Have fun, Jess, have fun. She's driving off in a cloud of wet, colorful leaves, down the road she rode down on her bicycle built for one. Down the way on her way to down town home town, her own town in it's day. We live in a quandry, a small street with nowhere to go. We dive in and out of the highway, which by the way is an old hiway before the War.
This is not the way it should have been, it could have been a fine way to live. We could have had cities on the moon, and cities on the coast would not have been moving upstream towards a livable plateau regardless of who was living there before. We have so many cities and oil refineries on the coasts which will dive under the waves. We have so many cities with vast lines of infrastructure under water with a wall of pumps trying hard to stay the day. It could have been all in fiber on one line that floated but that would have cost a few million stupid votes. So we talk over copper, which is so rare it rivals those diamonds on some woman's hand. It could have been fiber made of silicon and coated with something to make it strong, but we had to do other things we didn't know and weren't supposed to know how much the cost and how many the lives, so we talk over mutt cables of copper and aluminum and glass. It slows the thoughts to near Presidential levels.
We still distill potatoes after fermenting them for a week and a half. We still drink the blood of the grain and we call it the hair of the dog. We store the food of the gods in vats and check them at certain intervals. The wine poured into the vats of diluted honey is made from the grapes which grow over the temples of the Goddess. Then the drink is finished, mixed with all the appropriate ingredients such as rosemary, nutmeg and cloves. The bridegroom drinks, and is slit, neatly on his bed, to drain down into vats and thus onto the fields. He sleeps in glorious fecundity, and the fields are ready for the winter.
What a world for sadness, such a place for tears. Mother never warned of madness, father never spoke of beers.
This is not the way it should have been, it could have been a fine way to live. We could have had cities on the moon, and cities on the coast would not have been moving upstream towards a livable plateau regardless of who was living there before. We have so many cities and oil refineries on the coasts which will dive under the waves. We have so many cities with vast lines of infrastructure under water with a wall of pumps trying hard to stay the day. It could have been all in fiber on one line that floated but that would have cost a few million stupid votes. So we talk over copper, which is so rare it rivals those diamonds on some woman's hand. It could have been fiber made of silicon and coated with something to make it strong, but we had to do other things we didn't know and weren't supposed to know how much the cost and how many the lives, so we talk over mutt cables of copper and aluminum and glass. It slows the thoughts to near Presidential levels.
We still distill potatoes after fermenting them for a week and a half. We still drink the blood of the grain and we call it the hair of the dog. We store the food of the gods in vats and check them at certain intervals. The wine poured into the vats of diluted honey is made from the grapes which grow over the temples of the Goddess. Then the drink is finished, mixed with all the appropriate ingredients such as rosemary, nutmeg and cloves. The bridegroom drinks, and is slit, neatly on his bed, to drain down into vats and thus onto the fields. He sleeps in glorious fecundity, and the fields are ready for the winter.
What a world for sadness, such a place for tears. Mother never warned of madness, father never spoke of beers.
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