Biting hard into the limestone was not the best idea

Ethan Switch - Wednesday, 12 May 2010 - 23:48:06 - print it raw

Forget which way it was now. Or is now. Forgot to forget and it was all a past tense. Clench your teeth kind of stuff. They had hopes for what it was worth. And time makes no sense spitting against the wind. Time back, and with a clue of no repeat, they washed away all the dreams of finding out the answer.

Tasting virgin sap from the Golden Vietnamese cypress, they were in arms. Of each other's and of anger's. Holding hands as the truth pushes their lean, over the edge to face the abyss.

They were learning of the truth, but blinding themselves to the actual realisation that they were dying. All across their faces a show of failing support. Embers flicking away, eyeing another soul.

One by one, another elder falls victim to age, deforestation and a great sense of... that thing... that... well, that's what happens when you forget what you forgot.

It's the recall that fails to deliver solid memories. Dreaming in a full colour spectrum, split infinitely across the blues and hues. The oldest now only 300 years old.

One by one they were looking for the sun. A distant black hole to collapse, to cascade, to imbricate themselves unto. Shudder go the leaves, another one bites the rust.

caution: deep water

Oxidisation, really. No iron here. Iron only in their will, but the will lasts only so long. And then comes nature.

Nature, mind, doesn't care. It is what as it nurtures the core strength from your very fibrous being.

Reading the afternoon away through Tlön, Uqbar, Orbis Tertius they wile the remaining hours trying to understand failure and desolation of boundaries. Lines shift as the sands holding the consciousness of the riverbed fades away.

One by one they count. Down, never up.

Hours last for weeks. Weeks into decades. Cycling ever until the earth's calendar levels their numbers to nil.