I’ll share an email I wrote on 20090612 13:10, 29 June 2009 (UTC)
There is a place. This place has no walls. There is a floor, but it prefers to be referred to as a ceiling. The ceiling doesn’t exist. It did exist, but then it didn’t. A ceiling prefers that thoughts about the ceiling that doesn’t exist don’t exist. The floor is buried underground. The ground doesn’t exist. There is a door. A door has three knobs. The third knob is buried underground. The third knob is the third knob because it was installed last. Originally there were no knobs. Knobs didn’t exist. Creation was issued when raw material was made available after the unfortunate loss of the ceiling. The first knob was simply a transition of state for the bulb, which had the fortune of not shattering when the ceiling shattered
Shattered. How that came about isn’t something open for discussion in public areas, but it is public knowledge that shattering ground exists while shattered ground doesn’t. It had not yet been made public whether the process of shattering ever completes when what is shattering is ground. This is viewed as unimportant information now that such things as ground do not exist
The first knob is quite bright, and therefore one finds it distracts one from the second knob. The second knob is quite distracting from itself also, and therefore one finds themselves quite distracted when distracting themselves with the second knob. These nested cases of distraction often lack return, and are therefore a suitable vessel to escape the question of what color pink is. To answer such a question would require the opening of doors. For those who stand towards the first knob, the notion of grasping an incandescent bulb seems less desirable than that of grasping the notion of why the second knob has to exist on the other side of the door. For those who stand towards the second knob, the notion of the second knob is distraction enough that it need not be more desirable to be what is done. Grasp not distraction, for that just ends elsewhere
Elsewhere. There is a place. This place has walls. There is no floor, but there is a ceiling. This place is underground. There is a knob buried in this place
The sky is laced with pink fire. Elsewhere, this might not matter. But here, it is there. Being where it is, above. The sky is blue. Some may debate that it is black because it is black, but same failing eyes mark right with blue. There is never sun. The sun was installed to the ceiling which existed before the ceiling which does not exist existed. It was soon found that ceilings are inflammable and thus the following ceiling which does not exist was installed with an incandescent bulb in the sun’s stead. Extinguishing the flames was postponed until a later date when postponements could be reconsidered, this date was postponed until a vigilant concluded that the sky would be a suitable method of extinguishment. It wasn’t
And that’s that
This place seems lovely
There is a place
There are many places
Lonely places
& then there’s here
There is a place. Conflicts of names and days and numbers all converging. This place shadows itself in strange loops of a less strange kind. This place exists half through itself and half through the selves of others. Cracks pave the walk which contours up into windowed doors of third floor two story upside down gazebo which follows tradition with windows lacking windows. Round ceiling floors a plastic leg hoisting table leg. The plastic leg is red. It has no toes
The white two story gazebo is hung rather loosely from the doubled yolk yellow two story gazebos. The top gazebo is hung to the moon. The bottom gazebo is bottom upped. The bottom gazebo’s floored ceiling carries a minimal wavelet with maximum depth being found at edge rather than center. Center carries a rather thrifty chandalier. The kind that has had too many flash bearing pictures taken of its now tarnished gold chain. Where the few candle hoists are all rusted and filled with cobwebs. The carved designs are rather gritted. Asymmetric in that the arms are rather lacking of structure. There are five arms. One is rather torn, another bent into such a state as to wear itself against the chain. The heptagonal gazebo that this chandalier hangs from carries slate gray blue shingles
The top gazebo is rather plain. It is also heptagonal in structure. Simple square pegs rise at each corner of the floor and hold the ceiling which appears to be caving in due to lack of support for the center. A railing connects these pegs, though no fence is placed along the railing. Everything is the same plain yolk yellow
Both of the paired gazebos are also rather plain in their first floors’ architecture. A floor is in the middle, but it is rather difficult to make out with the dense cobwebs that leak through wooden plank floor gaps and fill both first floors
The first floor of the hanging gazebo is held by straight shafts which carry a forty five degree offshoots at their midpoints. These offshoots end at the base of the adjacent shaft. They are white. The midpoints of the midpoint offshooters offshoot to join at the center of the first floor of the hanging gazebo. From this point hangs a red toe halfway between point and floored ceiling
There is nowhere to land
There is a place. You are this place
Nowhere is more calming