Perfection Again (554 hits)
Category: GeneralRating: 1.33 on 6 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by The Yellow Dart (View user info) at 2006-05-11 20:15:03 EDT
Another angle of: http://www.ubersite.com/m/82431
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It sits floating on nothing, just hovering for no reason, for no end. A large globe fulfilling its purpose by just being: Gaia. It's a surreal thing to see because time has not stopped, nor would you ever see something so perfectly still, like a live photograph. A beacon to guide no one or nothing. Millions of years have passed silently this way.
You would have found nothing wrong with it if you saw it. Its beautiful pointlessness would silence any who gazed upon it. Perfection will do that.
Then, out of nowhere, it sparks from within.
As absurd as gravity, as luring as the beat of a foreign drum, it shakes the mass. Pulsing from the core like an unstoppable ripple, pebbles bounce and rattle, adding a perfect echo on top of the rhythmic beat.
Something is moving; the stillness is gone. Sudden cracks break the surface and its appearance glows bright like a flashlight under a jigsaw puzzle.
Is this the end? Has it filled all the check points the universe requires?
Yes and no. It is the beginning of change, of action; a movement that struck like a match where once there was just a stick and head. It will go down in flames from here on in; until, the end.
The soil is no longer barren and dry; its innards are spewing out and mixing with the grainy ground resulting in a sticky, boiling mud. The mixture smells awful and quickly covers everything, like a disease, a cesspool. It starts to feel sick; Gaia is infected now.
Heads begin to form and rise slowly on its surface. Like pimples. Then shoulders, arms, torsos, legs; they start walking, talking. They're everywhere and have a purpose laid out for them; something it never had, nor ever wanted.
The flame is burning now. They are exciting, important, they were here first. Made of love, of greed, of passion, of hate; they thrive to survive. The perfect disease.
Alone, it cries to no one but itself. "How to fight back?" Gaia wonders. Spinning. So it speeds around and around trying to fling them away. This has the opposite effect: everything gets sucked to it. Impossible to fight, it starts to feel dizzy. It likes this feeling.
Like a child laughing at the pure joy of turning, it continues. You can ignore the pains of mother telling you to stop when you're dizzying yourself away from reality. But it won't cure what ails you. They adapt to anything; snowshoes, sandals, and flippers.
Every two makes three, or maybe more. They're growing up lovely and happy; happy because they're winning, beating it, conquering and dividing. Board meetings, families, cattle; they can't help but want growth.
It's been so long now. Weakness overwhelms the sphere and it tries to comfort itself with fleeting thoughts of the old days of perfect nothingness. During this false hope, a rainy day clears and thousands of golfers make small talk while putting their umbrellas away.
They now had super destroying machines with superficial names and purposes but deeper meanings and implications. Large cylinders pump heat and a bad mix of chemicals (like the smell of the boiling mud) into it to ensure it won't get a break; no, not when the process is almost complete.
It knows they're stupid. When the globe is no more, so too will they. But it never accused them of being smart; they can't help it, just as it couldn't help the explosion within it. The acquired heart that beat and beat and beat the crap out of it; or should I say into it?
During the final days, Gaia is quiet. Always alone; more so now that more than half the fuckers are dead. They're less active now; but, still living. Knowing that their purpose has been fulfilled they stay dormant, unable to embrace death. It is the opposite of growth, how could they? The globe has wanted it to be over since the first shot was fired; since the first tree cut down; since it needed to spin.
Gaia slows to a halt and instantly feels a piercing pain. A pain that becomes bearable when a familiar tune begins. The rhythm pounds once more; this time it feels like listening.
Happiness exerts around and the cloudy skies become clear. They come out of their bunkers and caves to see the forgotten blues skies. The blue had become history and eventually a myth that hippies started to pathetically distort the purpose.
The cracks reappear. The continuous pounding pulse knocks them off their feet and into the cracks as they bounce along the surface like pebbles, adding lovely screams to the harmony.
Dying from whence they came.
The flashlight becomes a spotlight and the final gong is hit to end the show. A dramatic effect with a sparkling as it resonates throughout the universe to take its final bow. Finally, after such an elaborate crescendo of growth, a destructive decrescendo that leaves everything breathless.
The flame is long gone and the last trails of smoke disperse into nothing.
Ahh, nothing...
Perfection again.
User Reviews
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-10-26 13:14:22 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Cool theory. I had a similar concept in http://ubersite.com/m/82941
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-06-10 19:32:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by jimmiss (user info) at 2006-06-06 21:34:35 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
http://www.ubersite.com/m/51045
Hey thanks, Its a great read. I would love to get more of her work.
Submitted by fun_with_needles (user info) at 2006-05-12 04:54:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
Captain Planet, he's our hero! Gunna put pollution down to zero!
Submitted by Stagger_Lee (user info) at 2006-05-11 23:22:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by mockidol (user info) at 2006-05-11 20:45:56 EDT (#)
Ranking: 1
Poor Mother Earth.
She misses Proserpina again doesn't sh?