The console falls away, and it's just me and the obsidian monoliths, one after another, row upon kerned and chamfered row.
No use sitting around on my hands. I grab the first of them, shave the edge a little, shove it into place and reach for the next. Takes longer to tell you about it than it takes to do. I do this for hours, it's a damn assembly line, but I'm focussed, I'm in tune with it, you know, and I could work all day without
a break if the union said I had to.
Every so often a great, shiny, opaque bubble of common sense forms
above my head, and I stop and take a long look. What would happen,
I wonder, if I just reached up with a sharp, tough fingernail
and burst it, letting the droplets splash all over everything.
I go back to work.
The words go on forever.
© 1996 by eileen k. gunn
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design & content: eileen gunn
© 1996, 1997, 1998, 1999 by eileen k. gunn