Ceaselessly
you seal the cracks by which the void seeps in. You cover in thick
spit the black planks, you flatten its splinters, you spread old
newspapers over to hide its rot.
Your
lips are in pieces. Your throat is a twisted pipe blowing its thirst.
Your temples are heavy with the void’s absence.
The
walls are whining. The planks are becoming finer. Their blackness
fades away, becomes glass. You strike the panes – your palms aren’t
bloody yet. Outside, all of the void agglutinates in flocks.
Outside?
The
light carves the glass in a thin arch, cuts a door out of the skin.
You
step over the threshold and immerse your feet. You’re walking
through the void’s fabric. You’re shutting yourself up in the
void.
Almost
no resistance.
A
few fishes only swirl at the surface. You don’t know where the
void’s surface is. You don’t know about the fishes. You only feel
the eyes of the tornadoes.
You’re
digging, with your clasped hands, toward whats seems to be the bottom
of the void; you’re digging, and then tie yourself up to the sand,
your legs so far over your head, your nails squealing in
a forever scattered support, you’re walking this way, in the void’s
depths, with
a stiffen neck, you’re walking on your hands…
It’s
her again, by your crystalline unconsciousness awaken.
You
can only follow her in this ruins. The enormous sun drapes her with
blood. You have to follow her – you cling to her scarves, burning
your fingers.
Her
old bodies are smilingly sleeping under a silent bell; she stole her
form to the time she cursed. Her hands on your throat, your face she
lifts up, the speaking she orders and refuses. You only have to
follow her. As the ransom of space, the jewels you dig up, each one
duller than the last, and that she carries triumphantly.
She
annexes your hands – you don’t know if your youth protects you.
You
follow her around the ruins.
All
the stones rotate around her, who still spares you, but for how long?
You
lead her to an intact arch, since she wants to leave the void so
badly. Before you, she meddles into the light and her face
disappears. All the stones fall down. The arch is broken.
What
will the ones from under say? Will they see her? Or perhaps is she
animated void, her magic so little the void changed, she whose
gestures intimate you to fall silent.
Only
taking down the lamps to surround your night.
i’m partially glad i’m not rich. if i had an infinite surplus of money i’d have certainly eaten myself to death on white chocolate reese’s cups by age 14
omg omg so the oldest known site of breadmaking dates back to c. 12,500 bc in the levant, in the natufian culture, and the natufians also are attributed with the first known evidence of the domestication of dogs
bread and dogs, mankind’s greatest achievements
we peaked so soon
there’s also the note that subsequent drought in the region threatened the wild cereals used for breadmaking, and in response the natufians developed agriculture, which lead to sedentary culture which enabled long term preservation and transmission of technology and culture, so yanno, bread is basically responsible for human civilization
i’m really glad i’m not tumblr famous, bc if i were there’d be someone right now composing a callout post tumblr user kayliemalinza thinks celiacs are uncivilized and inhuman
