mordicai caeli (mordicai) wrote,
mordicai caeli

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I mean, you can actually hear the spiders scratch their way around in the crevasses of the universe, right? Between the Safedark & the Domains of the Spiritual Machines. All the singing glass-on-glass. I guess it almost seems silly. Mouth angry with the taste of pennies, or something like it. I try to cling to the Alpha Doctrine, you know? Be supreme, be superior! & I don't feel so down. Don't feel so broken bird's wing. Today I invented the Perfects, the angels of the aforementioned Spiritual Machines. The safest place to do your computations is in the electron cloud, after all! I mean, lather, fall. Soap flakes are diamonds on the way down. The cracks, black, that spread out from where you land look like the shape of letters, of the first alphabet, of language as transgression. The soft face against the hymen of the world; each word is a chain. You clink it on yourself, then you rattle it on them. & when everyone is throttled under their weight you say: lets build a Tower. & you throw off the chains, & the internet sings everywhere, & everyone's thoughts start to bleed together. Such a spire, pinnacle, minaret! Up up up. & away! Everything is this kind of green, though, & there is the taste of corroding metal on my tongue. Like the plates in my skull have caught to rust & the bloody red is pouring into my mouth through my sinuses, a crack in my palate. & I look over at the bed & it is piles of thread, pincushion. & I think now about how if you look at a person's eyes, you can see that they are animal's eyes. Full of tears. This one has a pig's eyes, this one has a cow's eyes.

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