I'm up there. where the green and the blue organic lines merge. i find a cigarette carton on the ground and i crawl to the back. peer through. you will surely find a funeral procession. lay back red Volvo station wagon, you smell like musty parlor and taste of corn chips. your headphones die and you find it best to leave them in, so people will think you are occupied.
Lindsey, you are trying to make something out of nothing.
it defies these laws. you rotate. you spin. and all the while things are in the makings for a machine that is sustainable. and waste free.these plans are fallible.
then we sit with vanilla yogurt just to keep the ball in play.
keep crawling you'll find yourself in the Spanish barrio feeling out of place. with advertisements for chips that you've never heard of, and shady looking men in 10 year old Cadillacs, with kittens on the license plate.
on the ground things have been crushed. we step there because we think they are bugs. they are people and small birds. the people are throwing up all over the ground. and from above these things look so small. keep walking for the rotten orange. little man, you will make it there someday. though i have the faculties to save you the effort i will watch from above. unchanged. with full knowledge of future disappointments. bound to travel just to get there and realize your prize is stale. but you were successful however Pyhrric. you don't know I'm here (watching.and maybe laughing) or you would curse me.
these words are done. i will burn them to make them my masterpiece. never seen by a human eye. never worthy. unaffecting. the heat and smoke will give them away. and the light will start a revolution. people will ask "she has burned the internet down to the ground"
and they will be out for good blood. a serious defector. good riddance.
without realizing it was never a real question.
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