Thursday, July 13, 2006

The Ferns Are Nearly Gone

The spirit of the blog thrashed around in it's own excrement. It flailed wildly, splattering faeces upon everything in the vicinity.
Shadows hovered over the blog, red eyed, unblinking. Occasionally they cast their eyes down upon it to monitor it's changes. Occassionally they reached out and touched the parts that had changed. Either way they tended to get shit in their eyes.

A small gremlin cackled at this oft-repeating turn of events. It was perched on a towering rock some miles away. It observed the environment of the blog through a small looking-glass. The glass had thousands of tiny cracks in it that filtered and distorted the light in billions upon billions of different ways. Sometimes the gremlin angled the lens so that what it was displayed was the truth. Most of the time, however, it moved the lens to display what it felt like seeing. Very occasionally it spent time observing the lens itself.
After an indeterminable length of time it sighed. It was trapped on the perch, surrounded on all sides by what it thought was lava. It couldn't be sure it was lava because it could only see the ground through the lens and the lens might be a liar. Sometimes it tried to angle the lens at the ground in such a way that it didn't show lava. But that had never happened... yet. There was no point in climbing down just to have to climb back up. The gremlin wasn't even sure it would be able to climb back up.

A new crack appeared in the lens. The gremlin didn't notice. As time had passed the lens had become increasingly cracked, but slowly, ever so slowly. Each new crack changed every other so that the lens was eternally distorting. But the gremlin couldn't possibly know this. What was once the truth through the lens was slowly turning into a lie. But the gremlin couldn't possibly know this. The lens couldn't be trusted. But the gremlin couldn't ever be sure of this.

One day the lava would look like grass and the gremlin would climb down.


  1. Very poetic. I might get Bill shatner to record this on my answering machine.

  2. Perhaps the lens is the only real truth in this story, forever crumbling and distorting. It may contort and disrupt that which it views, but at least it does not disguise it's own contortions and imperfections

  3. I'll tell you what will distort a lens - some fucking hezbollah rockets!

  4. ho ho!

    They distort a whole lot more than that...

  5. It's a little known fact that hezbollah rockets are made from special pixie flowers and if they strike you directly in the face they grant you a single wish.

  6. I guess it's an indication of how hard life is in the Middle East that everyone granted a wish asks to be blown up on the spot.

  7. Woo, got it in one. Well done.