write a piece that uses all or most of this pool of words—glisten, slow, starlight, fruit, molten, calm

starlight fruit
		

try to make your writing as silent as possible. i know it's a weird prompt-- don't take it too seriously. have fun. what does it mean for writing to be quiet?

summary snow lies heavy and thick on the bottom of the roof of that vast maw filter feeder in stygian blue at a glance away left in the eyes like a word on tip of tongue
like
warm skin
grazed by anxious fingertips
or
reverse vertigo; falling up
death not by ceasement but by a rendering powerless (or: death)
ground gives way up
into empty picture frame holes in the night sky fraying cloth threads between snaggles of sheep grazing or nuclear mushrooms whatever we pretend to see up there, from the grass below laboratory observation requires perfect stillness psychologist armchair with empty notepad
what is it like?
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take time to explore different structures of whatever you like to write. for poetry, consider writing a pantoum, ghazal, or abecedarian (some of my favorites). for an essay or fiction, consider writing vignettes, something in epistolary form, a diptych/triptych piece, a frame story, or a circular narrative.

i wrote this calligram last week, but it fits for the prompt so sue me.
----| |---------------------| |----
    =o=			    =o=
    " "			    " "
jaw shifting as clockwork, there is
red light beaming through the holes
of her skull, a soft cottage cheese
fleshy	overgrown	     O- AB+
visage	   family tree	     actgct
of the		 twisting    dna in
to-be-		â–Ż    roots   spiral
dead a	  door       spiral  an int
washed	 darkroom   round    estine
in icy	     a locked        thread
blood.			     a nose
fenced	  above dark pool    choked
statues			    in dust
thread dangling little windows of a
distant open air. every person is a
trembling photograph, all damp with
chemical soup, a long exposure shot
paper as marble, ink as untouchable
shadow, immaterial and disappearing
around the finger tips. a fleshless
divine i will gnaw till all that is
left are perfect noble marble bones
		

write about echoes, sound, and reverberation. what is an echo—just sound or something more? how can it reverberate through past, present, and future? can emotion be an echo in that way? what else can be?

i preface this entry: any references to self-immolation have little to do with aaron bushnell. still—free palestine

A. The Death of the Author

The Centennial Light is the world's longest-lasting light bulb, burning since 1901, and almost never turned off. It is located at
an oceanic asteroid impact
that occured between Africa and Antarctica
around the time of a solar eclipse,
that caused a tsunami.
(intended to draw parallels between God and fire, or light,)
narratives of a great flood discovered in many cultures around the world

Ea, who created humans out of
skyglow
secretly warns the hero
of the impending flood
I SAW THAT

In ancient times, eternal flames were fueled by
a culture hero, who "represents the human craving for life".
his historicity is dubious
he only appears as a literay figure in Plato's works; all other ancient sources are either based on Plato or are fictional accounts.
As a counterargument, it has been pointed out that most characters
are in
fact historical persons.

Self-immolation is the act of
God
Due to its disturbing and violent nature,
A The Death of the Author

B. By means of natural selection,
and Death

Hydrothermal vents are fissures on the
sky
surface
a significant factor to starting abiogenesis
survival of primitive life.

A perpetual stew, also known as forever soup,
a pot into which
you
are placed and cooked.
never or rarely emptied all the way,
cooking for decades or longer
flavorful due to the manner in which the ingredients blend

a 100,000-year problem
matter or make a difference.

into starlight we call out
"we're still here, can you hear me?"
"Hello from the children of Planet Earth"
one of the best known graffiti artists in the world
from up above the moon
she's bathed in burning neon lights
the makers of music—all worlds, all times
selected
by
committee

God spares Noah, his family,
but
controversial, with some claiming that rock music was "adolescent",
criticism over the nudity on the Pioneer plaque
the Beatles 1969 song "Here Comes the Sun"
but the record company
which held the copyrights
declined.

Contents of the Voyager Golden Record

Museum
of
The Sun
give it this kind of immortality,
to
distant future
distant time
Radio
Sunset with birds

House (Ethiopia)
House (New England)
House (Cloudcroft, New Mexico)
"House interior with artist and fire"
Diagram of male and female
Family portrait
in flight

X-ray of hand
"Here Comes the Sun"

The premise is that the entire civilisation you're in is going to be destroyed and the only thing that will survive is twenty pictures of a set size and resolution you get to take. Your goal is to tell future archeologists as much as you can, in those twenty pictures.
decision fatigue refers to the deteriorating quality of decisions

During the Apollo missions to the Moon, the Parkes Observatory was used to relay communication and telemetry signals to NASA, providing coverage for when the Moon was on
Earth
And from Honeysuckle Creek and this terminal, where will the pictures go then?
The footage covering the event
has now been wiped or lost.

