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WILLIAM STEIN

 
Spirit, 2010

Five spirits: Two spirits spat forth their vengeance, two spirits swept the lobby, and one spirit was undecided. His feelings on the matter were fore and aft, and he felt sure it was best to remain doubtful. His brothers threw fire and fog in all directions, mopped wildly, gnashed their teeth, and ground earth into their faces.

A few minutes walk from this messy place, rumours spread of a Man.

The spirits knew this man, and knew his fate. This man knew what was important in life. He was building a palace. A palace so critical, so important, that the Earth would relinquish under its substance. He had been laying stones for many years and more.

One spirit left his brothers and travelled to this man. He found him atop his structure. He saw the man stretch forth to lay a stone. He saw his horny fingers scrabble in the cold depths; tears scorching his cheeks; his soul playing tunes of melancholy and delight.

An age passed. Finally fear wrenched him open to bear witness to the dust and dirt of the thing we call moon. Looking down past his ridiculous legs, the man saw an ambition so long, so unstable. His eyes flamed, and sealed the last drop of cement, thus attaching his palace to the moon.

The palace could be built no further. The base of the tower was visible: The Earth had not collapsed. The spirit looked on from behind a shadow. He felt his heart rage. He crushed his thoughts into his brain. He saw the man straighten his crappy body. He saw him peer from his shit eyes. He saw him massage his firm mind. The man rolled onto the dusty rock. He extends an absurd finger, and starts to dig. The spirit left his shadow. He turned from the moon, and returned to his brothers.



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