early this week in Rochester, a 14-year-old boy shot a cop in the back of the head.
boom. down.
my boyfriend can't understand why i'm not surprised. i ask, haven't you read Native Son? but he doesn't get it.
i imagine the boy trapped beneath the moonlight, a searchlight, after the drug bust. the police were gonna let the kids go, but the adrenaline was already pulsing full-force. what else can you do with a .22 shotgun other than aim & fire?
desperation is a funny thing. it can make you think you've got nothing to gain, nothing to lose.
20090205
.of.tunneling.natures. and.shadowing.futures
The groundhog, General Beauregard Lee, has been blind for years, a fact he has grown accustomed to. What does he need sight for underground anyway, he thinks to himself.
Nevertheless, he doesn't tell his friends or his fans.
Nature and natures favor resilience.
It's been a few days since Lee's big day, not quite a holiday. More of an omen, ominous festival, really.
It seems that the people have become fed up with the temples of Delphi, and oracles of riddles, and have moved across the ocean to something more natural: a temple tunneling downwards, a silent prophet.
Nature and natures favor zeal.
What does he care about his shadow? He lives underground, where shadows serve to remind him of patchy ceilings, holes in the temple domes. Shadows, General Beauregard Lee scoffs, are all light and heat down here, doing nothing but begetting more shadows. And how much easier is it for him to simply be blind to it all, and live in the simple darkness.
Nature and natures favor simplicity.
And this year, as he had regaled out of his home, castle and temple, his corpulent mass into the bundled masses of his Mass, as he capered through all the divinities of his insightful charade, he wondered if, this year, his shadow could see him.
Nevertheless, he doesn't tell his friends or his fans.
Nature and natures favor resilience.
It's been a few days since Lee's big day, not quite a holiday. More of an omen, ominous festival, really.
It seems that the people have become fed up with the temples of Delphi, and oracles of riddles, and have moved across the ocean to something more natural: a temple tunneling downwards, a silent prophet.
Nature and natures favor zeal.
What does he care about his shadow? He lives underground, where shadows serve to remind him of patchy ceilings, holes in the temple domes. Shadows, General Beauregard Lee scoffs, are all light and heat down here, doing nothing but begetting more shadows. And how much easier is it for him to simply be blind to it all, and live in the simple darkness.
Nature and natures favor simplicity.
And this year, as he had regaled out of his home, castle and temple, his corpulent mass into the bundled masses of his Mass, as he capered through all the divinities of his insightful charade, he wondered if, this year, his shadow could see him.
20090204
.but.these.chords.have.7ths.
Chef Team Lacey and Sam gave us a tour of Asia today, with our stomachs as vehicle of choice.
bad news
here is how today ends:
you get an email telling you that you are on the waitlist to get into your first choice MFA program.
you get an email telling you that you are on the waitlist to get into your first choice MFA program.
20090203
.it.matters.it.antimatters.
all things come in pairs
A basic premise, be it physics, or literature.
My professor illustrated the point with arrows
one showing the force vector of the bullet,
another recoiling backwards
presumably into a shoulder.
My aunt illustrated the point
with just one photo
of a prison cell
and a handful of letters.
all things come in pairs
Positron: an antielectron composed of antimatter,
comprised with the totality
of all the opposite traits of an electron.
+1 charge
1/2 spin
mass: identical
Alternatively, I've had it described to me that a positron is nothing more than an electron that moves along the opposite time vector as the rest of us.
Crab canon: two things arranged complimentarily and backwards
similar to a palindrome.
See J.S. Bach's A Musical Offering.
all things come in pairs
And I can't help but think about myself
comprised of all the things I'm not
faltering backwards through time
seeing all things that came before
as easily as all things that lay ahead
A basic premise, be it physics, or literature.
My professor illustrated the point with arrows
one showing the force vector of the bullet,
another recoiling backwards
presumably into a shoulder.
My aunt illustrated the point
with just one photo
of a prison cell
and a handful of letters.
all things come in pairs
Positron: an antielectron composed of antimatter,
comprised with the totality
of all the opposite traits of an electron.
+1 charge
1/2 spin
mass: identical
Alternatively, I've had it described to me that a positron is nothing more than an electron that moves along the opposite time vector as the rest of us.
Crab canon: two things arranged complimentarily and backwards
similar to a palindrome.
