Prolegomenon by Connectedness Locus

...and the world forces you out once again, return to the highways, return to the endless fields; that word, prolegomenon, appeared in my dreams some time ago, immemorial, i didn't even know what the word was or what it meant, or even how to spell or pronounce it; 'prolegomenon,'; i knew only the feeling of it upon my tounge, the sound of it reflecting off the walls, the feeling it would impress upon me while reading it, i tried writing it down but failed many times, i couldn't triangulate the syllables but all evidence pointed towards it's existence... and then one night i stumbled accross it, wikipedia again, probably, just like connectedness locus, an anonymous entry that may or may not be credible and accurate - whatever the case, the word is correct, a descendent perhaps of some greek warlord but this time transposed three centuries forward into a neon dusk where houses are constructed with html, the past continues to be reframed by the present, history is writen by the victors while our dreams steadily wind down and we fall apart, our social network spreads thin as we flee, to the dissident corners of this fallen world, in my battered attempt to fix this battered language, we bum each other our entire lives, and my father entered rem sleep; and i forgot my closest friend’s name; and my mother flew to the afar north; to dance where the sumacs still grow. let us sing that truth whispered is truth betrayed, for an elephant never forgets: to arms! to arms! and we still fall apart. replication - repeating days - we are bloated and weak here in the states. tidal synths. royal timbral waves. a series of events leading up to a cataclysmic demise, microburst dreams, echoes from a standstill destiny, there is no death, only reorganization...

...the moon sets, the batteries run dry, and a cold, dreamless sleep overcomes...

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