Selective Synthesis

Slowly distilling my psychosis.

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How well can things go for you?  Some people will prosper: don’t make eyes at them. Anyone, really. If their gun shoots off and almost hits you, then you best watch them. To Prosper: kill something faster  than other people  are killing it. That is yours.  That is not something people can take away from you. Not easily, not now that you've killed it first.

Good.  Good for you, Rocket Dream. Let the more meager citizens among us ogle and take rare pity on them: a few pauses  to let them clear off the soot from their dry lawns,

inhale, pause.

It is the Shock and Awe of this Prosperity  that unites us.  Launch Rocket. We have real need. Rhythms of need collapsing like a deck of cards. Twenty cards, thirty-six cards, 

Not to imply Prosperity would gamble.  No one can take a checked box back,  that’s theirs.  Terms of Service: The living and the dead, if possible.

It is food for someone, it is life unburdened somewhere that slows the Rocket.

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I. It is not coming together. It started out that way, but I can see it is about spinning apart just as much. Fifty-fifty. Something about the physics of it. The physics of being equals. II. You're here, I'm here. That's easy. I hope you don't mind, but I also brought someone new: I guess you'd call them, Who I Think You Are. I thought you would get along, that you two should meet. I thought to myself earlier, "People like that should meet!" And here we are, trying it out. III. In a story I've heard, forbidden lovers turn into a stone or a tree, I never remember which. What I remember is how the prospect of turning into a stone or a tree never seemed so fantastic as being two in that one.

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point source

Wealth hovers above the downtown streets, a sphere pulling at the land. Raw materials buckle from the ground for hundreds of miles, clumping, shooting vertically into the air.  It pulls iron ore through mine shafts, through refineries and steel mills, across oceans, along truck routes.

In the beginning, the orb settles over emptiness.  The land bubbles and smokes, a town starts.  Crystals and steam: a city.  The force draws up limestone piles in Mexican jungles, Egyptian deserts.  Limestone piles in Tokyo, New York, Dubai.  Through the metal and stone, it then draws people up out of the earth, lifting them momentarily closer to some promise.

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It could be water, then I grab too hard at the thing and it’s a bug, injured, leaking a soft rust. It is not the bug I imagined.  It is more delicate: a ladybug resting where I expected a vampire. I cup the crushed spots in my palm.   A small wind blows, rolling her onto the pavement.

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Visit Original Link

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snake she must have felt warm, eating the whole thing

I was always surprised to see the pale skin between diamond scales as the mouse slid through

stretching her gray bands into argyle

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