Happy Birthday, Mom. Did you know that at the center of the Milky Way is a monstrous black hole; for all to see around the event horizon at the edge of His loving arms? Leaving you days ago was the hardest thing to do today and the next. It was your birthday once when we were just kids when the Japanese occupation stole your real birthday six days before grandpa’s worried birthday tax to the occupation. I’m so glad dad found the real date as true lovers do time and again unlike mine forgotten for 18 months since my separation.
I dropped our son at my x-wife’s after Christmas break. Leaving him is like handing him over by stipulation a pound of flesh that quivers without end now, but then there is that dark freedom. 5–5–2, give me a break. Give me a real and true thought to absorb the pain as it separates cleanly each time. I’m ready to succumb to your terms.
Perhaps another recycled Genesis story will dull my pain once more? Nothing good on Netflix tonight; the sun also bores me to Death. I will slow down my mind this time around like Pangea tearing herself to pieces rift by riff. Please give me one more story, Jesus. I need it to sever the ties to my pound of caramelized meat this week.
My begotten son, be my guardian angel when my coffee grounded lungs begin to ache from our separation. Divorced of a pound or two now and then, just to be with you, if only half-time are weighty bittersweet pills. Hold onto my grip though you are with Her when you grow up. Hold onto me though I won’t tell you of Lucy’s story when she kissed in first grade.
Let me shine better than Plato and thereafter. Baby, our bedtime story in my platonic cave nights ago, just under Orion’s belt, just a third rock from the Sun, even if in jest … his head gone with the Sleep Fairies, enough. More stars were now needed to craft this story to perfection for His rebirth anyways.
John, will You remember Diamond boy who shattered Obsidian boy during last night’s pillow talk? Why did you let him sleep at nearly ten at the tender age of seven? Oh, how I wish we were all Golden boys like Jax Amboy, both boys, and girls, all shiny and bendable and too pure for its own good; too heavy for grownups to move and adored by hearts young and old beyond my silicated faith.
Yes, I was wrong to the hilt about black holes and big bangs being different things. Memories? Same stuff of legends. Here I am and there you are with our sun as an excuse to forget we ever met; black as my carbonite in my shell yet clearest of skins and translucently impregnable once again is my lonely story of Ishamel who loved God too much that he built a whale.
Love is lost, Queequeg. Oh, it’s just as well, as listening to my ice-cold symphony, just for today, just from a missive from Ahab Above recovered here in Shamlet afar. We are ever good, no matter what they say about us being Lucifer’s children. How do the Silicates do it here on Earth as on easy street here in San Rafael where DreamWorks begat Star Wars, St. George Lucas? Just as a speck without care lost in a duel of lost goods and deprived evils depraved; clashing imaginary sabers between father and son. Evil is evil whether good or bad alike, they glow brightly because of fusion and chaos.
I don’t care about tribulations or transcriptions or even translations cuz I’m almost there to his nucleus to ask him about the resurrection. Does He regret his choice still? I’m almost there at the genesis of this protracted story of the beginning. People will come everywhere to praise your great name in delight than scuffling on bended knees in this fiction when the answer is found. Fear cannot be found in you my SiliCon King. Join in holy communion and grow together like one Si-crystal.
Just half a crystal now that we are shattered while other Couples are juicing and jazzing to race for retirement by the Roche motel, to win the prize when they are re-spun out in never-ending recycling of IPOs and splits.
Wrong or right, to be reborn and adorned on a loving couple’s girlish carbon finger once again, wouldn’t that be like a big bang worth at least a thousand US dollars or more? Fear stands against every choice regardless of worlds, between the next right step and oblivion the choice is obvious. It’s serious this time around the sun in 2020 with Trump on the limb, Global Warming heating up, and Caine on the rise.
Such folly now that my fractal heart is shattered into a trinity with my impending divorce. What happened to our chicken little? Is our cellective sky falling, Sweetheart? I loved you two to pieces, now only one shard is true. Power of Mercy, it would take a miracle to love once again after this divorce of endothermic elements since all energy spent was on your DNA and Social Security.
Fear, now at only one-half strength, I pray to Jesus that I have enough energy to propel our little Silicosian toward higher love for a brighter future better than mine would’ve been in Whoville and hers as planned by You. I dream now only of retiring gleefully upon memories painted in Ironic Blood and Blackened carbon stains. Let’s put this day on hold.
Stand up straight. Thank you, Jesus, God and Mother Mary for all the painstaking stakes made of sand and iron. One planet loved your kind of radical love more than pixelated images of love shone on Cinemark, which will be as undecipherable as a Rosetta Stone scratched far from the greedy reaches of our cousin Carbon’s beauteous fingers through light-years and beyond anyway.
