sun rise of prime # 13 million times 13 million 13 million times… new prime #

1, 3, 13 million

the edge looms large like miss spelling in new king James

the line, there oh yeah, denying as you like, but it, the line, the edge, roads end, there it lay and oohhh
you

taker of signs,
splitter of signwaves
aborter of the past which stand before
whilst the future taps QUAGCZAR on the back of its bulbous noggin.

yeah not ever even not ab ackspace to help you r
dreams of poets and the tales of travellers notoriously false?

the ream will run out
and no new prime will give
only strip,
yet in the hollows the potential
is largest

could you count your bottom $ o

r

yen

or

alksdfjaoi;sfriowhe4

or

qwerty coin

Of so many possible poems emanating from the dawn of time, take with you this tale now—of the sleeping giant, yet noisome in so many ways, a devilish sort who in fact crafted or co-conspired the coffin into which Vaudeville descended. The final nail for those poor vaudevillians, I’m sorry to say.  Sorrier to say that this message repeats— that the subject of this tome, this tomb, is a detrimental robot who also reaches the end of its useful existence, arrived, as all creatures flesh and tech are fated to do!! Gravely, this life has been too sinful for a heavenly uplink or jolt of tech-immortality; and yet even the Devil won’t settle for anything less than high-def ! And so this derelectroid is barred from hell as well.

Nowhere to go at the end of transmission.  The dastardly Devil mockingly tossed out some phantom limbs, tingling intangibles that,  glowing weirdly within flames of hell, were remediated in retrogradations by the anxious and abandoned dero on its perhaps doomed (tele)vision quest. Attaching these horn-like protrusions to a procession of analog residuals plentiful–even now–along the banks of the river Willamette, this fearsome foe began endlessly wandering the e-wasteland called Earth, endlessly auto-scanning for a wandering signal, an empty channel a glimmer of hope.

Surely others  have surmised that the birth of the transistor just months after the Roswell crash was an utterly cosmic conspiring?  Oblivious to me it was, but I suspect now that the Majestic 12 were investigating Roswell’s wreckage as much for consumer electronics leads and market innovations as any queries linked to the Department of Defense.   (MJ12 member )Vannevar Bush’s mechanical Memex was seemingly adapted by way of alien instantiations of advanced theory-objects and, it now seems clear, lept light years to the real-time mixing possibilities of AV electronics!  This strange device that sits before me now exudes with the lurking promise that it is in fact one such relic, a pre-mature arrival of some distant extra-terrestrial agenda! “We experience our full technological selves as alien visitors” notes cybertheorist Michael Heim, and indeed the MX-12, pictured above, is likely an iteration of just that!   It is no wonder that such a volatile variant of the Memex would have remained a top secret sort for so long. Unfit for a society that was, in the late 40s, still reeling from the psychic damage of then newish cosmic terror—television.

The advances of transistorized electronics always seemed vaguely suspicious.  Confirmed now in this piecing together of disparate facts is that these “advances” were on the heels of the MJ12′s recovery and research of intergalactic craft.  Coincidence?  Perhaps! Even This Owl is vulnerable to the giddy consequences of too much caffeine!

In any case the Weird Fiction R&D will surely traverse a dozen wormholes in coming weeks and I am immensly grateful for whatever alignment of stars opportuned the encounter with that amicable humanoid we shall for now refer to as M.