forgot I had this Bic in my back pocket when I up and ran, when I ditched this land of snickering schnooks, when I left these human squirts to their jeering and shit-talking and two-bit games, when I grabbed you by the hand, grabbed my courage by the balls and pressed this button here that says DON’T TOUCH – whip whap! – and in a flash upped this craft to near the speed of light.
You and me in a capsule skyward, two peas in a pod blasting into the unknown. Through the porthole left, a billion cubic feet of nothing. Through the rear the Pacific, a pissy puddle on a ball. And yonder, just out, my sweet, swishing clouds of dust and incalculable space.
No snickering schnooks here… nope.
I jest. But in truth I am scared shitless. I squeeze your hand and call you sweet things mon amour, mon lapin and hope for a godly figure to press a finger on this jangling box of gears to slow it the fuck down. This speed of light's no good when a man’s got eyes and YOU, mon amour, to behold.
Everything is vortex and spiraling tunnels. Everything is speed and accelerations off-the-chart. We are a speck in the infinite, but we are together a speck. Our system none can fathom – not even I – it fits in a capsule skyward, it fits in a hand, it fits right here, between this thought and the next.
Speed of snail, speed of sound, speed of light – it matters not – because you and me, we are the system.
Lui
ps- mon cœur, do not pull the lever under the stock of canned beans if you want to stay in once piece, i.e. retain your current incarnation, love, which I am fondly touching.
