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___|text file # 002|___-[ C R A C K E R S ]-______________!___________________
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*  "cue dimension 4"                                                        |`.
*______________________________________[ brian : 17th of October, 2002 c.e. ] *
                                         ŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻŻ * *
Fade in.
  
Imagine your eyes are closed. There's a piano playing soft music behind your
ears and all your mind can focus on is the tapping of the piano keys--when
frail hands of your family tree transcend into this world. Finally, you under-
stand what they all mean by "living each day as though it will be your last",
and essentially you fall apart into a broken array of wooden pieces, only to
wake up as a grandfather clock, and you scream, your achy voice imploring for
an escape or manuever.

Enter me.

Taking the trash out is so terribly easy that it's unappealing and it is so
completely inept that I walk, my face downcast, disregarding the immaculate
sky above. The skies, they say, are a distinguished insignia of hope and hope
is not what I need right now. Instead, I'll try and capture the sound of the
streets, an entity in its own regard, and stand on its shoulder. I feel too
often and that is my problem. I feel too loose and sticky, naturally, because
I am far more gregarious than average, but, sadly, not by choice.

That's when I hear the chimes, distant and desparate. I peer behind the fence,
but see nothing but the neighbor's house. I scan the dumpsters and again no-
thing more than the routine-clad principle peeping back at me.

Fade in to you.

I've been told the iron has more effect on the pendulum than the guts and
gears of the machine. If this is true, imagine that you are upon the skin of
the ocean, walking miraculously as a prophet would, vividly dreaming of what's
below, and then you make an epiphany.

Cut to zygote.

Yes, yes, yes. Now you see. If the sky represents hope, then why would you
want to see it, wide open and on display for anyone? Rather, hope is genuinely
shown through the gaze of the center, below your feet, below the Earth, and
into an abyss that you, in fact, are unable to view. Metaphysically, you can
endure something so grand, but as you and I sit here and speak, I can tell you
that your notes from the underground have proven true and you have been given a
proper accolade.

In the end we drank green tea and jocularly discussed the ideas of past philos-
ophers.

"By far, the Socratic method of teaching seems to work best."

"Yes, and his student, Plato, had it right with the cave," I added.

"What is your opinion of 'God Is Dead'?" you asked.

Upon saying that, we both finished our drinks and laughed gaily the rest of
that awefully magnificent night.

Fade to black. 
_______________________________________________________________________________
                                    http://www.bubblemonkey.org/cheesencrackers
                             
                                                   cnc-002.txt written by brian
                                                       <brian@bubblemonkey.org>
                             
                         
                         copyright (c) 2002, your mom.