See J.S. Bach's A Musical Offering.
all things come in pairs
And I can't help but think about myself
comprised of all the things I'm not
faltering backwards through time
seeing all things that came before
as easily as all things that lay ahead
the long walk
It is early evening and I still haven't left
the house today. From my bed,
everything looms: impossible dresser and
its flank-like shutters, the bellow
of the old furnace, a letter
I have not responded to. My mother told me
about a man who walked 2,000 miles until
his shoes wore through and each step
ate a little more of his feet. She doesn't know
why and our long distance call
ends.
Outside the window, the trees in winter
are skeletal. The pigeons prefer
the sizzle of power lines for a perch,
and I count them, my electric choir.
I put on my coat, wrap my scarf
like a noose, and take
the walk no one knows about.
the house today. From my bed,
everything looms: impossible dresser and
its flank-like shutters, the bellow
of the old furnace, a letter
I have not responded to. My mother told me
about a man who walked 2,000 miles until
his shoes wore through and each step
ate a little more of his feet. She doesn't know
why and our long distance call
ends.
Outside the window, the trees in winter
are skeletal. The pigeons prefer
the sizzle of power lines for a perch,
and I count them, my electric choir.
I put on my coat, wrap my scarf
like a noose, and take
the walk no one knows about.
20090202
another mourning
I wake up this morning happy for the first
time in weeks. The sun sleepily eased
through the blinds, throwing
lines like notebook paper across
my bed. The dogs shift to the movement
of dreams. I fasten
a robe around my body, flex
my hands and toes.
I could leave here, I
could just go.
time in weeks. The sun sleepily eased
through the blinds, throwing
lines like notebook paper across
my bed. The dogs shift to the movement
of dreams. I fasten
a robe around my body, flex
my hands and toes.
I could leave here, I
could just go.
.home.thawing.
Mark O. sits at his desk, bowls formerly containing food sprawled out in front of him.
He is waiting for the mail to arrive. His W-2 form should be here today.
He has lived here his entire life.
Mark O. looks out his window as if it were a painting.
There was a time, steeped in escapism. He read Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities, and was envious of his namesake, travelling through Venice after Venice, and recounting everything to Kublai Khan.
He had even bought travel brochures.
Mark O. doesn't leave his house very often, much less his city.
The mail arrives.
Somewhere, he can hear birds telling each other stories of where they've been.
He slides into his jacket. He walks to the door. The weatherman said it was exceptionally warm today. Possibility of more snow next week, though.
Maybe his kids will walk home after school. The sidewalk snow seems to have melted.
Mark O. opens his front door and can see, for the first time, the street that he lives on.
He is waiting for the mail to arrive. His W-2 form should be here today.
He has lived here his entire life.
Mark O. looks out his window as if it were a painting.
There was a time, steeped in escapism. He read Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities, and was envious of his namesake, travelling through Venice after Venice, and recounting everything to Kublai Khan.
He had even bought travel brochures.
Mark O. doesn't leave his house very often, much less his city.
The mail arrives.
Somewhere, he can hear birds telling each other stories of where they've been.
He slides into his jacket. He walks to the door. The weatherman said it was exceptionally warm today. Possibility of more snow next week, though.
Maybe his kids will walk home after school. The sidewalk snow seems to have melted.
Mark O. opens his front door and can see, for the first time, the street that he lives on.
20090201
what remains
the gravel beneath
my feet
does not remind me
of you, the rock
in my shoe.
they are just
shards of stone
hot with travel,
stuck between
the toes
of a girl who
forgot you.
my feet
does not remind me
of you, the rock
in my shoe.
they are just
shards of stone
hot with travel,
stuck between
the toes
of a girl who
forgot you.
.long.island.iced.tea.
Hey.
-Hi.
I'm leaving again.
-I heard. New York, right?
Yeah. Long Island.
-When are you leaving?
Next Sunday. A week.
-Sounds fun. Are you moving in with the boy thing?
Yeah. Isobel is going to be with her dad for a week while I figure things out.
-We should hang out before you leave.
That'd be nice.
-At least there will be more there than Arizona, right?
Yeah.
-We should really hang out.
Yeah.
-You can bring Isobel. I haven't seen her in a while. She's, what, almost two come April?
Yeah. She's a little terror now. Gets into everything.
-I bet.
Yeah.
-When was your last day at work?
Friday.
-Cool. I still don't have a job, so I'm pretty free all the time.
Yeah.
-We can take those family pictures and send them to Nick, like we were going to a year ago. Just to piss him off.
Haha. We could.
-I guess maybe it's a little late for that.
Maybe.
