2.
A thin man, purple sage, haze, gray flannel, the in-between, verticle mass, making the sign of the cross. Cardinal points of the body correspond to those of the world. Line against a rectangular backdrop of white. A flag of truce or surrender glowing like the light through a doorway. Fluorescent tubes, UV, along the top and bottom of a tanning coffin, the gateway to an NDE. Purple afterimages, cranes, cairns, carnage hanging like sides of beef. Representations of the oragami universe -- the folded thing and the flat plane scored with representations of mountain and valley folds. Time is any time. Time is no time. Mu. Estalinos.
3.
a thin man smoking a pipe he looks like oppenheimer dapper educated knowledgeable the rig veda i am shiva destroyer of worlds trinity purple sage haze the blue bus gray flannel the inbetween state verticle chevrons pointing upward and sweeping at the bottom like the lines of temple roof insignia of rank mass making the sign of the cross, rosary cardinal points of the body accupuncture points, the meridians travel up and down the body like ley lines upon the earth, they can be joined into random constellations correspond to those of the world line against a rectangular backdrop a playing field on which the interactions of the cosmos take place of white a flag of truce or surrender a green army jeep with round headlights protected by painted stripes of metal bisecting them horizontally glowing like the light through a doorway and if you look backward, a pillar of salt you would swear was the shape of Lot’s wife, but no, it is merely a tufa formation on a drying lake. fluorescent tubes UV along the top and bottom of a tanning coffin lowered into the ground into the four-cornered shade of eternal darkness the black hole beyond the event horizon nothing emerges here, but somewhere there is an inexplicable blast of intense energy, more than that of a million galaxies exploding simultaneously the gateway to an NDE purple afterimages blink blink in confusion they seem to jitter and one moves the eyeballs back and forth, scanning them cranes two of them, white, tied together so they cannot fly away, both are bending down to feed from between the stalks of rice in the wet paddy field. cairns carnage hanging like sides of beef in the slaughterhouse district men in white like doctors or scientists, but with hardhats and earmuffs some are wearing headphones and lisening to classical music it is cold there, and wet, with bloodlaced water running under the soles of our shoes slippery. representations of the oragami universe. indira’s net. the folded thing and the flat plane scored with representations of mountain and valley folds. mt fuji. mt paekdu. mt ranier. mt shasta. mt diablo. time is any time. time is no time. mu. estalinos. tormelinos. a line. alone.
4.
The shadow of a thin man smoking a pipe. It looks like Oppenheimer -- dapper, educated, knowledgeable. Physics and cosmology, antiquity, the Rig Veda, from which he recalled, “I am Shiva destroyer of worlds.” At Trinity, the purple glow at the fringes of the fireball, the scent of sage. The haze of blue. Busloads of men in green uniform to witness the blast; they are in trenches, holding their arms in front of their spectacled faces, seeing the blinding flash, the bones beneath their skin. In the distance, over the hill in Utah, a family saw that same flash and the grandfather, a blind man, exclaimed at the light. Soft gray flannel, as comforting as the in-between, between life and death. Ventricle, auricle, oracle, verticle. Chevrons pointing upward and sweeping at the bottom like the lines of temple roofs, insignia of rank. Mass. The speed of light, Celeritas. The sign of the cross, the Rosary, the Novena, cardinal points -- of the body -- accupuncture points, the meridians up and down the corpus like ley lines upon the earth, joined into random constellations corresponding to those of the world. Line against rectangular backdrop, a playing field on which the interactions of the cosmos take the place of a white flag -- of truce or surrender. A green army jeep with round headlights protected by painted strips of metal bisecting them horizontally, glowing like the light through a doorway, and if you look backward, a pillar of salt you would swear was the shape of Lot’s wife, but no, it is merely a tufa formation on a drying lake. Fluorescent tubes, UV along the top and bottom of a tanning coffin lowered into the ground, into the four-cornered shade of eternal darkness, the black hole beyond the event horizon. Nothing emerges here, but somewhere there is an inexplicable blast of intense energy, more than that of a million galaxies exploding simultaneously. The gateway to an NDE, purple afterimages blink blink in confusion; they seem to jitter and one moves the eyeballs back and forth, scanning them -- cranes -- two of them, white, tied together so they cannot fly away, both are bending down to feed from between the stalks of rice in the wet paddy field. Cairns, carnage hanging like sides of beef in the slaughterhouse district; men in white like doctors, scientists, with hardhats and earmuffs; some are wearing headphones and listening to classical music. It is cold there, and wet, with blood-laced water running under the soles of our shoes. Slippery. Representations of the oragami universe, Indira’s net, the enfolded thing, the flat plane scored with representations of valley folds, mountain folds, mountains: Fujiyama, Paekdusan, Rainier, Shasta, Diablo, Abora. Time is any time. Time is no time. Mu. Estalinos. Tormelinos. A line. Allein. Alien. Nothing, all alone in the sun.