The attic is no place to play he warned her as she gathered her stairs. What do men know of dolls in dark places she asked him. As she pulled the string on the naked bulb. More than I do. And so much less. She answered herself. Different shadows. Same lack. Of seeing what is there. The light too strong. For blind hands. I wish I had never turned it on.
Then I would still know nothing. And nothing would still know us.
In soft beds. Full of dolls' eyelashes. She examines. The particles that are missing from the mass. Whispers of god in the science of men. High dungeons in the execution of skin. As we try it on. Only to find. That it doesn't fit.
The years expire in fits of touch. The illusion of collision still testing my resolve. The smaller parts of the atom finding the universe still too small. The continuum collapses and I wonder how I ever crossed a bridge that small.
Inside our attics. We could look out the short windows and pretend the world was small enough to grasp.
But those men always had other plans.
Monday
9/29/2008 01:26:00 AM
'Whispers of god in the science of men'....wonder what the dumbheaded Patrick the asshole of god will have to say on this...he came and left his rotten stink on my blog!
Hope the shrinks found him!!
By the way..always liked your writing....no matter how provocative you could be.Love the little piggies,naked dolls,.....
whispers of god in the science of men is actually based on real science. the hadron collider is looking for the god particle afterall. or the higgs by another name.
patrick was funny. i like stuff like that. assures me i'm pissing people off. i'm sorry he bothered you though.
i try. am always trying. to be both provocative and honest. sometimes the words submit. and others, not so much.
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