Come Slit My Fish
I’m not up but I am in the bedroom. Come slit my fish. As long as it’s dark, three are under here someplace working at something. Come. Another night they’re under here someplace working at something. Slit. Here and there I get hit in the under with this or that snatch. My. Like; tamp the hole bottom with the blunt end of the digging bar—a command like that. Fish. Perhaps and mayhaps and it very well may be that the snatches rising from below are bouncing back up after stretching some springy-sprangy rubberized space age material deeper and deeper deepest and deep and then—back up hit me in my belly if I lay on it my sides if I lay on them my back if I lay on it but—but—but—what’s what can’t be known. Tang we once drank because it was. Come slit. About sleep it is. Space age material. Perhaps, may—there’s no such thing as what’s needed to remember the wordstring of which tamp the hole bottom with the blunt end of the digging bar was part of pushed down off some super-high edge necessary for the plummet that if experienced in the waking world, my children, could be characterized as, what—hey there, Captain! My fish. I see you dozing once more in my class! Tang-tang. Then you must now answer my question. And it’s not on some cult. The one I just stated whipping out the tail end of my building and building and letting go all climactic, phantasmagorical exposition-istiania, so answer!
But I was asleep Mister Bird!
My name, sweet Captain is not now and never will be again Mister Bird!
But it was still when I just said it!
But it’s not now Captain! It is no not no more now you mon hippo! One must, you will know the hard way, move with the times while standing still as well.
How can that be?
Oh, and I must dare add, going back is impossible for you now.
Because I have said it Captain! Come slit my fish. Why must it always get to this point with you for you to understand? What’s not to understand about—come slit my fish?
Why not, Captain? Spit it baby! Spit it now!
Yes. Deeply under beneath of the pool nearly all men be tonight, Captain.
What who here that?
Yes no. They have all come awake on the bottom there, because of you Captain! And we will soon be in danger if you keep putting off the need for someone to—come slit my fish!
A tiny man. Leading many more other tinier men. The number of tiny men in the line only bounded by the rate of each one’s diminishment! Tiny men the first being one inch tall; with each following in succession reduced in size by five percent. How many tiny men are there in line, until the last in line is not at all? Tang. Would the last one in line count into the total number of tiny men? Tang tang. So, there’s a good question for you Captain! May you chew that down for all eternity. Tang tang tang. And, the length of time encompassed by eternity is only bounded by the energy spent in each moment’s chew on the previously given problem—there you go Captain. You are all tangled up. Tang tang tang tang tang uh uh all tangled up quite good. It’s what you deserve, and so’s what you just got for sleeping before me! Solve it all. Do not come back to me without the solution. Tang you yes tang tang tang on all over you yes.
And do not forget the accompanying required completely thorough computational proof!
Because of you you you yes! Space age Tang yah that Mr. Glenn’s Tang. That stuff, you—you—you Bruno-man, you. Because of you only you! Plus, the others are lying to you that your weightlifting is paying off. Puny you were and still are armwise biceptuously non-lateral, you still just got your same old bitty-skinny ole slenderman-style bodyframe. So get thee.
