Clarinet

I fit the two cylinders together. Beautiful music.

There is something deadly about my dreams. The suffocation of reality. Boats watching aircraft. Azure blue water. I sit and watch the water carve out the beach. The water takes the beach and scoops it up, settling it elsewhere. It would almost be a tidepool here, if it weren't for the waves. They're huge, disruptive and scary. It must be the result of some storm beyond the horizon. Liquid harbingers. Sand is completely white. The entire earth will one day be covered by sand. The biosphere will fossilize; limestone to be pulverized into this beautiful powdercake dust.
I see no meaning in objects. In objects I see no symbols. An apple is not sin, it is not even a conveyance for tree seeds (subjective). An apple is not a concept. It can be cut and eaten, though it cannot be understood. Some would say that Apple means: "It is better to be alive". I find this to be troubling. Objects are inpenetrable by the human mind. They frustrate a desire to inject humanity. They destroy teleological fantasy. In that sense, objects exist outside of good and evil. A skull is a good example.

Steel and glass cage. Halogen lights. The wire curled around itself after many twists.

I am on this side of town. The Atom Bomb went off underground (crater and dusty miniskis earthquake) and Rick Moranis is running at me. A waterfall, figure 8 tunnel and columns made of lava-rock. If I hold in my breath I can crawl ontop of the inflatable buildings. The rails ride is up there. The front cover is pressing in on my crotch uncomfotably--whelp I've got to go in any event. The buildings depress and shoot out cobwebs if I don't puff myself up with air.