The tower without error
The tower(s) climbed higher than ever before and were fortified of blocks of semi-solid Styrofoam, fully degradable by the upper classes who consider them less than worthy of the praise of higher authorities. A man with a beard about the size of forty had seen his fair share of weather; fairly often he shared accounts of these weathers and weather misfortunes. The blocks crumble slightly day by day and it was a thing of necessity for the tower’s people to maintain it and keep it running as smoothly as possible. All possibility pointed toward a tower that would shortly crumble, killing all inside. The infrastructure lacked in many ways in that there were no girders to hold it down, or steady. Just blocks and blocks and blocks to hold it up and they felt like soft cheese (types which I’m not familiar with). How could it sway in the most gracious way with the wind in front of national television, but it did anyways. The spectators weren’t sure whether to be awed by this soft catastrophe waiting to happen or calmed by the smooth nature of the wind blowing circumstances of the tower in its beautiful habitat in the middle of Dutch fields of tulips and all the greenness of the like. Like was the choice word to describe the scene. It was like one thing but unlike another or also to partially describe the circumstance and to say, well, like it was like falling down maybe and more importantly it was well liked by most notable poets who studied the structure but did not write poems about it in any way that any one could recognize as in the symbols in their poems in no way related in any tangible way to the soft and luscious sponge tower of love and enormous curiosity.
The man, the beard, and the plan, planned to be heard as a man who had a plan to admire, among all other things, the marvelous dexterity of sponge as building block. He cared not of typos in local newspapers because the point was brought across. “Man seeking dog for company” was all that was needed to know: a man, for one reason or another, desired the company of a pet and nevermind the typos that only irritated but did not discombobulate it. What type of company was up for grabs because he could easily be only looking for a companion, which was the most likely outcome, but in other, more devious sectors of the collective unconscious, he was using that dog for experiments in science or sexuality. This was not for the bearded man to say and he made no suppositions about the private works that private people did in small homes. His beard was waiting for recognition. A superior recognition that none had yet given him. Here comes! He thought sometimes, but the compliments or at least noticings of his beard were never quite what he’d hoped for. Something that said, that’s exactly what you wanted and nothing more, except for maybe that time that you wanted an Ocecat because he had seen it on TV. A pet cat that was bred with an ocelot somehow to make tranquil an animal of the jungle for love of the nature of all things was sometimes a more important want above all others.
Love was a different thing that the man thought about in reference for the tower. If he could love the tower in all states of its beings, from it’s construction from foam and rubber with holes like a sponge and ready to collapse during rainfall, to it’s existence and tourist attraction, to its supposed demise, and to the redistribution of its constituent parts to other sources of industry and construction after its destruction, he could love the all of it and the repetitiveness of it in the wee/we/weeeee! hours of the night when repetition repeats the sounds of cicadas and night time birds and the occasional traffic.
His beard left him thoughtless. Was it loneliness that bothered him? Of course, he could not lie about that. Loneliness was a problem none had yet to solve, but there was more to that than met the eye, because he had dated many women and he could love them perfectly but there was a closeness that lacked, something unstabling unholding it together. It was a merging at some point that would connect many sinews of the conscious mind and the possible conjoining of two people, unrelated by blood, towards an ultimate step towards the divine conjunction of all humans as well as conscious life. This is the understanding of the entire universe; from inside and out, which includes the tedious language we all try to throw at each other to the perception which leaves us all stranded in cubes of dystopia and dyspepsia. Nothing could be further form the truth. Join two in absolute Madonnical bliss and matrimony as the same being and you are one step further from joining all beings and all ideas of beings into the ultimate being which, without further ado or further knowledge of what that would mean, would be easy to say it was paradise.
The tower swayed with the wind. The destructive members of the crowd wished upon wish that they could see it collapse because they “knew it” that that damn thing would fall, not considering that they could be the ones crushed. Others felt the wind and swayed back to memories of carelessness and sugar free carefree gum. He let the hairs fall from his beard, which did not contemplate him in the leaving process, and moved on to the next event which was a small outhouse made of cheese. The consequences of smell were worse than that other smell he had once had. Beard or no beard it was time to let go of the rigid state that his mind had put his heart in or vice versa and continue joining the thing that many people decided was a soul and just let the thing happen already. But it was trust in everything that would allow the beautiful love to only comeout from that individual level and he hoped that the blue hand that thrust its way out of the chest to create this conjoinment and eternal everything would do what it was intended to do.
It was love at first site.