Sunday, April 17, 2011


The story ends.  Nothing.  Lightheadedness leads to a welling compressed by darkness.  Applause surges and fades as if riding on the edge of a volume button.  Somewhere.  Where?  What?

A title winks in and out of existence.  That was it.

Sit.  Get up.  Which direction?  Whose?  Sit.  Movement of people.

Movement of names scrolling.  Scrolling.  Welling. Compression.  Thought is compressed by words.  Compressed by names.  Nothing is filled by the blankness and the darkness of the black screen.  No more welling.  Silence. 

Names have scrolled up into assumption.  And so many have exited.  He sits.  His shoes sticking to the floor.  His head is bathed in growing light and growing confusion.

- Max Stoltenberg

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