“Rain on the Window” Pt1/3
The rain ran down the dirty window leaving a pattern that would have even made Pollock proud. Only, this was truly random. The Universe had spoken or rather, continued to speak as it always has/d done: like Kerouac, without paragraphs, without chapters, without a pause. It said, “Everything is ephemeral”. But no one understood. “Even before you stopped to look, it had already changed. It is truly random, without purpose, without meaning.”
The wind came to share its opinion. Everyone heard it whisper, hiss and moan dolefully; but, it too, spoke in an unknown, unknowable language. “We've heard it all before, time immemorial.”
“Time immemorial? Questioned the Universe. “What about before you existed?.” The Universe always answered questions with a question.
Frustrated, the window gave a disapproving squeak and closed, shutting out this endless, hollow drivel and got on with its job of maintaining a comfortable atmosphere inside.
“Rain on the Window” Pt1/3
The rain ran down the dirty window leaving a pattern that would have even made Pollock proud. Only, this was truly random. The Universe had spoken or rather, continued to speak as it always has/d done: like Kerouac, without paragraphs, without chapters, without a pause. It said, “Everything is ephemeral”. But no one understood. “Even before you stopped to look, it had already changed. It is truly random, without purpose, without meaning.”
The wind came to share its opinion. Everyone heard it whisper, hiss and moan dolefully; but, it too, spoke in an unknown, unknowable language. “We've heard it all before, time immemorial.”
“Time immemorial? Questioned the Universe. “What about before you existed?.” The Universe always answered questions with a question.
Frustrated, the window gave a disapproving squeak and closed, shutting out this endless, hollow drivel and got on with its job of maintaining a comfortable atmosphere inside.