VertigineuxVegetable

 Every morning before that morning, she had carefully scooped the twisted black leaves into the smooth porcelain belly of the teapot. With pleasure she drowned them in scalding water and sealed the mixture in with the clink of the rose-colored lid. The tea was ensconced in a little family of delicates: a tiny blue willow bowl of crystalline sugar cubes, a daintily ribbed teacup, and a rosaceous pitcher of thick cream. She loved all of it--the immaculate curvature of the china, the wafting fragrance of bergamot, the cool morning light that played gently with the soft colors. Her day was flawed—weak and prone to shatter—until she ha

 "we are going slower . . . the world will never know about us..." Long ago, when affluent nations still fought their bloody battle over humanity's last unconquered territory, early radio enthusiasts could capture the hollow voices of Russian spacemen as they wafted through the vacuum of the cosmos. We had grown tired of our own planet, whose recesses had been discovered and explored until our mark was left everywhere, a love affair gone cold. Life, the most prolific and tenacious of resources, was not of value in this endevour. Value was in dominance—empires grappled over which would win, posses and colonize the newest frontier. Any thing

They are arguing. About the time Not any time. but the Exact Time. Its a frightening concept          In my brain unattended. "Mine's set to the ATOMIC CLOCK!"           You can practically hear the capitals. Even unintended.    home of nanoseconds, it stands imposing as a monolith,    No face, no minute hands. but you can hear the ticking                     We used to have local times.