-I guess maybe it's a little late to hang out, if you need to pack and all. It's cool, I guess. Don't worry about it if it doesn't work out.
We'll see.
-I'm sorry.
Me too.
-Hi.
I'm leaving again.
-I heard. New York, right?
Yeah. Long Island.
-When are you leaving?
Next Sunday. A week.
-Sounds fun. Are you moving in with the boy thing?
Yeah. Isobel is going to be with her dad for a week while I figure things out.
-We should hang out before you leave.
That'd be nice.
-At least there will be more there than Arizona, right?
Yeah.
-We should really hang out.
Yeah.
-You can bring Isobel. I haven't seen her in a while. She's, what, almost two come April?
Yeah. She's a little terror now. Gets into everything.
-I bet.
Yeah.
-When was your last day at work?
Friday.
-Cool. I still don't have a job, so I'm pretty free all the time.
Yeah.
-We can take those family pictures and send them to Nick, like we were going to a year ago. Just to piss him off.
Haha. We could.
-I guess maybe it's a little late for that.
Maybe.
-I guess maybe it's a little late to hang out, if you need to pack and all. It's cool, I guess. Don't worry about it if it doesn't work out.
We'll see.
-I'm sorry.
Me too.
20090131
calculations
every person,
a variable,
must
be stripped
of its value, assigned
instead
some vague descriptor--
say x,
then plugged
into society,
a formula.
a variable,
must
be stripped
of its value, assigned
instead
some vague descriptor--
say x,
then plugged
into society,
a formula.
.supermarket.spiders.
I like to wonder about couples in supermarkets and stores.
I like to wonder about couples that are together, and couples that simply share space.
"Can I help you?
or are you with them?"
As people flutter about searching for cereal and towels, dog food and bed sheets, I like to wonder about the paths that they wander. If we could tie a ball of yarn to everyone's ankles and see a web weave itself, with the strange spider of discontent sitting in the center.
"No, I'm just with them."
I like to look at the people looking for little flies and insects to keep themselves afloat with their daily lives: little buzzing gadgets and sheer gossamer sheets; feeding their public and private wanderings.
And just once, I happened to see
two strangers, with matching socks,
staring into a freezer display case
beyond the icy, glassy door
not at the frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
but at their reflections
standing and staring
searching and grasping
for a quick fix to their hunger
"Are you with them?"
"No. Can I help you?"
I like to wonder about couples that are together, and couples that simply share space.
"Can I help you?
or are you with them?"
As people flutter about searching for cereal and towels, dog food and bed sheets, I like to wonder about the paths that they wander. If we could tie a ball of yarn to everyone's ankles and see a web weave itself, with the strange spider of discontent sitting in the center.
"No, I'm just with them."
I like to look at the people looking for little flies and insects to keep themselves afloat with their daily lives: little buzzing gadgets and sheer gossamer sheets; feeding their public and private wanderings.
And just once, I happened to see
two strangers, with matching socks,
staring into a freezer display case
beyond the icy, glassy door
not at the frozen peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
but at their reflections
standing and staring
searching and grasping
for a quick fix to their hunger
"Are you with them?"
"No. Can I help you?"
20090130
.vagina.stargate.
"Consider: a vagina stargate.
The future of transportation.
It's simple! Enter one vagina and exit immediately through another.
Regardless of distance.
Yes, the vagina stargate ushers in a new era of transportation, inspired by countless hours of science fiction and pornography.
The plan is foolproof.
We have already succeeded.
[Images of travel brochure to be included]*"
*editor's note: I don't think the world is quite ready for images of such revolutionary innovation.
The future of transportation.
It's simple! Enter one vagina and exit immediately through another.
Regardless of distance.
Yes, the vagina stargate ushers in a new era of transportation, inspired by countless hours of science fiction and pornography.
The plan is foolproof.
We have already succeeded.
[Images of travel brochure to be included]*"
*editor's note: I don't think the world is quite ready for images of such revolutionary innovation.
bad dream
last night I dreamed that I married Chad Kroger (yes, the ratty lead of Nickelback) just because he bought me a beautiful necklace.
I feel that this dream speaks volumes about my character and suddenly, my day is ruined. I honestly can't think of a worse way to begin or end a day. Nickelback, for chrissakes.
I feel that this dream speaks volumes about my character and suddenly, my day is ruined. I honestly can't think of a worse way to begin or end a day. Nickelback, for chrissakes.
