|
|
|
|
|
|
| |
It was the Land of the Dead.
The bee television showed me that place, where the radium souls of living spirits split into innumerable pieces, forming beautiful patterns that were their new bodies, and at the same time a language.
|
| |
|
| |
|
|
|
| |
The blue sun sets, leaving the contrail squiggles to fade to darkness, and in the process become a hundred small, bluer suns, all equally possible, all ready to be and do, ready to shine in the sky on small green earths, in future or parallel times.
But zoom back, now... the sky is filled with these picture-suns, but there are too many and the resolution limit is reached, too many for reality. Moiré patterns appear everywhere. This may not be a big problem, just a simple artifact caused by the grid of Jacob's helmet.
These interference patterns, shifting minima and maxima, are the images of voids, the complicated bodies of the simple darkness behind every tvpicture, actually not just behind but also above and below and left and right.
|
|
|
|
|
|
| |
|
32:33
