setting quill to flesh, metatron discovers the gunmetal blue-black of the ink. his collected shards of memory pierce hands, carelessly, & when he examins them he finds only more riddles. in this one he tried to leave the room- why? what about this part; he was talking sense about art, it seems like sense when he runs his hands over it. it has the smell of an informed opinion.
earlier, the angel metatron remembers saying that fiction writers who only invent a plot suffer in comparison to science-fiction writers who invent a frame for their story. its kind of true, in an idealized world where most science-fiction is not pulp. in the future, maybe. trapped within the tunnel of time.
by popular request, the three (3) true things contained in islam.
1. the angel jibril appeared to mohammad.
this is absolutely true, take my word for it. i mean, the situation is totally blown out of proportion, & the details are purposefully misconstrued, but the angel jibril did show up & had a few words for mister (mr.) the prophet. trust me, though, it wasn't fucking pleasent, i assure you!
2. god did tell the angels to bow before adam.
its basically how its said there; i mean, except for the context & implications & all that. i can't give a very good accounting of how that went down, because i'd blow that scene a long time before. so no first hand run down on this one. butress yourself against doubts though, honey. i've got it on good authority. but oh, eblis was definately not a genie. djinn, efrit, whatever. he wasn't.
3. the circumfrence of the universe.
no fucking way, you say? you are mistaken. parliment has spoken up, for real.
i can't say anymore. i've said too much already.
you want to talk about falling apart. in your oh so desperate blue suit (the colour you wear when the dead one's you). i can only joke really. but then, i've got street cred. i got hit, & i shattered. how is that for losing a fight? i'm fucking fortinbras recalled to the north. i'll hit this dance floor when its covered in bodies but not before. fuck you, & sir, fuck you. i thought we were friends because we were both rubble. but you are the rubble of a cathedral; every single brick is a lie. i'm not talking to you until you get hip to the french revolution; no king & no god? thats a trade i'll take.
i don't know why i fought with her last night; maybe it was just the drinking. maybe it was the city outside the window. but i laughed watching the movie & told her i wasn't happy with my life. but. but when i told her i was happy with her, i meant it. i'm an oil baron putting my fortune on a single pony. but. but with total confidence. she can run any race, any day. as long as she's around my sword will stay sharp. i'll forget this destro face of mine in an instant. she invented binary. she is the ghost of an analog universe.