WATCH MORNING CHILDREN programs after dishes, the day grey with damp sidewalks and heavy air. This after 20 minutes of NPR relating the Administration's peace keeping agenda with Biblical authority. Look at these lovely things, a plum tree in blossom or a sleeping child and his ma. Not much happening today. A dry narrative, this subjective tale of disfigurement and growth. A purple dinosaur filters through the decayed archives of my brain. Learn what to leave out. Carry a little piece of stone in my pocket. Turn it in my fingers. Others come out to play with it too. They dance on it or spin off the top of its obsidian surface. Obsius found one in Africa, said Pliny—Obsianus. Some mask it with ideals like adularia, but negative sources are exposed to expert investigators. Look at this dancing dinosaur. What evil dick invented this? And what fool needs to ask? The technology interacts in waves of cognition. Images lodge in soft tissue, provoking cells to respond. Delighted laughter shrieks from my son. He jumps up on the bed, pointing. "Look at that," he says. "What's he doing?" Barney carries a basalt block. Drops it on a child's bunny, the guts and blood oozing out from under. Next he throws a child roughly on the stone, releasing a putrid keen. Saurian saliva drips from dagger-like incisors. Strike my little stone 'til sparks fly.
Posted by Dale at May 11, 2004 03:07 PM