The Theory of Red vs. Blue

What is your retention in sand vs. clouds? What is your scope of derision in kin vs. bending your scourge? What makes you leave with an oar to cane a native, while your fellow sea-bearer's teeth greet rocks? A child takes his goldfish for a walk. The dog brings you a half-dead opossum round the fire. A man gives his baron wife a white carnation. Just because we care does not mean we know how to. Earthlings are no experts on the minding of others.

Survival by blending in vs. survival by rock and anvil. Increases in operational time and distance vs. white hot hyperfuel. Dragging, slinking and lasting vs. bright, fiery and quick. Talking about shadows in forests in cars at night on near-deathbeds. "Strength is merely the measure from your head to your feet." But space has a funny way of spinning us round. Directions unintended; often left upside down.

A giant steeps down to a mythomane, to sulphur the silvery tongue and become giant again, in eyes only giantized by fear, confusion and threat of death by dialect. Linguistic phenomena's hermetically sealed lexicons, float in hyperbolic Oceania. Morphemes cough, sodden and sink, through the depths of etymological seas. Quick-tempered fish bull-rush hammerhead sharks till childhood's end, as eels and anemones live peacefully in silky twisting painted reefs. O praise what lives at the bottom of the sea. O praise be the deep.

Mythologizing, rectifying, mythologizing, rectifying. Oscillations on repetitive variations, in measurements predictable in interminable time. Joined, hipped, surgically serrated to draw blood effortlessly. Struggle we are so struggle we. No fever runs low with medicinal fog in heaps of avoidance. No structure stands still atop bogs and swamps. Evolution has dulled our teeth, may it sand your smite and be done with it.

Snow as romantic watery-marks on dirty, dolorous human huts. Time as a sick kid, aged 5-20, stuck in the medicine man's tent. Left lone to dance to the great redeemer. Though no voodoo king ever comes. Human development is a predictable process. In great periods of relief, we still find struggle. One day my voice be muffled, comprised of borrowed shells. Find words that will remain, sent to burn things alive. As we knead the brain, Red the meat that let sit I drink the blood of, Blue the waters that run over my lifeless conclusions.

For years I've kept my mind in cold-storage. Easy, safe place used to remember to forget; laughing day by day. When ropes become stretched at glacial pace, no one mourns their splinter. I've gone days without a light, knowing that only lite may I remain, if in silence I achingly sustain all thoughts, meant once to have loved to serve to save. The crow is cooked, and it tastes great. I still strive for no one voice cohearent, but for many little scroungy muffled men, with pick and axe in hand sent to choose which life to end, through a slowly spiraling flurry of we-don't-know-what-could've-been.

Red and blue is black and black is white is white is white. To've seen five years set adrift, two broken waterlogged crafts from a mothership so primed for sail, is a march atop the sea and a slap across the whale. I didn't hear your steps, nor feel your cold cunning, to use agitation to carve old sticks to poke the bear. To see the water dry and to kick the pale. To watch the world muddy, into a purple dream, into a purple dream, into a purple dream.

No flesh here could feed his breath when depths he sought, yet to seek repair, were truth at heart if so as the heart may dare. But I came to watch the white whale bend backward to save the tiger. When systems anguish and knock down, black doors white. We cry and beg for new life, new life, new life. Though when given we break bone to stay erect and re-risen. O how we break bones to stay re-risen. O hosanna, O high river marcher, come give me the strength to eat the meat of the sea-beast, the courage to stab the bear, and mine own mind to mock the frail. Pray it be thee who saves though kind sits next in throne. Actuality brings shaper a stick, served to loosen the fur from the snare, Crawl out over violent Earth, and bleed to know all that's there.

Early Earth was purple and all humans blinded. For sights as green as we think we've seen were meant to bring despair, to the eyes once lost by kin who sought to shout and shake and glare. To've hindered what was once to sing. "Care not," said I, with one lost eye, to the flames over bloodied sticks. Carry away the future I see, one-eyed sunken and grey. The whale dries up and the tiger then flees, but the bear makes way with the meat. As Earth melts backwards, from our not-so-bright green, to an earlier compounded shade, I still and I learn to first let my mind breathe, and of all else to desaturate. I want to leave having known of this place just what to say when we grieve. I want to leave having known of this place just what to say. I want to leave having known of this life.