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werewolf
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johnny rook came into the living room and he was tired, because it'd been a long day, longer than usual. his mom was on the couch straining to understand some special on pbs about the universe, and time, and light. she wasn't so bad at understanding things, but i think most of her thinking energy went to figuring out the subtle fuckedness of life and the people who came into the bakery she cash registered at every morning, collecting their donuts like ants in a line, happy to have something flaky and small and undemanding - like demi-gods being alloted their jurisdictions and feeling vindicated. and his mom would come home tired and watch shows like this like it was actually gonna make the stars shine brighter. it was actually interesting, what his mom was watching. bout light cones. for instance, did you know the sun could be out for eight minutes before we went into the path of that light and figured it out? and stars, stars were histories being played out, like if hamlet muttering to be or not to be was actually light from a star, we'd look up and it would just now fill the sky. he wondered if we'd ever look into those stars, that cone and see in the light some measurement from some ancient society, and maybe they, if they could move at the speed of light and survive those light years, maybe they could see our faces peering in, expecting the past to be something which is done, in over our heads. and what about the sun going out? what if something did move quicker than light? what if darkness did, what if the end of the universe moved fast approaching infinity (no it'd have to be infinite, approaching infinite is such a word to use when things still exist) and then we'd never even see it. it'd all just disappear, like a blink, pulled out from under us, the hiccup of the big band complete. still light, there's light now, there's still a here and a there (and all the accompanying math). he thought about relativity. it was so interesting that time could be moving faster or slower, that there only was personal time really. oh sure, practicality and whatever, but he did feel like he was moving quicker than others, like he'd already seen what lies ahead of them and himself, that everytime he returns to their frame of reference in the casual nods and menialities of a day, he was twice as tired, because he'd been aging at the speed of light. or was it as they made it seem, and was he in fact the one too slow. either way, it wasn't uniform, there were collisions everytime he talked to another person it seemed. he wondered if others saw him as blurry or else too still, the way such speed makes thing seem. "i'd like to sleep at the speed of light" his mom said, "if it'd get me a couple extra hours of shuteye" "yeah, well, i'll work on that for you mom"
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040423
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