20090129
at the concert
tonight, some towering man, skunk drunk
will harass you because you are pretty
or because he doesn't believe
you're really from Tennessee.
he will spill his beer on you
and call it flirting.
you will pretend
you are not intimidated, not
uncomfortable in this sticky cloth, your skin.
will harass you because you are pretty
or because he doesn't believe
you're really from Tennessee.
he will spill his beer on you
and call it flirting.
you will pretend
you are not intimidated, not
uncomfortable in this sticky cloth, your skin.
.reservations.discoveries.
So let me tell you. Remember that one girl that works at the library near my house?
No, not that library. I'm talking about the public library. And not exactly near, you know, but relatively speaking, it's, well, I mean, still probably about ten blocks.
But anyway, I'm talking about the girl and not the library.
The one that works there.
Pay attention.
Well, I showed up, right and ready to return some books, and check some out. The usual library business, sure. The usual library day and all. And actually, I was a day late today, not in my due date, but rather my weekly library schedule. I try to go every Wednesday, see?
But in any case, so I returned my books a day late, not in loan time. And yeah, so maybe it was fate, right, that I was a day late?
I don't believe in fate.
Stick with me here.
I had put some books on reserve and, truth be told, that's actually why I was a day late in showing up. I had decided that I'd give the library folk an extra day, see, to get all the books I reserved in at once. That way I wouldn't have to make multiple trips.
Yeah, I know I go every week anyway, but wouldn't you think that that is even more reason to not want to make extra trips?
But look: if I waited that extra day, then all the books coming from further away would have time to come in, and I could pick everything up in one fell swoop. And drop off too. Same swoop.
But back to the girl.
She was working.
Specifically, which I guess I didn't even notice right away, since I shot straight to the back to look for some other books first - just a Margaret Atwood novel or two, ok? Lay off.
Specifically, she was shelving reserve books, and so yeah, I guess I was going to wind up over on that shelf eventually anyway.
I reserved some poetry books. Now stop interrupting.
So I did find the Atwood book I was looking for, and that was all fine and dandy, and I thought maybe I should go try to find that Grace Paley book too, since those are hardly ever at that specific library. My reasoning, you see, was that my reserved books weren't going anywhere, so I should try to find all the non-reserved ones first.
Granted, those don't normally go anywhere fast anyway (you have to remember that most of the kids I see in there are playing afterschool video games on the computers).
But anyway.
It was time, so I headed over to the shelf. And actually, that's when I first saw the girl. She works there, like I said, and I've seen her before.
Yeah, she's pretty cute.
Why else would I be telling you this, eh?
But anyway, so the girl - the cute girl - is shelving those reserve books, and I was heading over to the same shelf to find my reserves. Mind you, I wasn't doing anything obvious, right, just trying to catch a glance at her from the corner of my eye, keeping the other corner on the look out for my name, printed out on some receipt crammed between the pages of my reserves.
So I'm getting closer to finding my name, and I start to notice that it's most likely going to be - yep, it's the same shelf the cute girl is shelving right now.
Now, at this point, I'm wondering mostly something along the lines of am I going to try to just cruise in next to her, try to hawk eye out my name from behind her, waddle in squatting or what. Choices. And in my head, I'm trying to figure this all out, when suddenly, it's more or less solved for me.
"Can I help you find something?"
So I have no idea what I said, or squeaked really, but I guess I must have told her that I'm looking for my reserves. The obviousness of the situation, right?
So I tell her my name too. Maybe she can help me find it, she says.
Somebody pay these public servants more money.
Ok, yeah, you guessed it though: lo and behold, she was in the process of shelving my reserves as soon as I approached her. What are the odds, eh? But I mean, I guess a library being a temple of books and all, it all starts to figure somehow.
And as she's checking titles and tags to hand me my books, my brain is trying to rev up something to make some conversation, but all I can hear in my head is the scraping sound of people picking snow and ice off their cars.
Time's running out. She has all four of my reserves in her hand and is shifting her gaze from our illustrious written language to my panicked brow.
I blurt out something involving phone numbers, specifically hers, but maybe mine to call her from, or if email is better, that's cool too, and I mean, maybe texts and messages are better anyway seeing as she's a librarian and all HAHHAHA, not that she is necessarily going to be reading emails at the library while she's at work and all.
She gives me a bit of a strained look, clearly trying to parse together the string of words I uttered, words that probably shouldn't ever be documented, and are probably something of a blasphemy in such a building.
And then - wouldn't you believe it -
"Oh, I already gave you my number..."
She opens the topmost book and I realized she's circled the page numbers of her favourite poems.
