Chapter 01 -- Word

text will go here. maybe links. pix and vid. michael p, hold your fire.

If God wanted to make Himself known, wouldn't there be easier ways to do it? Why this insistence on burning bush and parable, on mystery and bloody sacrifice? "Hi, I'm God. Let's talk." Does it have to be any more complicated than that? Why leave us talking to ourselves, never sure whose voice that is in our heads, never sure if that vibe is you or hunger? Careful what you wish for.

A hard day's drive from anywhere the masses pay attention to, a place unfixed in the popular geography. prairie, prairie town between prairie lakes, a knot in the mostly neatly squared mesh of roads and fields, like moss in a fishing net.

she is there, writing, speaking to no one and everyone. words, abstractions doubly, from mind to hand, hand to keys, keys to wires to chip and then the split, a nothing divided neatly into endless somethings, one slim branch to the screen and her eye to confirm the track of the initial spark, the other to memory and wires and air, out myriadfold to all who would receive, not knowing whence those thought bits come. magic in every moment.

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next test

next tent

next tempt

she does that, toying, chewing the words, sounds in her head, sounds at various intervals throughout history channeled now to the tap-tap code of her keystrokes and all the electrons connecting her neurons and the multitudes'.