Here are some visual instructions for a nonexistent photograph. Please study them while I compose an entry below; then, when I’m finished writing, I’ll select a winner (that is, whichever one comes closest to realizing my intentions) from among all the photo-attempts that got sent to me during my writing of the entry.
Dear diary,
What if there were a woman as big as the sky. Would that be a good thing? Yes? If you looked out your window one morning and saw the few normal bits of nearby scenery, but the rest of the landscape’s background was nothing but fleshtone. So you open your front door and step out and look straight up, expecting to see the usual bluish tinted atmosphere: but even to its peripheries your vision is overwhelmed with that same fleshtone, plus a few low-floating clouds. And what you’re beholding is only a detail of the woman’s thigh — or perhpas it’s her forehead — that’s how vast she is.
Obviously there’s something breathtaking about this, but I wonder what effect it might have on local businesses, on agriculture or marine biology.
Maybe at first a lot of the townspeople would rush to dine outdoors so that they can gaze up at this wonder; therefore restaurants with patio seating would see a sharp increase in business, for at least a few weeks.
And I can imagine farmers’ crops completely failing, or growing abundantly — either extreme, but nothing between. For, if the woman is blocking the sun, then she’ll cause a famine. Yet, on the other hand, the way that her flesh reflects the sunlight back down to earth might establish the ideal conditions for growth, & then we’ll see a tenfold increase in our yield of corn and soybeans: and thus humankind will need to learn how to share this wealth, lest the unused harvest spoil — for then the planet will be pervaded by the scent of rotting victuals.
And as for the creatures in the sea — the life aquatic — I think their daily routine will not change; at least not substantially. If you look upwards from deep underwater, instead of a clear sky with sparkles rippling the surface, you’ll see more of a mixture of fleshtones in the far upper atmosphere, but that will concern you very little. It’ll be not much different from when a normal-sized woman comes floating overhead wearing less than a bikini. All you care about is eating sea lions and seals — you would never bite a human. The only thing that would alarm you is if this sky-sized woman were to don a wet-suit & swim down into your district wearing a gigantic snorkel. That would be scary – cuz she’s so big, she’ll probably clean out all the sea mammals, to sate her appetite; and then you’d be left with nothing to hunt. I mean, we’re all for competition among the monsters of the deep; but this is ridiculous — this is basically a monopoly situation: you might even have to bite her.
But on second thot, all the oceans are already dead — their water is now a cocktail of oil-spills and poison, garnished with islands of plastic — and all their species went extinct; so it doesn’t even matter what would happen in any case. Who cares about them.
Alright: so far, we’ve examined the situation from the perspective of regular humans and dead sea creatures. Now, let’s move on to considering how existence would appear if we ourselves were the enormous woman floating in space. What would our plans for the future be? What type of career would we have? What would we think our purpose is? And how much of a contribution can we hope to offer to society?
I say, my future plans — if I project them out to the next five years, and then ten years — supposing that I’m a galactic female in outer space, would be to daydream. During the day, I would daydream, and during nighttime, I’d nightdream. That’s my five-year plan. And my ten-year plan is pretty much the same: I’d just dream about stuff.
And my career would be nude model & secretary (I’d only moonlight as the latter, to make extra money) not because I wanted to pursue these paths in life: these were just the only options available to a universe-sized damozel. As they say: Capitalism is a man’s world.
As for my purpose — does anything truly have a purpose in this life? What’s the purpose of my giant owl that glides around the binary star system yonder? I suppose she’s there to watch over her friends, to make sure the twins remain orbiting their common barycenter.
So then my own purpose would be to produce children and raise them up to fear God. But I refuse to do that. I hate God. That’s why I watch so many movies and read so much poetry, up here in the blackness — it helps me to keep my mind off the fact that I’ve failed in life, and that I’m basically the Rebel of Rebels: a colossal, aimless, auburn-haired, zaftig Lucifera.
My contribution to society is that I shade the sun during the day and emit a ruddy glow to illumine each night. So earthlings enjoy a sort of eternal red-light district; and the season toggles between spring and autumn, for I solved the summer-winter problem. Plus I help the tides to remain on schedule.
OK, so we’ve considered this hypothetical phenomenon from every possible angle. What would you like to do next? Make a conclusion? – I understand that every scientific paper should end up proving something and then inventing a new technology or two; but honestly I don’t think we have enough evidence. So I’ll let you, gentle reader, come to your own conclusion. Yes, that’ll at least be novel, and it will have the effect (& this is the truth, for it has been tested in double-blind studies) of making the rest of the scientific community crack a grin; some of them might even harrumph.
Reader’s Conclusion
(Official & Binding: DO NOT EDIT)
The reader concludes that this was a tedious exercise, but it helped to keep her mind off the murders that are congesting the actual landscape. All the screaming outside, and the teenagers lounging in the middle of the street, stopping traffic (or, even worse: often the traffic doesn’t stop) — these things induce anxiety, and the notion of being attacked by a cosmic warrior goddess actually excites our lizard-brain and can feel sometimes up to 7% appealing. And we can push that number into the warm double-digits if we let ourselves sorta drift off in our own reverie instead of focusing too closely on the actual text. – What is text for, anyway? It’s like a seed: you secure it inside a hard shell and then toss it out the window of your sports car. Text gets bound between the covers of a book, and then you shelve the book in the bonfire.
Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a kernal of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit. He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world shall keep it ad nauseam.
— Jesus (John 12:24-25)
I’m just trying to say that if the present scientific document is to have any REAL worth, it simply must go away: leave us alone — we can dream our own dreams, thank you very much. Ugh, what a fool.
I like the part about the sheep tho. The lamb of God. When he fought the goat of the Devil. And then that huge owl came swooping down and picked up both of them by the scruff and brought them to its mammoth flying-saucer. What was that thing — some sort of a black hole? Or a fuzzy teacup or something? Jeez that scene was weird. I like the lyrical stuff best. Too tight of a plot makes me feel claustrophobic — plus I have a hard time following, cuz I don’t believe in history, only biography; moreover I don’t really even believe in biography, only epiphany. So if the story doesn’t offer an apotheosis about every few seconds, I’m checking out... Later, guys — “Enjoy your movie,” as Officer Sunshine sez to his wife & daughter in Wrong Cops (2013) I need to filter everything thru Dionysus, cuz I still don’t feel that I’ve gotten over his particular brand of expiry. Most deaths feel right; but something seems special about that one: it’s like a gift that keeps on giving. Even Christ agrees with me, now that he tried it.
But why did this jagoff rename Lilith “Lucifera”? Is that the same one who’s called “Furry Lucy”, in the satyr plays? It’s supposed to be Lilith, right? Or am I misreading? – Man, I hate that all authors are dead. I wish Dionysus had not been SO strictly anti-literate. Maybe if some lech could envision a consort who’s meet for him, we could somehow beguile her to act as his secret amanuensis. Then at least we’d have a portion of the blank, out of which to make frottage.
WINNER!
We’ve reached the end of the entry. Thanks to all the participants; now here’s the winning photo: (For the contest’s guidelines, see the text directly above the opening image.)
No comments:
Post a Comment