The Day I Was Allowed to Divide by Zero
Space-time ripples ebb and flow, riding gravitational waves. Right angles egress momenta at the speed of light, deviating without losing energy. But not all right angles are congruent with the others. They're simply right-angled to their original trajectory.
They can cross.
Where they cross are nexi where possibility and impossibility meet in uncomfortable alliances of tentative détente. They're windows for those who know how to look through them.
If you're lucky, such a once-in-a-lifetime event will be in your own lifetime. You can smell it. It's a sparkly, colorful smell of synesthesia. It makes a noise you can see. It, briefly, is a living thing.
Have your pencil and paper ready when it happens! You can't use a calculator--unless you bought it from an imaginary friend who calculates in imaginary numbers.
I was ready. I've lived my life ready.
The operation was a success.
I smelled the colorful sparkles. I saw its thunder and heard its lightning. I tasted its lush impossibility. A rogue wave of confluent contadictions crested over me. I was awash. I was drenched. I was inundated.
Pencil firmly in my non-dominant hand, for that is the only way to the math, I drew the obelus divisor bar.
I placed the divisor: zero.
As dividend, I awaited the quotient. (It had been waiting for me since time immemorial.)
I vomited iambic pentameter; I shit rainbows; I cried contrapuntal fugues. I sweat orgasm bullets. I numerated my denominator. I turned around and saw myself. I relived my nativity. I chose my conception. I turned to my right and righted my wrongs; I turned to my left and left everything behind. I saw the doable and did the undoable. I had a feeling of feeling. I counted my blessings in Base 2, arriving at a repeating square root of a negative number that could shame pi. I knew the secret recipe for peace, from the quantum level to the macro world to the theoretical limits of universal entropy.
For the first time in my life I was truly happy. And amazed.
And welcome.
My "quotient": our falling in love. And now I realize it happens much more often than I thought. You just have to do the math.
A muted tone, a fade to a hum. Prose. Radio’s Number 56 and Mavia.
Mavia sent in number 56, which features two writers and her signature sound.
Stay awhile, have a drink...
Here's the link to the show.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rk0jDiU7WBw
And we'll link the authors below in the comments.
And.
As always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
Swings Both Ways
Imagine my surprise when I awoke to see a door standing in the middle of my bedroom. I don't know if I heard it or dreamt it, but I heard, "If you open it, you'll go anywhere and time you wish."
I got out of bed and approached the door. I slowly opened it enough to see myself peaking at me from the other side. Truth be told, "he" probably saw "himself" peaking in from the other side.
Where did I want to go? Where did "he" want to go?
I realized I was in a very good place at this point in my life. I was raising two happy children, had earned the love of a good woman, and peace and contentment were ours.
"How 'bout you?" I asked "him."
"Yeah," he agreed, "I'm good, too."
"We" closed the door and we each went back to bed.
When I awoke, the door was gone. It never returned.
From an intro inspired by Tears for Fears, into a moonlit buzz of wonder, and then on to two new bloods that absolutely steal the show with their words to ride shotgun across the moon so graceful, into a summer to greet the juxtapostion of death against dread.
Here's the link to Prose. Radio's Episode 55.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eZo89vojB_E
And here are the requested pieces featured.
https://www.theprose.com/post/822872/time-too-short
https://www.theprose.com/post/823028/a-summer-passes
And.
As always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose team
The Box. Only way out, hidden, secret codes, moments and conversation, and Last.
In number 54, Mavia sends in another guest narration with her signature sound over more signature pieces you'll read on Prose., and nowhere else like it. From a Challenge from Last, titled, 'The Box,' five pieces are featured, and we're here to tell you, these five pieces are five fantastic features from our pages.
Here's the link to Prose. Radio to listen.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LeFLfe0NQ7g
And here are the pieces featured.
https://www.theprose.com/post/817327/the-box https://www.theprose.com/post/817596/my-hidden-box https://www.theprose.com/post/817543/on-the-top-shelf-of-my-closet
https://www.theprose.com/post/818141/the-box https://www.theprose.com/post/818635/children-like-them
And.
As always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
Play Me Chords
You can drag me by the heels
All the way from here and there...
You can sandwich what you feel
Inside the confines of your lair...
Shoving money in your pockets...
Filling bags for future vaults...
...But there's something so elusive
That gives chimes a nighttime waltz
And the boy with brown skin knows it,
While the girl he's courting comes...
