well close your eyes and count to ten

2003-09-23, 10:30 a.m.

and now it is apparent. paper cutouts are at my dinner table, replacing their fleshy ancestors. so new, but a few thousand years old, in comparison to 15 or 20 thousand. even then, the chain continues, until time is measured by 10 and its negative exponent.

some could talk if i gave them lips, painted them ruby red, gave them eyes to see my complacent smiles. we could engage in worldly conversation, if only they could go to school, if only they could yell their innate desires. what a cloth, what rich fabric, to distract the eye from empty plates; those silver saucers, UFO crash sites. we gather round, the chairs repel, then come back, like confused lovers, to the table. sitting down, i wonder if they could have ears to hear, then again, i wouldnt have much to say.

and what weather do you, or i, ask? i could place a thousand million skies outside, line them up side by side like school children, and we could survey the view from the crystal windows. i wonder if these people, parchment figures, know they crumple when their heads turn, and straighten when they stare my way. i will enjoy the feast regardless, i will eat with faithful devotion. god, could you ever know what a scene this could be..