So maybe I believe in fate a bit.
No, not that library. I'm talking about the public library. And not exactly near, you know, but relatively speaking, it's, well, I mean, still probably about ten blocks.
But anyway, I'm talking about the girl and not the library.
The one that works there.
Pay attention.
Well, I showed up, right and ready to return some books, and check some out. The usual library business, sure. The usual library day and all. And actually, I was a day late today, not in my due date, but rather my weekly library schedule. I try to go every Wednesday, see?
But in any case, so I returned my books a day late, not in loan time. And yeah, so maybe it was fate, right, that I was a day late?
I don't believe in fate.
Stick with me here.
I had put some books on reserve and, truth be told, that's actually why I was a day late in showing up. I had decided that I'd give the library folk an extra day, see, to get all the books I reserved in at once. That way I wouldn't have to make multiple trips.
Yeah, I know I go every week anyway, but wouldn't you think that that is even more reason to not want to make extra trips?
But look: if I waited that extra day, then all the books coming from further away would have time to come in, and I could pick everything up in one fell swoop. And drop off too. Same swoop.
But back to the girl.
She was working.
Specifically, which I guess I didn't even notice right away, since I shot straight to the back to look for some other books first - just a Margaret Atwood novel or two, ok? Lay off.
Specifically, she was shelving reserve books, and so yeah, I guess I was going to wind up over on that shelf eventually anyway.
I reserved some poetry books. Now stop interrupting.
So I did find the Atwood book I was looking for, and that was all fine and dandy, and I thought maybe I should go try to find that Grace Paley book too, since those are hardly ever at that specific library. My reasoning, you see, was that my reserved books weren't going anywhere, so I should try to find all the non-reserved ones first.
Granted, those don't normally go anywhere fast anyway (you have to remember that most of the kids I see in there are playing afterschool video games on the computers).
But anyway.
It was time, so I headed over to the shelf. And actually, that's when I first saw the girl. She works there, like I said, and I've seen her before.
Yeah, she's pretty cute.
Why else would I be telling you this, eh?
But anyway, so the girl - the cute girl - is shelving those reserve books, and I was heading over to the same shelf to find my reserves. Mind you, I wasn't doing anything obvious, right, just trying to catch a glance at her from the corner of my eye, keeping the other corner on the look out for my name, printed out on some receipt crammed between the pages of my reserves.
So I'm getting closer to finding my name, and I start to notice that it's most likely going to be - yep, it's the same shelf the cute girl is shelving right now.
Now, at this point, I'm wondering mostly something along the lines of am I going to try to just cruise in next to her, try to hawk eye out my name from behind her, waddle in squatting or what. Choices. And in my head, I'm trying to figure this all out, when suddenly, it's more or less solved for me.
"Can I help you find something?"
So I have no idea what I said, or squeaked really, but I guess I must have told her that I'm looking for my reserves. The obviousness of the situation, right?
So I tell her my name too. Maybe she can help me find it, she says.
Somebody pay these public servants more money.
Ok, yeah, you guessed it though: lo and behold, she was in the process of shelving my reserves as soon as I approached her. What are the odds, eh? But I mean, I guess a library being a temple of books and all, it all starts to figure somehow.
And as she's checking titles and tags to hand me my books, my brain is trying to rev up something to make some conversation, but all I can hear in my head is the scraping sound of people picking snow and ice off their cars.
Time's running out. She has all four of my reserves in her hand and is shifting her gaze from our illustrious written language to my panicked brow.
I blurt out something involving phone numbers, specifically hers, but maybe mine to call her from, or if email is better, that's cool too, and I mean, maybe texts and messages are better anyway seeing as she's a librarian and all HAHHAHA, not that she is necessarily going to be reading emails at the library while she's at work and all.
She gives me a bit of a strained look, clearly trying to parse together the string of words I uttered, words that probably shouldn't ever be documented, and are probably something of a blasphemy in such a building.
And then - wouldn't you believe it -
"Oh, I already gave you my number..."
She opens the topmost book and I realized she's circled the page numbers of her favourite poems.
So maybe I believe in fate a bit.
20090128
equalizer
the house was boarded up with snow, only margins of light
showing through the cracks. ice wrapped our cars in glass.
from my window, the backyard was white drapery, not
what I remembered yesterday, not mine.
and snow is like that--
God's way of reclaiming territory, taking back
or erasing what was yours. Snow,
an equalizer, everyone's pest.
showing through the cracks. ice wrapped our cars in glass.
from my window, the backyard was white drapery, not
what I remembered yesterday, not mine.
and snow is like that--
God's way of reclaiming territory, taking back
or erasing what was yours. Snow,
an equalizer, everyone's pest.
