there must be some length. Or it would
be nothing. So, in noting nothing's no
thing, one turns zero into some's thing. A
sum of bringers of items whose provenance
is existence. An assay that shows how many
existences are left to one self. It remains a
trick quest to count. Numbers are a kind of
numbness, if you rely too hard upon them.
My fingers feel it, as long are they are not
being measured. The ten feel the clicking filling
up their station, in a sense not relative to
full or empty. Quantities, in sum, are second
cousins to qualities. And they can be married
because they did not grow up together. They
will be buried next to one another, when
consciousness goes out of this world, and
when their zombie futures relent, their
brains will feed upon pure purple light,
a hopeful minute whose hour always
comes as the universe travels across
itself.
Roman Ryan 