i must see borges. i didn’t know he was alive–i thought he was long dead. in this death, he becomes physically relevant to me. he becomes alive, out-of-order, through this death.

this is a personal, national, global tragedy; and i must haste before decomposition. willem baio won’t let the scene be disturbed (it is the monument to his life), so i know the bodies will remain.

i break into the house. it is a run down 40s two-story in pleasant valley. near a&p. in italy.

dim and dusty. i come into a wide-open dining area. i see a stair case to the right; opening onto a walkway on the left is borges’s study. sitting at the dining room table (clear) at a lone chair is a stocky, short, muscular black man wearing a studded leather vest. his hair is dirty and his eyes are rolled back. he’s repeating, over and over, words spraypainted on the side of the stair case next to him. he is guarding the scene.

i drag myself up the stairs. three quarters of the way there i stop; my scuffling wakes him. angrily, he discusses with the air. he won’t resume repeating. he starts to look around the room; i spray paint a new message on the wall–gibberish, in latin. he takes notice, assumes the message was written by the air. he sits and resumes with the new phrase.

i make my way to the study. i find j.l. borges. there is no blood. he has every book that has ever meant anything to anyone in every culture. he is beautiful, a saint. i am overcome with the grandeur and the sadness. i hear commotion; scott dafoe has entered. i hide behind a bookcase. willem debaio stands over borges, seething and silent for what feels like hours. i flee in terror out a window and into a warzone.

the death of borges has sparked a world war, but no one understands why or who with. i’m swept up into a crowd of soldiers. guns and poison gas. they’ve lowered a protective dome over the house; the house sits at the perfect mathematical center of the dome.

world destruction.

we settled in and sat through a long credit sequence with illegible, small white characters on black. it went on for a long time. all that was clear was that this was a david lynch adaptation of some children’s cartoon; possibly carebears or my little pony.

the intro scene: gloomy music, a camera pointed at the ground dips low and back up while moving forward. The ground is green and brown and grey; the angle of the camera slowly lifts up to reveal rainbows and clouds in the distance.

the audience member sees the film through the eyes of different character, but also experiences emotion, taste, smell. we’re introduced to a happy-go-lucky rainbow pony. she lives on a chicken farm. her parents are very powerful and she lives in a world of privilege and comfort.

an awful cretinous creature shambles up the hill to the farm. he is ashen and decaying, wearing tatters and covered in filth. crumpled, sad, broken. he is unlike anything else around–he has no rainbows, sunshine, or shooting stars.

the pony knows of this creature and has been told of its evil, so it taunts it and tries to shoo it away. it insists it’s hungry and needs chickens. or eggs. the pony refuses and threatens to get her father. finally, she throws heavy things (rocks?) at the creature and he’s knocked back down the hill and away from the farm.

the audience member is now seeing things from the point of view of the creature. he is overcome with hunger. he can feel himself dying. he knows his only chance is to get eggs from the farm. he starts back up the hill.

he reaches the halfway point and hears a commotion above. little eggs start rolling down the hill to him. ecstasy; jubilation. he frantically scrapes them up into his withered claws and stuffs them in his mouth.

instead of being crunchy normal eggs, they’re soft and yielding, like gushers. the audience member can taste them, feel them in their mouth. both the eggs and the mouth shrink and grow and seem far from the body, but soon they pop and the distinct taste of blood fills the mouth.

the creature is completely satisfied and wanders blissfully away.

the audience member is back in the perspective of the pony. while the creature feasted, some kind of official starburst pegasus came to visit the pony’s parents.

Some law had been broken; the farm would be taken by the state and the family rendered homeless. The final scene is the gut wrenching fear of the pony as she watches her father hand the land deed over to the official pegasus.

A_______ and I leave to find food.

Harry’s son nodded.
Three columns and two arches.
GLORY MAY NOT LAST.

Although the cargo was taken out,
  it was after it had been in the water
  more than one half months.
Updated editions will replace the previous one–
  the old editions will be renamed.
The soldiers were ordered not to
  allow him to place on the vessel
  either bed, food, or drink.

You had charge of the funeral arrangements.
Gabriel, why did you set your heart on me?”
“Hes mostly there this time o day.”
“Its my lungs Im worried about,” Mary said.
The bodily heat falls very rapidly.
“Hes mostly there this time o day.”
There was no tribute but their tears.
You had charge of the funeral arrangements.
[Sidenote: Result of the contest.]
He did not want to let Renovales go.
But the contest irritated the king.
That husky young boy was her son.
“Did they tell you, Mariano?
She must stay at home and work for others.

i drank my coffee

i burrowed inside the corpse of a dead goliath and expired