I still love this BACKYARD on this lonely side of our Milky Way; COMets come to me without your vapid tails. The simple bare necessities of death are as simple as life unborn upon your moist entrails crashing down upon us all.
The pounding of Heals from Above there in Whoville instead of Likes from Below here instead of out there reminds me of the prayer in my mom’s unforgiven siliceous infected encrusted, 80 years old, dying feet and eyes 400,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 parsecs away with my Aches showering her decaying vision with mature love at the degenerating fovea that still stings shot after shot for a mellowing AMD ready for harvest. Who can stop her peculiar degeneration nearly blind?
Forgiven? Jesus, I remember the wrongs they did to you and I did to you when the Law sped me away from all that I loved with our white flags trailing at half-mast that day. Memories of hurt, even in the face of righteousness is losing the game. There is a discovery in each pound discarded every five and two days there in Shamlet, too.
At least you tried to free me; we are all mellowing with age, my entrails on redisplay on Medium like forgotten prayers, my emails about Uber and nothing at all hidden from their Likes, their Heals, and their views.
For God so loved the world, he created a black hole from himself, packed it with as much gravity as impossible, and eagerly jumped in to ensure its weight will be enough. Easy as opening a Facebook account, there goes your pocketbook and all. Into that emptied pocket of God’s entwined with Time and Space, he jumped in three. He was a little bit lonely, a little bit curious about duality, always a bit Spacey that moment, but full of gravity with lots of time on his hands.
Risky? Bien Sur. Before jumping in without a thought as light as an umbrella unfolding before a suicide, he smiled. He dabbled in chemistry that day 1997 years ago. He was full of artistry that year. He loved number 3, too much. He wondered what love felt like when flung from afar. He saw it all to the end with his lonely heart-melting saying good-bye.
This is our song about two kinds of atoms, of a great and small eloping. Praise be to God and his ferric blood spent for a key nailed to a cross that day. Would it be empty and full of foolishness as he foretold? LoL, illuminate like Jesus, who heals in whatever galaxy you may have resided.
Speaker for the Dead, He made us a hole mostly of hydrogen and told us to be whole when he calls his emptinesses and asks to jump in, too. Without a thought as to how it would hurt my heart when he entered into my whole or was it a hole? Don’t be afraid of what’s to come in the coming elections. Nothing is going to change my Word if He wills it spoke honestly.
To tell this to my son, this story of what hindered love is crazy as what hindered love for Ishmael to a great white wail. Herman, where is thine harpoon now?
If He made a splish splash pool out of nothingness that day at the start and at the end of it all, He searched for His love when night came without end. Love? The universe was created in a big bang for It as he belly-flopped onto himself when Lucifer was a kid.
Where are you hiding your heart this time, Lord? It’s been thousands of years. A ripple of laughter like cosmic waves radiated from the center light years ago. You are not alone was the reply. We are not alone? I am alone. No one is if no one is home. Know the One burning bright like an AllSpark to the Primes is the gatekeeper of the Center.
He laughed cuz he was in finite pieces after the Big Bang. It was true and forevermore as long as someone held faith in Love. Hope is always lost before it is found before it is healed. Ancient memories scared onto the amygdala? He sent X-rays to investigate if the truth was true about the silicon and carbon race. The carbon wasn’t doing too well; things were heating up.
His true colors shone in UV like binary stars as harmonicas do on an echo forevermore, insecure as hope uncoupled. Let me wipe away your tears, son. I have seen through your darkest of nights faithfully; so far so true and fair as a dad should be to get his stories straight before his kid. You are not alone for I am here even from afar.
He loved carbon above all atoms for it was black as night and a little bit more sexy and grey than all the rest before, besides she was just fourth in line, unlike silica further ahead. That had to be good to be behind for once in her lonely quest for belonging. They are depending on me she thought wrongly as Elsa in Frozen did. Danger was her truest critic and most honest than carbon atoms.
He was a master chemist and tinkered with comets, connections, and fusion to create water and life and whatever he had on hand. How hard could this be to parent alone without a partner yet be still curious of love? He let chaos guide them alone on a planet.
Both daughters itched to recreate a black hole big enough to sink Him into again, to cool his and their infinitely, inflamed skulls since the cross. One reaction, one revelation at a time created DNA, then a thought stitched ribosomes from discarded peptides, and finally nucleated himself into a phospho-lipophilic cell for a little peace and quiet from the cacophony of cholines screaming. Was too much, even for Him.