.deep.frier.party.
Take stock of tonight's spread:
Shawn and Lacey over. +//
Brought deep frier. +//
Results: +//
jelly filled glazed donuts +++//
cream filled chocolate frosted donuts +++//
seitan chick'n wings with bbq hot sauce +++//
fried pickles +++//
chilli on fried potato slices with "cheese" +++//
Lacey's homemade vegan ranch +++//
Jackie Chan's Police Story +//
Scattergories +//
Skate 2 +//
And so, on this snowed-in day, our house is not unlike a deep frier itself, as we all grow a little fatter and warmer.
Shawn and Lacey over. +//
Brought deep frier. +//
Results: +//
jelly filled glazed donuts +++//
cream filled chocolate frosted donuts +++//
seitan chick'n wings with bbq hot sauce +++//
fried pickles +++//
chilli on fried potato slices with "cheese" +++//
Lacey's homemade vegan ranch +++//
Jackie Chan's Police Story +//
Scattergories +//
Skate 2 +//
And so, on this snowed-in day, our house is not unlike a deep frier itself, as we all grow a little fatter and warmer.
20090127
the playground
The first time I was ever called "fat" and subsequently saw myself as such was in kindergarten. I climbed the steps up the schoolyard slide, my friend following behind me, and she smacked my sweat-pant clad ass cheek and said, "Hurry up, big butt."
I spun around, "I don't have a big butt."
"Yes you do, Big Butt."
And suddenly, it seemed my body swelled, expanding and expanding like heated atoms. My booty, a universe of its own. I looked at my sausage-cased thighs all the way down the slide. When my feet hit the mulch, I was a different girl.
I spun around, "I don't have a big butt."
"Yes you do, Big Butt."
And suddenly, it seemed my body swelled, expanding and expanding like heated atoms. My booty, a universe of its own. I looked at my sausage-cased thighs all the way down the slide. When my feet hit the mulch, I was a different girl.
.non.euclidean.geometries.
A boy, Lucien, receives new boots for Christmas.
Subsequently, he's thrilled.
There's a certain invincible feeling associated with boots, he thinks: an impunity to trample the world as he sees fit, knowing all the time that his toes will remain warm and dry.
And to top it off, they are his first pair with laces.
Today, Lucien has to give present his report on cobras to his class.
The odds are overwhelmingly in his favor, given his new lucky boots, coupled with the best pair of his rocket ship underpants (he after all has 2 pairs in reversed color palettes, the other being worn through by fate and fortune).
Meanwhile, at the Large Hadron Collider at the CERN in Switzerland, a team of elite particle physicists searching for the Higgs Boson simultaneously propel themselves into both fame and infamy, finding not only their elusive scalar elementary particle, but creating a microscopic black hole that is steadily accruing mass more rapidly than Hawking Radiation can cause it to evaporate into elementary particles.
Conservative estimates give approximately five months before the Earth is consumed.
As Lucien finishes the laborious task of lacing up his boots for the first time, he rehearses his facts about snakes, and is eager to enlighten and impress his classmates with his report.
After all, he thinks to himself, it won't be long before science will tie the four corners of the globe together.
Subsequently, he's thrilled.
There's a certain invincible feeling associated with boots, he thinks: an impunity to trample the world as he sees fit, knowing all the time that his toes will remain warm and dry.
And to top it off, they are his first pair with laces.
Today, Lucien has to give present his report on cobras to his class.
The odds are overwhelmingly in his favor, given his new lucky boots, coupled with the best pair of his rocket ship underpants (he after all has 2 pairs in reversed color palettes, the other being worn through by fate and fortune).
Meanwhile, at the Large Hadron Collider at the CERN in Switzerland, a team of elite particle physicists searching for the Higgs Boson simultaneously propel themselves into both fame and infamy, finding not only their elusive scalar elementary particle, but creating a microscopic black hole that is steadily accruing mass more rapidly than Hawking Radiation can cause it to evaporate into elementary particles.
Conservative estimates give approximately five months before the Earth is consumed.
As Lucien finishes the laborious task of lacing up his boots for the first time, he rehearses his facts about snakes, and is eager to enlighten and impress his classmates with his report.
After all, he thinks to himself, it won't be long before science will tie the four corners of the globe together.
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