A voice from the past:
I like it when things make sense.
The Cosmic Theater is empty of humans and dark but there's just enough ambient light to shape contours of seatbacks and balconies and terribly looming set designs cast by an ever-so-faint ghost light set up in the deadest absolute center of the stage.
I like it when it all falls into place.
Creepy sounds of the structure settling and then unsettling itself. Creaks and squeaks startling the Cosmic Theater into violent wrenching and moaning and crashing. We can just see a towering huge chunk of the set come crashing down setting the already faint ghost light flickering.
I like it when it all falls down.
This gradual breakdown of the Cosmic Theater goes slow for ten thousand ages, thereby goading the audience into a provisional kind of Immortality in order to make the epic sit required to take it all in, but the reviews will surely be mixed-and then it accelerates. We the Audience are jolted and twisted and compressed out of all possible sense and shape. Blinding lights punch through the shadows. All is dashed to rubble on an incomprehensibly vast scale. We the Audience are crushed into an infinitely small and dense mass.
I like it when it all gets back up, again and again.
We the Audience feel an impossible sense of expansiveness. A faint memory of a final meal. Sensation of trying to find the bathroom in the middle of the night without bothering to turn on the lights. Seizing up, unable to move as we watch our body functions stride on without us-ambient light limning the convolutions of guts'n'juices, and the fated shit that takes itself.
No matter how small and terrorized . . .
Walls race upwards. Floor expands into an unknowable terrain. You might end up walking forever. You might just forget to exist in this vastness. Random shit you've left strewn about your bedroom floor will no doubt make for Everests and Grand Canyons to test you beyond hope.
. . . the will to survive expands, perhaps becoming the First Thing, the Cause of All Other Causes inside you.
We the Audience, by a tantalizing ambient light, proceed with an abundance of caution to traverse the anti-home, and hopefully arrive in a place of greater sight.
Just some things I like on this humpday. That's all.
A voice from the past . . .
