Numbers from Ten

About the Book

The collective madness of all the nuts and bolts that keep the sun together, in the near distant past and future subways will become the masters of man. All of man will see this and will look back at this book as the warning that was never heeded. Their greatest crime (the subways) will be forgetting grammar and stealing babies without any sort of apology or reprieve. This piece sings guitars to sleep, the right kind of guitars built for only left hands and black waters that never had seen or known light. Written in a language of the olden, only hills and rabid neon will understand it at first. Read with incense and melting ice (nonmelting ice will not handle it properly and walk away). Reading it will send you into tomorrow’s yesterday, forgetting that time really is an unapproachable mother fucker. All accounts (for all intents and kind purposes, not the unkind kind) are truths full of lies, flies, and desserts of vanilla taste. The same desserts found at the bottom of a fudge cup waiting for spoons to fornicate through them. Somewhere through the proven middle, knights will emerge and sever table heads that were only good for singing and nothing else. At the bottom and end of it all, only dishwashers will survive, and once they taste the water, they will think its lime and never spit it out. Finally, only fires on the thirty-fourth or above floors will survive, and in the morning, all will be forgiven, and you would be able to move on with life, the universe, and whatever follows. All mistakes are intentional.

About the Author

At a young age, this author mastered the art of time travel, taught to him by whales from the Northern Lands of Riversome. Fast forwarding through life, a goat in an Iron Man costume chased him down the Vegas strip and kidnapped him, forcing him to write and keep writing till the year 3000. Escaping through a barrel over Niagara Falls, the author managed to find his way back to the year 2000, where he learned to harness the power of persuasion, lemon taming, and the dark arts of fireworks. Currently residing in an island three paces away from his own mind, the author lives in a cave with nothing but a well-lit candle, which never goes out, along with several action figures that he (perhaps a “she” with time) calls brother, sister, and madre. His only vice, cloning dogs and rabbits to save the world.