there is a number of small things

2004-09-30, 12:52 a.m.

this is the land of worms and demons. the worms live under the earth, with their heads wiggling through the pockets in the soil, sightless, deaf, and mute but involutarily sensitive to the vibrations coming from above. the slightest movements send a shockwave through the dishevled layers of dirt and clay, shaking the very flesh of any worm nearby. the demons jump and galoot through the trees and bushes, pulling vicious pranks on the wildlife and even each other, and the shuffling about is most dangerous for the worms below.

these worms feel a hoof pouncing on the carcass of a dying rabbit, or the dessicrated corpse of any of the various larger animals. blood would seep through the grass and into the darkest of the top soil, where some of the worms go to catch the drafty airs of the surface, but they sink back down as fast as they came up when the blood touches their sticky carapace, this is a blind world, because nobody talks about the worms or the devils anymore, they are too discreet, or too blatently obvious that we lose interest to quickly.

the popper would not ask a rich man if they had time for a story like this, so i am the poor man who desires no money, just a medium through which i can tell the story. its the stories that keep you out of the past and the future, and out of the convergence of emotion-reaction living. THIS WAS A RANDOM SUMMER, they were right, and the summer pauses before it jumps into the cold waters of october, because everything is different afterwards. ironic that i find out how she really feels on the first day of autumn.