To be swallowed in the darkness
Where their cosmic pining runs...
Play me chords to ride tomorrow
When my glass is lashed by rain!...
Play me chords that defeat sorrow
And remove the heavy strain
Of this burden, and it's cousins
With their multitude of gills
That deprive a man of breathing
'til he's free of earthly ills...
You can send your thugs of torment
To come down upon my head...
You can summon me to trial,
Taking care my rights are read...
All the legions of your lesions
Only manifest in droves....
...They'll return whipped to a foment
That will massacre your pose...
Look no further to the future...
There's a testament that's right
Opened, as it floats above you
Always level with your sight...
Play me chords to ride tomorrow
When my glass is lashed by rain!...
Play me chords that defeat sorrow
And remove the heavy strain
Of this burden, and it's cousins
With their multitude of gills
That deprive a man of breathing
'til he's free of earthly ills...
As all prophesies play out
From the tiny to the tall
We are led to this arena
Where all dominoes may fall,
But the guards they have patrolling
Fall asleep from time to time...
...We will rise, and make a motion
As the pregnant sun declines...
We just need a toothy soundtrack
That will gather ears of corn...
It requires an alliance
With our earthly flesh and Lord...
Play me chords to ride tomorrow
When my glass is lashed by rain!...
Play me chords that defeat sorrow
And remove the heavy strain
Of this burden, and it's cousins
With their multitude of gills
That deprive a man of breathing
'til he's free of earthly ills...
7/7/24
Bunny Villaire
Condemned To The Rails
Stranded, sitting by the railroad tracks for hours now. Sprawled on a sloping hill, and watching the sun melt. I've been pining for her, and questioning what I'd have done differently. Draped in shards of twilight; the moon braves its ascent into the night sky. Surveying the moon I see Jane's face. She's the only one who ever gave a damn about me, and man did I love her more than life. She didn't give a shit that I didn't have a job, and my life was hanging by loose threads. I really screwed the pooch though.
7/3/24
Bunny Villaire
Episode 53: The Flesh of Pigs
Mariah closes out what area_man opens, while anchored in the middle beetween is something from ModernAntigone that can only be described with words like addictive, gorgeous, seasoned... Just like the piece before and the piece after. From the finest dining to feed the arts, to the light blocked and two litanies of sorrowful flavor so deliciously dark and told with iron breath, to the sweet song of what has died on the vine, number 53 on Prose. Radio features three writers with something beautiful to say, no matter how we slice it
Here's the link to Prose. Radio.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jpGJ5qRys8Q
And here are the featured pieces.
https://www.theprose.com/post/822012/blocking-the-light https://www.theprose.com/post/819551/litany-i-ii https://www.theprose.com/post/811664/loves-death
And.
As always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
Alone, like a train wreck, one mockingbird, a touch of rage, and a potholder.
Mavia sent in episode 52 this morning, and it sounds and reads like a satin sheet and an open window, the breeze just right, the moon just right. Featuring some seasoned talent, delivered with the air and pause ony she has, for a great way to get lost in the writing of these minds.
Here's the link to the show:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4LjuIknQ8vE
And we'll tag the authors in the space below...
And.
As always.
Thank you for being here.
-The Prose. team
Midnight Owls
The horror in being alive has diminished for the time being...
Tonight I step into the cool lagoon of nighttime and shadow
With a heart that shares my home...
Her eyes are veiled so I cannot see the underside,
And how they slip around beneath the lids
Like the webbed back feet of frogs
Draped upon slippery stones
Partially submerged in water...
We feel each other though, through the many
Closed doors,
Living as one heart
That glows like the lightning bugs
That bounce around our
Huddled bodies
As we sit here in a neat spot underneath a tree
Somewhere in the park at night...
The grass is glistening with dew...
The darkness makes it shimmer, and stick out
Like precious diamonds...
Her lips part slowly, and her eyes gaze into mine...
A sloping hill to the left can be seen in the distance;
Above the hill are the passing cars
Occasionally pouring their gigantic pools of
Luminous headlights over our heads
As we embrace, and kiss,
Sharing the living heartbeat of the eternal night...
Passing it around from body to body
As our tongues lock and unlock,
And our hands brush against our softly stirring flesh...
We are making love, though both of us are dressed
In the marina of the night...
The safe harbor of a touch
Done with spontaneity and risk...
In the middle of our bliss
While the midnight owls
Study us with interest...
7/1/24
Bunny Villaire