Peephole conversation, in-conclusive evidence expressly: I cut designs from literature, lattice sequences that splice Huxley like an anomaly. I place them beside the router and proceed to shrink myself. From this moment whatever I record is a peephole description.
Designed like premolars in an empty grin, or perhaps one, surrounded by belfries encased in black tipped with a flat silver disk, a Big-BANG stifled by its function. They call her ports. Upon the Sea-Wolf digitized potential cascades past my squint, encased in this Mother-Board green. Distinguished by dots of silver, dispersed with intent, conducting fragments of information that corresponds with 4-D alignment, we prophesied that other dimensions might not follow the constrictions of our livable 3. What we did to counteract this claim was prioritize our images to function as a one-stop narrative.
“And isn’t my life more interesting than yours!”
Here we proposed that a Selfie atop a mountain deserved acclaim alongside bourgeois meals (oh. This stuffed pork’s ass is simply scrumptious) but of the garbage art collage composed of everyday tinkering we criticized with proclamations of disgust.
*The walls begin to tremble. I view fingers on the horizon grasping the transformers; the pink underneath their fingernails turns a wondrous shade of ghost light as the grip intensifies. I teeter as they shake the base, but who owns this mystery hand? Wait a minute. I recognize that scar; indented underneath the third wrinkle contouring the ring finger’s knuckle…I acquired that scar during a boyhood skirmish with a rabid squirrel. They decapitated the poor rodent to discover its fatal secret. I remember feeling glad at the initial portioning of its tiny nervous system, but I caught a glimpse of its dead black eyes while it lay motionless on the operating table and something died inside myself too, the concept of vengeance as a reward. Is the giant shy? Is it saving face? Afraid of the terrible little knowledge it would take to describe this small vantage. What appears minuscule from below often times creates the big from above. (God).*
I return from the peephole. I am not a better man.
But here I find myself daily, functioning, envisioning what’s beyond outlines, in the confines of outlines, because all that’s understood is what I’ve learned and yet we discover more daily. The universe is forever expanding, at least until our idea of forever ends. When we return from forever it’ll be as before.