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from Cultinvator - Friday, October 17, 2003
accessed 1390 times

Fall Aside, Fall Away, Fall Astray. At the end it All Falls Someday

A crackling seed of cotton attire pops flippantly like popcorn and falls into the all sprawling river. It falls drifting, it falls drowning, it floats and falls from home down the proud waterfall. It falls over the edge, misses the rocks, swerves in luck, joining the rain of due drops, insignificantly minute and small, it fallsÖ.

It unites with the flow of the wind once more, and the water falls faster and heavier asunder. The lighter seed is lighter than water and jumps past the misty storm below, past the white explosion below, the continuous bomb, a great waterfall that never stalls or so it seems today by the momentary ignorance of all who were born yesterday

The golden seed soars into a different white wetness. That of a small widowís web silky falling wall, still tall at the edge of the riverbank. And the river sounds drown away into the distance, fading out in roaring and size, in a slower calmer, steadier flow. The light breeze squeaks the branches that rub off each other.

Off the falling red forest branches the widow falls lower and lower, as she tailors her fallen kingdom working with gravity below, abandoning the leftovers above, and forgetting a seed behind. The shiny seed seems useless to the widow, she ignores it, and falls out of sightÖ
Suddenly, a fallen dragonfly is ensnared by this very white translucent wall, and in the scare of the instant, he swallows a dead gnat in combo meal with this lucky nutty seed. Gulp! Itís intact in one act. Passionately entangled in the widowís abandoned nest. Mealtime is interrupted by a spying sparrow that ravishes on this selfish dragon delight and breaks away from the now flimsy net of dead plights. A large gulp ends the lesser one, yet the smaller one of the seed is wasted and undigested as it falls down the birdís throat, coated in dragonfly it rolls down tight piping walls as a hidden bonus with a sticky catch, the prickly scratch of dragonfly bait.

The jovial sparrow enjoys a moment of natural release when night falls and all is peaceful. A white dropping missing dozens of branches finds itís place into fertile ground; or fertile ground it has now become near the moist river bank soil.

Coated in opaque white paint, the nut is accompanied briefly by a second splatter trooper nearby who covers a pine cone in a new genre of art nouveau Itís just too close for comfort.

In company reinforcements fall, spitterry, spattery, splat! The seed rolls while drying in plain view once more to the evening breeze. Once independently dry, the traveling nut blows north into a crack, in coiling attraction it falls but not too far below, where light still peeps into this cave next morning.

The adventurous falling appears to end for now. The seed like an egg has begun to hatch. It graduates up to the status of a flourishing stem of pistachio like green. This no-longer seed is encouraged by rain that falls, warmly embraced by rays that descend from a brilliant sunÖ A falling star that fell many million of cycles ago and it falls and rises daily still over the azure horizon.

Now taking part of a sensational rise of power, its sappy tower soars above, the top leaves behold how lower leaves begin their yearly cycle and fall for the first time and the cycle is done, itís made it, it wins, it wins this lifeís swim.

Roots fall deeper into the opportunity cracks and erect an arrogant stem, a stout bark. It protrudes leaves that fall, fall prey to color trends of fashion and mode, all repeated each season, in slightly different locations they sprout, they live out their stay, and fall. They always fall.

Flower styles display yellow splendor, surrounded by cloned leaves in hues varying from season to season. Winter green spring is back, then ruby-red fruits fall for summer, and again comes the fall when leaf falling folly reigns before winter storms and blizzards do their falling fury.

A dead leaveís predicament after an especially hot summer is dismissed from one life to pass into rest. Having recycled all the pure air it could, it takes in its last dying breath...

The sap no longer takes hold in this one, and the budget is cut, the time is up. Its spirit's weak breathing is absorbed into the atmosphere. A spiritís last release is shared by all, taken for granted without permission or quall; taken away by breathers who inherit itís spirit sacrificed in secret, yet public to all who want it. Partaken by those who want a little and to those who want it allÖ

The leafís deceased body soon transforms into a featherlike skeleton that floats away, away, away to a place uncertain. But away it must goÖ

Maybe itíll fall amongst its own, those who have shared its sap and vitality. Maybe itíll fall under a foreign tree or a decomposed fruit whose seeds will grow new stems poking through the thinning spoiled body, stabbing holes into its paling veneered sheet of weathered skin.

Metamorphosis of composure surrenders to the mercy of the elements; that of fickle wind, eroding rain, corruptive heat and adulterous dirt. All the elements simultaneously mingled in an interval of what some call time.

Dispersed in disassembled pieces is the lost forgotten story of a ghost marked by the memory colors of virulent green, pale yellow, purifying red, compost brown, and at lastÖ the quiet, selfless, silent black of death and rebirth of all that moves, all that crawls, all that prowls, all that falls

Out of many a season this decomposed leaf remains layered in the seismic earth that sustains tomorrows vibrant revolutionary fertile blossoming once more; eventually in exponential cycles, repeating the fall, rise, fall, rise, fall, demiseÖ fallÖ

Worms and moles stir what little bit thatís left of the floating fragment adding to the fauna and flora of tomorrow race and todayís trawl.

More rain, more drains and falls through all the earthís veins new fluids trickle and fall into a quiet cold pool, surrounded by dark rocks for walls, trapped and silent under deserts, mountains, and oceans above.

Dark onyx fluid remains are gathered in todayís fuel pool party, yesterdayís martyrs, enjoyed by todayís, and todayís exclusive chosen ones, or self-appointed. For todayís juices are millions of years, billions of trickles, trillions of bleeding creatures, in one short candle they burn all, oh well. Yíall, what the hell, itís so cheap, itís so fun, itís so sheik at the mall.

This well of aged black resin of mirth looses its old cork in one great cocktail party, fueling plastic roots of a strange corporate organism. This time itís a growth with movement and lights. Lights that die when the wick is extinguished and the wells run out. Why should this age not fall like all falls? It will all fallÖ Fallís September through December returns and all falls, all that is venerated tall must fall

Thatís all oaks, thatís all vines, Thatís all figs, thatís all pines. Itís happened before, itíll happen again, somewhere, someplace, someone always drops the ball and then comes a new Fall


Reader's comments on this article

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from krush
Saturday, October 25, 2003 - 02:22

What are you on?
(reply to this comment)
From Cultinvator
Monday, October 27, 2003, 16:15


That's like the most cliche line I've heard... (reply to this comment

From Cultinvator
Monday, October 27, 2003, 16:18

It's awkward that I would write this piece living in sandiego... It's so surreal and devastating to see so much go down in flames. It's sad to see so much destruction, but nature is stronger than we are and we are constantly reminded of our illusions of power. No need to be on an drug to notice that. (reply to this comment

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