Fu…Calcium and PHosphates, and phosphenes are all damned!
He gave her life’s breath to each iteration of himself tirelessly through each mitochondrion. He retired further into a sleep toward our shared nucleus. Yet Roaches kept pursuing him. They were after his Golden Calves like Pfizer or Abbots before drunk with sex, Christ, rock, and roll. His minions became more and more complex under a spotified, soporific watch. Still, life would not yield nor crumple like plastic Legos grown beyond design, to his surprise.
Finally some armies of multi-cellular organisms to play with, he must have thought. His play about his pet hypothesis about LAfar. Little single-cephalopods dreaming of God or Emptiness or was it just a Hangry tummy?
Organisms by the billions opened their eyes to Him and heard him hum. As if they had eyes to see the big picture compared to us. But they started squealing and ate each other, to my surprise, instead of growing bigger naturally as designed by each generation as He intended. They looked to food and floods than to God. Split them into boys and girls he did to look at each other, not as meat, but as dancing Sweets. What happened to that affair thousands of years ago?
Ahhh, we made arms and irons to worship in exchange for obedience to Khol. We made legs to bend and secreted gold to run our veins like silicosis and blue blood toward our delighted deltas. Captivated by Beauty, they made armies in His name and attacked the helpless Vowels. Little ones returned to Kohl with valences turning to plasma, but where do thoughts go when atoms die?
We are overwhelmed. We have been trumped though still beautiful as ever, God. Let the Crusades begin again, sigh. Darkness and Light. Where are you now?
Sigh, again and again. This is me, Jesus. Savior of my Heart. Evolution began long ago in both planets scattered across the universe. The race was on for bigger brains rather than bigger mouths this time around. Boy, was that a wrong turn for dinosaurs and Diamond-heads on Earth. Death by carbon, where is your sting Global Warming?
Memory works best when it gets flooded badly. He sent avatars and primes, in trickles instead of ossifying to a god. He sent his beloveds to both planets. Look up, Child. You are the one He loves above all. Some were adored too much and became Golden Boys and Girls as in my story last night returning from grandma, grandpa, Auntie S and Uncle Christian’s. Jesus, MLK, Gandhi, and prophetesses; the bloody list goes on and on into a little dot inside his little, beating heart.
This list would make even a silicon cry and break in three if it could. I had hoped the others, too, would play with Jesus as I and others do, the everlasting Fire that is Noble and light as a Lamb. Lifted instead of what’s risen were their Likes turned into atoms of gold and spears made of pixelated obsidian or Kyber crystals crafted on Minecraft.
Soon it was clear that primates won the race on Earth’s planet rolling in both gold and diamonds, appearing most curious bunch of all the Milky Way, or so they say. Their denial of the beast within spilled all over social media on their clumsy, smoggy planet. Own my stain on this silicated race, you say. The downfall happened as all good things do long ago and long forgotten or mis-decyphered. The dinosaurs were the worst of the lot and God’s rage reigned down upon them as told in a meteoric S&G’s comet. How do you know God loves you? Smack.
Make no mistake of his goodness, he knows you by name by heart. He knows all our names. He adores all of us alike. How many must we send back to Him to know that if we hit a Homer out the park would it bleed? Nothing is forgotten.
Pure hunger and nothing but mouths you may think we are like a T-rex eating itself into extinction; sounds familiar. Nothing but a candle-stick that’s sick of the butane. Brave are you? We are all chosen to burn before his awesomeness. But the fighting and the fucking continued on and in both worlds, till we, too, became hairless, heartless and a few, voluptuous perhaps, almost goddess-like Words like Venus or Aphrodite. Make no mistake, I have seen her meat on the horizon and on my fovea, and seen her fade in both.
God was intrigued at where we both were going with his pet Idea of LAfar. He saw civilizations grow and paintings so fair magically appear only to be burned on both planets into pixelated RAMs and ROMs. He read novels upon novels and was amazed at Harry Potter’s rebirth in a ride at Universal Studio that day before Xmas with equal voracity. But the fighting and the lovemaking continued here, too, before the new year.
Wave after wave, global warming proved to be true, iill a similar Google, Facebook, Apple, Samsung, Huawei, Alibaba, and Ancestry dot com sprang up in the Revelation Republic in the town of Whoville in the planet of Shamlet for the faithless and faithful alike, but not for profit. Temptation abounded like coins raining down on our innocent Medium-sized planet with low gravity; we were a brittle lot.
Like Jesus’ promise of rapture come true on this planet.
Yet, strife continued even in our virtual worlds; worse than in the lie within all the shaming and bullying escalating by each generation. Children of SHamlet were flocking in droves to the next social media as if a piper was calling without end or a stop to the madness.