Back up turn around begin calculating immediately and the lord God took pity—the calculator the Bruno had left home appeared under his fingertaps generating the story as had been spelled out. Plain as day up through the fingery tangletap floated compacted answers as original one inch first tiny man in line; and point ninety-five inch second tiny man in line; and point ninety inch second lay here almost tiny man as so as if in line point nine-zero-two-five inch dead third tiny man in line point tangling-rats eighty-five inch fourth tiny man in line point eighty-one inch fifth me make some signframe of oak two by fours tiny man in line point seventy-seven inch using no power tools Captain sixth tiny man in line point seventy-three inch seventh tiny man in line point sixty-nine inch eighth tiny man in line where are my souls gone and to do just what—no wait Bezonas bezono no no wait bezoni sed ne stop povas stop calculating. Clear of the grasp of the evil false classroom but but—there is no classroom. It is bed Lord. Dozing? How to tell if you’ve dozed in bed suddenly feel someplace else all different doing and not doing as nubyianian drattholes stumbleydown all stumbledown an’ a’stumbledydowning to mon con my Hippo! Ahhh, hokay, go—point sixty-six inch ninth tiny man in line et et thirty-three three inch successively similar stainless steel wood screws point sixty-two inch tenth tiny man yah let’s build us up some scale model men marching in line point fifty-nine inch eleventh tiny scale model men in line point fifty-six inch twelfth tiny man in line the difference between tiny and small is that tiny is anything very small whereas small is any part of something that is smaller or slimmer than the rest of the same exact things only bigger yondermen—oh! Made a decision must be besquat must be at all besquat be yes Captain no Captain point fifty-three inch thirteenth minute man in line point fifty-one inch fourteenth small-scale man in line; But eternal identity is one thing—point forty-eight inch fifteenth scaled-down man in line; and corporeal vegetation is quite another, my fine Captain—point forty-six inch sixteenth mini-man in line changing water into wine by Jesus point forty-three inch seventeenth babyman in line and into blood by Moses, relates to vegetable nature also, Mister Captain; Point forty-one inch eighteenth pocket-man in line the average human head weighs ten to eleven pounds my Captain—point thirty-nine inch nineteenth fun-size man in line that’s five percent of the total average human weight my sweet hippo conny hippo—point thirty-seven inch twentieth toy-man in line point thirty-five inch twenty-first petite-man in line point thirty-four inch twenty-second dwarfish man in line point thirty-two inch twenty-third knee-high man in line point thirty inch twenty-fourth miniature man in line ho ho there be the Finnish line eh; Jonkin verran pieni versio on, kuinka paljon—
No no no!
—pienempi kuin täysikokoinen—
Stop stop stop!
I did mean to say different!
All tiny men the first being one inch tall; with each following in succession reduced in size by three percent not five, was what I truly meant to say.
Apologies to those of you who have put in the sweat of concentrated calculation.
But mistakes can and do happen.
My God my Jesus!
Dark must have poured up out the lower space converting from cubits to feet where the dark is all born but in the dark shapes using eighteen inches per cubit lumps contaminants insignificant dark flow create the chest portion of the Ark of the Covenant containing perfectly cut and matched up dovetail joints informal-little-bitty nickel-and-dime black pitch black pitch hand tools was were are and always will be forty-five inches by twenty-seven only dark inky a molding of gold runs all around it jet black unlit decorate it with a three inch border all around unlighted unilluminated ill-lit poorly lit has anyone seen Julian Borzze-Nozzi hereabouts inches by twenty-seven inches of starlessness he be the author of many a being moonless dim dingy overlay it inside and outside with pure gold gloomy raven tenebrific scaled with iron scales from head to feet swarthy crepuscular charcoal ebony obscure usually with anatomical reference to the back by the spleen there clouded caliginous where’s my soul this too empty too flat almost as so as if dead, Captain; piceous livid slate coal pitch-dark jet tenebrous I seem to remember my name is Sonboy—huh huh huh is this I am somebody starless darksome pitchy darkish somber leaden sable stygian dimmed not worth bothering with or about lightless melanoid my my my Mother sooty swart brunet gloomy overcast shadowy m-m-m-m-other who is Sonboy—huh again! This is who I am somebody hold tight diminutive darkened shady sloe shadowy obscured the chemical wedding of Christian Rosenkreutz onyx dingy dusky sombre atramentous make it long as and hard as is possible super-diminutive pitch-dark indistinct murky darkling stygian inky ebon cimmerian rayless ultra-diminutive tartarean obsidian pitchy sunless why you not listen me against over against eh hey there, Captain! My fish. Tapping tapping and tapping the glass does command the fish but to do what they seem to do whatsoever they wish huh who knows I see eh lest you forget you must assemble frame using only hand-carved dovetail joints eh hey there, Captain! Who you? Who you there commanding someone whose unknown and unseen? Captain Sonboy. Captain my fish; do not flop over the dock all flippy flappy seeking some backwater you will reap fine liquid rewards if you lie calmly on your back stripped down in bed if frame using only hand-carved Captain my fish frame using only Captain Sonboy oh Captain oh Sonboy my fish!
Captain my fish, how dare you doze again in class! Straighten up!
Yes Mr. Bird.
My name is not Mister Bird!
Yes it is; it is Mister Bird like the surf at the shore luckily over lucky comes from one way out only and washes in flatting calming pushing and tender touch lightly the toes of infant-man the wee bitsy-babyman whose sunny-day toy beach pail contains completely calm completely clear cold water dipped out from the water manysoon manysoon wave washes ago and a green plastic toy scooper set down inside only thought of when somethings to be filled again. Waiting for againsie and againsie to watch the great waves stands the babyman.
