Friday, October 30, 2009

Super fast one while boss man scoots home and then hears words and then grabs phone and then phone rings and then I speak and then he listens and then bits of data travel across the negasphere to the other side of the island with long term ramifications in guam. Don’t forget to tell Edna that the babysitter is not dead, she was faking, and then the cavalry came in, as they're wont to do, and, circumspectfully, reincarnated the ghost of Walter Cronkite. I was gonna say, eh, you don’t need to know. Secrets of the trade. Not everything has to be in black or blue ink, some of it is invisible, a la man or woman or the most world famous invisible alley. It’s where everyone’s invisible, but the invisibles cannot see the other invisibles even though they imagine that they can. They’re totally wrong, but when they don’t bump into anything they think they’re right. The problem, at least for them, being, that invisibles, while solid to us non-invisibles, are intangible to other invisibles. Their particles slip through each other en route to wherever it is they happen to be going. What they are seeing is where each other either were, will be, or might have been, in another dimension or reality perhaps, per se, not to mention the possibilities of black hole emergence. Step into one of those and it’s lights out Sally, but it rarely happens, hasn’t really been seen in the land of the invisibles (but then, what has been, seen? Ha ha, don’t hurt me). In any event, don’t forget to wash your hands. Safety first. Loose lips sink ships, and the latrine on deck is a fastidious example of when keeping it real might have actually not gone wrong, but not necessarily right either. Just in some inexorable vortex involving washing machines and cow manure, but not in the way it sounds. I’d say film at eleven at this point, but with the time change, or lack thereof, this weekend, the noggin clock does get a little wonked, so we’ll leave it at adieu, see ya later, pick up a pencil or stab a key. Shalom.