the weather models arch away in random walks across the sky
reaching out around the world, in a feeble attempt to grasp the future
who looks back through the cloud of entropy, piles of refuse,
sifting for gold
The clock on the wall says, "In the future,
all interaction with Friend Computer will be cargo cult.
All the passwords will be lost, or preserved
as secret treasures of mystery cults."
a scribe places <<32MB .pdf>> into his bag, next week
he is travelling to a distant city
dodging the flames he cannot yet see,
he has found the gate from the garden
carrying more of his world than he could imagine
i guess this kind of works. like a shattered crystal
swept up and put in a bag, opened to let in
a ragged shaft of light
will someone on their first date, comment on
the leather jacket, now wrapping some neophyte de mundus,
which i had since highschool? or find my website
in the wayback machine and read
my obituary on alldeadhumans.gov
<<insert plot of Lady in the Water>>
<<go ahead and re(ad/call) it, it's important and>>
when ptolemy decreed at the age of thirteen
that language would be forgotten, packed onto the back of an ox
and marched through a valley for centuries
to emerge bewildered
stunned into silence, a black obelisk to monkeys
"In the future, all the words will be stolen."
what if the most important thing you will ever do
you have already done?