The Walls Are Starting to Shift

Along the sliding scales of cornerstones and sometimes functioning relationships, you pass along some weight back to another leg of recurring voyages. And in truth, all the ships are spent. This adaptation, dream, pioneer, sometimes functioning relationship, is everyone, as everyone is twirling introductions while walking backwards in circles. Triangles are right out, apparently.

Just the usual, ordinary, everyday greetings, salutations, some say “hello hello”, nods to signal gesture indication, acknowledgement. Mondays are included too for the price of a well-built wall or moat. I acknowledge you. Recognize, smile at, respect, ignore. The building blocks of human interaction. With our powers combined, we could build a human pyramid scheme. Not that we’d want to, right? Right.

Because we come into being already reckoned with, because life seems to be this really huge storm cloud out of fake candy and blazing foundations of kicking something off, because something is off. Something is off the wall. Really. Look around, for you aren’t in some possibly familiar-sounding home location here. Even the sky is blue and the sun is always way too bright to look at.

So you head indoors to notice things. And you stop actively ignoring the warning signs. You notice things. You stop actively ignoring the warning signs. Oh, shit.

The walls are starting to shift. The foundations of a once-spent youth, exposed to history and socks. Step carefully. Beware of memories. And maybe if you walk carefully or fall forward, perhaps you are drowsy or already asleep, will you discover passages to rooms once thought forever lost to time and space? Or maybe all the exits are betraying us, leaving us alone with only walls and sides. Shut in, shut down, shut up, they say? But maybe in that hopeless space, you’ll play the waiting game, waiting just waiting for the big reveal when castle walls reveal time and space were here all along, sipping tea in the maze room next to the candy pagoda.

When a body of opinion must recognize the facts of importance and quality, enters the world. For you have begun to acknowledge this genius of walls. As generally acknowledged as the world’s finest relationship coach. Kid, you’ll move mountains, sometimes walls.

But, have you noticed that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to open and close all the doors and windows in your possibly familiar-sounding home location? This may not seem significant or a real problem, but it’s actually a sign. And like most prophecies we can figure out what it means later, after the end of relevance and preparation. It is easy to make predictions, because someone, somewhere, sometimes randomly, might be right.

Shaking hands with foundations, the cracked open time capsule reveals a note that I apparently once understood. There are questions now. Vertical brick or stone? Concrete? The ghosts of ourselves are concreted upon the surface of the physical manifestations of both time and space. Inquiring minds might want to know.

When am I the structure that encloses or divides an area of land, by sea, by air, by myself? A garden wall? Barrier? Partition? Room divider? Enclosure? Screen? Panel? Diviner? Separator? Piracy? Privacy? Potatoes?

Write all answers on the walls in red ink only please. Circle all adjectives. Be strong.

This is better than an answer key. We can start to pull away from the window frames. Nothing much to see outside, but words have meanings. Walls have heights. To climb. Not that everyone is always looking for an answer, but various parts of your foundation may sink a little bit deeper into the ground.

You sink a little bit deeper into the ground. It might be spiritual. It might be beautiful. It might just be. So soft. You sink a little bit deeper into the ground.

Something on the other side that is not a wall. I could stay. To move or not to move, or to cause to move from one place to another, is not the only question, especially over small distances.

We sometimes find ourselves, but when we don’t, we are surrounded by a sea of walls. These walls will ask for nothing. Time is time. They shift the weight back and forth. Such outstandingly beautiful garden walls. Always moving, never gone. Walls. Watching the roses grow.

A sea of walls, a wall of seas, a seawall, a wall of walls, roses. Walls, walls, potatoes, walls, potato walls, potatoes. Garden walls, shiny walls, shifting walls, walls.

Walls, walls, walls, potato walls, roses, walls, roses.

The walls are shifting. The times are changing. The tides are waving. The rocks are behaving. The ground is shaking. The paths are wavering. And there is writing on the walls.

Someday we will read them all together, on the other side.

Elan Radousky lives in California. When he isn’t reading, writing, eating, sleeping, or playing the xylophone, he can sometimes be found outside attempting to finally master five club juggling. He doesn’t actually play the xylophone, but he has on occasion dabbled at playing the xaphoon. His favorite color is blue, and he probably doesn’t know any secrets about you.

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