish-- the most wonderful nosewashingly tulipbloomingly pavementsmoothingly neat thing happened. Under the rug stomped flat by the angriest man, thrown partly over a fence among treadless tires and sad cinder blocks, and stained by the strainings of innumerable birds. Yes, under it. Hang on. Okay, under it a tiny little door in a pebble gave exit to a very serious and tinier pebble mouse. She was in fact the tiniest, and her pebble was also the tiniest, irreducably so even. She'd had to cheat some to get it split enough to live there. So she came out. I'd describe her but you really can't. You know how pebble mice are. We just call them mice from whimsy. We just call them shes because we call crumb cats hes. Just like their pebbles aren't really pebbles but what else would you call them. These little fibs help, for things that only kind of exist anyway. I forget where I was at so I'll be somewhere else. Oh but no I won't because what she did next was to walk into all of our memories, a measured purposed march across each inch of every psyche. Further resolve squeezed gently up into her let's call them knee cavities with every step. Her task, whatever it turned out to be, clearly required the kind of buildup you get only from walking across everything that had ever happened in every version extant. I'll skip specifics. Okay so by the time she reached our crisis and picked the highest quality version of it and all any of us could remember, looking back over our lives, was her walking all over them, the present had set and we all had to wait there with frozen eyes in locked-open sockets but I won't bore you with complaining. Anyway the first thing she did when she did one thing was to walk right up the million steps (you lose a foot by stepping on each one but God knows that woman had feet), eat the nine cheeseburgers necessary to sustain herself in the atmosphere up there, which she did while climbing the steps so it counts as the one thing still, and slap that bastard right on the chin-- in midstep so it's one thing still. You can distract me by asking how you can slap a chin since a slap has to swing in from the side and chins don't have those. If you did I would reply in words spelled with scorn that things that barely exist are too small to materially attract or be attracted so you can't say what's up and what's down in their world so it's all sideways damn it. Anyway the slap put some snow back in the air and there was rejoicement and then a speech. It was this: "Love, lovingly love, love lovingly love, my love. And, from this strong, blow answer to the sun." We didn't understand but colored rains like those urge happiness in hearts and hearts we had.