THE FALL OF IT ALL

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 falls….

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 widow’s 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 sight…
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! It’s intact in one act. Passionately entangled in the widow’s 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 bird’s 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 it’s 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 It’s 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 sun… 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, it’s made it, it wins, it wins this life’s 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 leave’s 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 spirit’s last release is shared by all, taken for granted without permission or quall; taken away by breathers who inherit it’s spirit sacrificed in secret, yet public to all who want it. Partaken by those who want a little and to those who want it all…

The leaf’s deceased body soon transforms into a featherlike skeleton that floats away, away, away to a place uncertain. But away it must go…

Maybe it’ll fall amongst its own, those who have shared its sap and vitality. Maybe it’ll 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 last… 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, demise… fall…

Worms and moles stir what little bit that’s left of the floating fragment adding to the fauna and flora of tomorrow race and today’s trawl.

More rain, more drains and falls through all the earth’s 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 today’s fuel pool party, yesterday’s martyrs, enjoyed by today’s, and today’s exclusive chosen ones, or self-appointed. For today’s juices are millions of years, billions of trickles, trillions of bleeding creatures, in one short candle they burn all, oh well. Y’all, what the hell, it’s so cheap, it’s so fun, it’s 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 it’s 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 fall… Fall’s September through December returns and all falls, all that is venerated tall must fall

That’s all oaks, that’s all vines, That’s all figs, that’s all pines. It’s happened before, it’ll happen again, somewhere, someplace, someone always drops the ball and then comes a new Fall

OCTOBER HAS A SPECIAL HALLOW PLACE AND TIME FOR US, ALL OF US, GREAT AND SMALL. A PLACE AND TIME WHERE WE CAN CHOSE TO JUMP THE PUMP OR FALL THE FALL