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Journal: Entry for Novo

They're counting us.

Author: Novo Send a noteboard

Posted: 28/03/2010 09:51:32 PM

Views: 3011

The rings on our fingers, our chemical sequences, the patterns of our cheekbones. We have tags behind our ears, even the alphabet is sequential. Even the way we try to run is just a formula. Even your height against my height. Even the sky in your eyes - we know the speed of light we are so refined and civilized we have law and order now so who needs love?

She is unbearably weightless, it must have been something she lost when she fell. It took her too long to wake up and now she is as light as an angel.
That's the way to think of it - like an angel, they have no guilty conscience, they cannot say, when I was five I let go of the carriage on the hill, no time to steer or stop and then
crash, right into the cedar tree, and it was okay just an accident but still. There is no room for saying that for all of the holy confusion and she could almost fly. But she cannot say, remember when I was a woman last night, remember how my skin burned, remember the sun aflame as it set. She cannot say, I used to dream.
Dash her skull against the rocks, you'd get the same - bewildered and hungry. She has come untethered, a red balloon against the sky of the universe. She begins to speak like them, too, in whispers and parables, in tender fragments and old rhymes. She has a soft mouth. She floats.
This is like being born again, or being born a ghost. She is renewed or erased. She can't read. She doesn't have a shadow.
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