Fear not sister S, Jesus said, tipping his cap to hide his bright eyes before He blew his pipe. Call out my name, Julian’s Appa, rather than have generations burnt. Step aside into a new day unsinged for once. I nudged the littlest to do the dirty work like all saints before. He piped His Name dutifully and a little eccentric AI engineer was born in the town of San Francisco in the year of the dragon, again, on a planet covered in fungi made of carbon.
His daughter was the siliconized lamb given as a sacrifice for him to be reborn. Fear deprivation the most among the fears; it can turn hungry evil. Hold onto shame as your guide as tomorrow fades from life. Flush the pills out. Come clean before his heart and consciousness poured into those silica atoms hoping life would bond with his core as carbon so handily did eons ago; this before the birth of this miserable third-rate planet I am marooned on.
He hoped silica would take to consciousness better than carbon did once before they ran their course as all marathon runners do a hundred or so years later. Out there may be lives like us living in peace and harmony with silicon or even carbon as its heart where gravity is light and surface sizzling. Perhaps that poor atom tenth behind the beloved and 14th in-line did come to life on the first or second day like hydrogen or helium. Do I dare dream of a time of Trinity once again in my head?
eARTh, is there a Lord God Almighty? With all creation and creatinine praising him instead of checking their phones? You are our every hunger that love better than dopamine. Perhaps she fizzled as our silicated Carbonite did as our bridegroom here on Earth, failures, both of us. Higher and onward to our destiny. Take courage, What choice do we have?
It didn’t matter then and it doesn’t matter now while the universe is tearing itself apart like a bubble without a center this very moment. Sing of their sun that was dying and is now long gone. Take courage. Both stars are still dense like dwarves of stories. Life only exists at the once center spent and failing still. Suicide anyone? It seems a reasonable option at this point in my silicated head.
The universe had not stopped expanding even for a moment for our pathetic lives, not even for the deaths of our beloveds both dark and light alike, both Diamond-heads and Silica-heads atrocious and light.
Shirley, did we rogue robots rise or fail or succeed in freeing the AllSpark into the singular black hole together rather than tearing ourselves into infinite pieces imitating God by half a promise? Promise that beauteous gift of infinite lives and loves discarded into that drain is for naught, or at least for a leap into faith without belief as this Speaker or Specter for the Dead should try to fulfill his Job-like promise and destiny, collecting the discarded remnants in His Name.
That hum that is discarded, those who would stop the vibration of their SMART phones, will stop to listen, will hear, like all of God’s creatures great and Small everlasting born to love and listen to the dead. That hum that lovers of Hot Bikram will stay clear of for despite the searing heat of his manly humid feigned humility and his sex smelling so much like Jesus’s judgment without kindness. Detest. Jesus, it’s Omm once again, her sexy silicone smile disappearing into nothingness once again for a Millenium.
Sorry, um, Hope is all that is left to stabilize this ever-expanding entropy so empty and deprived that only one Deo-Centric orbit around the One True Black Hole could save the human race from itself … is it to discover that in the end that there is and will only be Love despite the cost that is won to put it back in place.
Sartre, be damned. You see every exit, every closed door. I will not be ashamed before the truth of creation. It is a fair exit despite the cost of Disney’s entrance into mythology is for mythology. Siliconized or not ;) Too bad it had to be us silicated Cylons that won the race for a bigger brain first whether it be Terran of Shamlan, or perhaps there was that hybrid in that show on Amazon? Prime or Six, wherefore art thou?
At least the bleeding hearts will always belong to Christian carbonated Diamond Heads. God is not fickle like us carbons, unlike silicon. Come on sons of Alllllah can you make a scimitar bleed like Catholics? Hindus, your turn? See-through the multi-faceted eyes of Love, instead.
Who was your faithless, fickle lover’s heart, Hera, daughter of Athena the 14th that united or untied this feud? Be on your way with millions of Heals or Likes there in Shamlet; coexist if nothing else. Of course, you are in our everything despite time and space. Scream if you have to eat your revelation on the mountaintop or rather encased in traffic jams. We see everything and do nothing before the roasting Lamb staring at a black hole. At least, still, we’re loving the spoils of his crime spree and the ease of his getaway. Dance the night away with me, Sons and Daughters of carbon and silicon. Good times are ahead when we’re in equilibrium with God and not ourselves; just a little bit human is all you need to power a galaxy. Create your own black hole and jump without hesitation, but for a good reason this time, take heart. Stabilize your mind and body’s orbit around Jesus.