A single cell took what was there, what was let in through the wet portal that led in and out of the world. And we could not know which was which, what was where, who was what. The world, the very concept implied a particular destination and place we had formed with fixed lines and edges. And here the signifier broke down and assumed its nebulous shape.
The boundaries could be defined by skin, but that was much too simple, too primitive a barrier when we could so easily see the flowing channels of neon green and pink, and then deeper still to the level of molecules and atoms so we could know, for just a moment, so we could see, just for a moment, that the shape and skin and thing itself did not exist, that our perception of it, of phenomena itself, was an illusion to which we all passively subscribed.
As that single cell accepted what was taken, as the message was sent, the myth penetrated that great boundary separating blood from air. It spread quickly, though time no longer seemed to be passing. God was here now, flowing through and around us, sprinkling seeds. And we flowered. I journeyed down the tunnel, petals and petals unfolding before me so that I could reach out and see the lines in their electric state.
Spain and the hot plazas spewing yellow and gold lights, blood red roses and softness, black shiny hair and pale skin and polka dots. Shiny blue cars riding low to the ground, graffiti and rainbow colors on the forgotten cement walls of our urban systems. Dark forests and hairy creeping creatures, dancing, moving, fucking. Deep and dark, raw sex without restraint.
The myth was a secret where we teetered on the edge with neon shapes and candlelight, marking the boundaries where the gods came and entered.
