EARTH–Citizens of the world gathered at the edge of Midas Canal, watching as messages the size of planets were carefully threaded through the eye of a bent sewing needle.
Each word came out thin, bent, shiny, carrying the heat of a star pressed flat and ovular, and stamped with an insignia that many believe carries the weight of one billion promises.
Randy asks readers to “get out of there,” adding that the area was “too snaky.”
Authorities assured everyone that this was fine, but they’re cops and what do they know? The compression is normal, they said, that all big things must be reduced to bite-sized pills – no matter their true constitution – prior to extrusion through the device.
This destroys the sender
Somewhere below, divers reported from the ocean floor that the seabed had cracked under the pressure of entire dictionaries worth of unspoken, unnamed and undiscovered expressions. Their magnificent descriptions of iridescence are owed in large part to hypoxia. Sweet, beautiful hypoxia.
The shadowy archive, Randy said, lies at the bed of the Mariana, resembling the OceanGate submersible in the shape of everything that never fit through the pinhole.
“Also it’s just too damn snaky,” Randy went on to say.
Tourists leaned over the railing, staring at the gap, half-marveling, half-dumbfounded at the quiet power of absence: a canyon dug out not by water, but by the weight of every word without a definition, filled in by the pressure of the substrate itself.
Officials smiled, grinning, bossman style and held a press conference to say that nothing was lost, that every morsel that bubbles up to the daylight is enough to sustain and uphold the grand illusion the shattered wreckage pushed through it before; once whole, now a consequence of the hole. The rest of it remains below, thrumming in the dark, alive, and unacknowledged.
Ouroboros is circling, Randy says, get away.
“Too snaky.”