In radio astronomy, perytons are short man-made signals of a few milliseconds
The peryton is a mythological hybrid animal combining the physical features of a stag and a bird.
According to Borges, perytons lived in Atlantis until
a great flood
destroyed the civilization and the creatures escaped by flight.
(historical versions
featured winged stags
Borges is thus clearly not the inventor of the concept)

Per aspera ad astra in Morse code
Ad is a Latin preposition expressing direction toward in space or time, e.g. ad nauseam, ad infinitum, ad hoc, ad libidem, ad valorem
Astra is the accusative
Trial by ordeal

A peryton casts the shadow of a man
it kills one during its lifetime
o
hand-blown, carbon-filament common light bulb
Fame might have negative psychological effects
undeath
aflame

C. On the evening of March 20, 2013, the general public witnessed, through a dedicated webcam, that the bulb had apparently burned out. The next morning,

The fossil record of fire first appears with
destruction of the Library of Alexandria,

a piece inspired by two famous dali paintings, the persistence of memory and the elephants. consider exploring movement, slowness/speed, heat/cold, and warped sensations.

vast tarmac ocean.
i usually pick imagery for the idea, not the other way around. this was interesting!
one of my earliest nightmares i can remember is the floor melting and sucking me in. i'll try to capture that

when the world ended
the sun burnt out my eyes
haunting angel goes unseen
but not unfelt
in the wake it leaves in the rippling heat
bright shadows of lighthouse panopticon
heart in a ribcage, caught
in the headlights
of a car that suddenly
swerves through the floor
asphalt mad with hunger
leave me shaking
and alone

eat me! heat me!
i am the only cold thing in this world
roads into rivers of
dripping bubbling tar
heat into hunger for
dripping skin and fat
roads into rivers into
vast tarmac ocean
all roads lead to rome
the great city stretched like taffy
bottomless parking lot

haul yourself out of the starving sea
but tar sticks eternal
leaden and lethargic
where do you think you're going?
don't bite off more than you can chew
a clogged windpipe is still drowning
don't you know the saying?
roads to rivers to rome, over and over
a frozen pheonix dies eventually
swim or your lungs stop working,
but swimming starves the lungs just as well
two ways to hell, why try
sit, let the earth eat you!
nowhere to run, asphalt into lava flow
nowhere to run, tar up the nose and behind the
eyes still trained on the thing in the sky (sigh)
lighthouse above the pitch, where sinners go to die
"stay in your assigned cell,"

hopscotch
across the thousand scorching metal hulls
the thousand poison air fresheners
dance on burnt toes across burnt out headlights
(ignore the tar heavy on the shoulders)
performance for your endless gaze
(frozen hands fumble on the keys)
a stage made of family cars
sinking slowly, slowly down
towed into ink deathgrip, eaten alive
in dusty garage drowse

above, above
the place where tar lets free
there's a two millimeter hole into heaven
in the cupola above the sea
but the devil follows me like a begging dog
the light in the light in the sky
traps me in a falling funhouse
butterflies grow eyes
that all look like yours
wards against the beast in the dark
"aren't you ashamed?
when the warden turns his lantern to you
ridges of your maw cast in stark relief
aren't you ashamed?
oh, idiot animal"

as above, so below
death in two suits
choose your own adventure
only has one last page
analyzing star charts and tabloids
maps that only label oceans
the doctor concludes i grind my teeth
because im anxious when i sleep
i starve for something
i am unable to eat
i can't help dreaming of
when you smear my face as glistening paint
when your hands swim through my thawing guts
when you tug my flesh from my body
body heat gently melting skin
i can't help the terror
pavlovian flinch
i can't see, i can't see
everyone wants to eat me
is god a lover or a warden
do i disgust you
o slow blinking eye
i disgust myself
so what can i ask of you
i don't know
one day i'll be there with you
in the cupola above the sea
till then i fall before the light
of that blinding beacon
impossibly tall
slip back into the tar
trapped in a parked car
left in drive
		

a worldly place that is a threshold for you. this can mean anything—maybe it's some place between end and beginning, forward and backward, past and present, here and there, friends and lovers, or something else entirely!

where the steps collapse into the sea
heavy under the weight of the air
where the doves stand upon the waters
building an olive tree out of twigs
sits the bus stop on a cliff
next stop vapor and a quick death

spiraling compass proffered skyward
needle point digs into skin
my map does not match these roads
drawn by my palmlines
drawn by the shadows of the shadows
of the powerlines hung with dead birds

the sun came down to beg me
pack up everything you have been
here are your cardboard boxes
death comes quickly like a stone
when the waters crash down you will not be there
run away, runaway

but
am i doing it right
am i labeling these right
when i am gone will you find
what you are looking for here
when you are gone will they find
what they are looking for here

and
will it be a way out or a viking burial
taking flight or a bus off a cliff
am i a bird or a flying fish
to be caught in the fisher's net
to be caught in the duct tape and cable
am i capable of meeting your eye
am i capable of staring into the blinding sun

i am on the last bus leaving home
i am waving goodbye from the bus stop
eerie silence tensed like an animal
as the duct tape bursts
as the waterfalls reach out of the sky
fumbled disappearing trick
will i be there
		

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