No be no that does not make my name Mr. Bird!
Very good! But further on; if the shore were a strip down the middle twixt two oceans with surf coming at it from that way and also surf coming at it from the opposite way the toes of infant-man the wee bitsy-babyman whose sunny-day toy beach pail contains nothing yet and whose hand grips a green plastic toy scooper being thought of only because something needs to be filled again would no longer be after the first fat loud surf-crash would never be filled with completely calm completely clear cold water oh. The babe the beach the bucket the scooper and all are gone away washed full-away with the beach as the Captain is supposed to go down with the ship, Captain! Why don’t you go down with your ship once and for all and get out of my hair? Your story be seaship-fine, my Captain! Yes it’s a very good story but does in no wise prove my name is Mister Bird—what.
Small edge light here; I starless seemed darksome to pitchy remember darkish my somber name leaden was sable Sonboy—whose name sits on the tip of his tongue right there on that tongue tip there and right back o’ the name is are all the necessary facts figures and details needed to okay all right wait no needed to what hold on the what’s next is the why; wait no wait rudeman boy or peanut-gasman needed to know what, know what, know—what? Stygian but but it’s hard—hey there, Captain my fish. I see you dozing still—and what’s worse, very still over still—in my class! Tang-tang. No no no no I did mean melanoid to my say my different my; tiny Mother men sooty the swart first brunette being gloomy one inch tall; with each following in succession reduced in size by one percent. Almost found out who you were eh boy? Osho osho osho osho well that is easily corrected. Wake up and lose who you are by calculating point ninety-nine inch second tiny man in line point ninety-eight inch third tiny man in line point ninety-seven inch fourth tiny man in line. Point.
No m-m-m-m-other who is Sonboy no I did mean to say different; tiny men the first being one inch tall; that is a good question with each following in succession reduced in size by zero percent one inch second tiny man in line one inch third tiny man in line one inch fourth tiny man in line. Point. Pont.
But! Hop—this does no wise prove no no no no halt back stop brake pause you don’t look so bad—so here’s an udder. I did really mean to say that different; so here’s the tiny men once more, with the first being one inch tall; with each following in succession reduced in size by negative one percent—ho! Number two’s just negative point zero one of a man ut. It’s this been proved that a lava flow can in fact be halted by, a simple-yon singular impossibility. This stops up all butts. Aftermath; tell me the truth. Awk. Less than one greater than zero percent of a being cannot breathe life. This is one fact Captain. Get away and get back so. Yes, there are up to four souls in each of us, Captain. So what? Need to rise now follow it roundy-round and down. Ah? So what? The first is an exact copy of the sleeper. So it must be so must must must be must be so that. Why? There’s no why. So what? The other three are shadows of the sleeper. Okay, but—it is still so what? To roaring applause this question gets asked; was anything done to hinder the escape of your Mother’s soul while giving birth?
Eyepops who who said that?
To roaring applause this question gets asked; was anything done to hinder the escape of your Mother’s soul while giving birth?
What? Covers back what covers; feet on the floor what floor.
To roaring applause this question gets asked.
Shed the robes of sleep all petty; was anything done to hinder the escape of your Mothers soul while giving birth? My name is Mister Bird was anything done to hinder the escape of your Mothers soul while giving birth someone’s someone’s living living with with the the name name of of Mister Mister Bird Bird. Was anything done to hinder the escape of Mister Bird’s soul while giving birth? My lord and my God what’s this mister Bird? Was anything done to hinder the escape of your Mothers soul why’s that man running that gold molding all along that border while giving birth? Is that man called Mister Bird? That’s been asked and answered we object, your honor. Why do you writhe and moan all about like that whenever we call you Mister Bird? Something is stuck between my teeth. Is that not your name Mister Bird? Where gum meets tooth there. We object, your honor. That’s been asked and fully answered. Why are you so disgusted with your name sir?
Up into the mirror there.
Was anything done to between my teeth there hinder the escape of got to go brush what comes in the night your Mothers soul to get stuck between my teeth while giving birth to said Mister Bird? Light flames there giving. There. In the mirror there. By that face with your name who seems always there praise the Lord.
What is this in my mouth?