18.9 hertz is a frequency that can induce hallucinations
by rippling the eye ball’s crystal goo, by which I mean scientifically
its flavored gel not unlike KY spun
and tinctured with an element of rust.
18.9 hertz is hidden in a tiger’s roar and hearing it reminds us
death swoops down to meet us like a pigeon
leaving the top shelf of a bookcase in a haunted mansion
owned by a deceased uncle we never met but who left it to us on the condition
we risk our lives inside it for just one night
at which point we earn the right to risk our lives inside it until we die
which is sort of like forever.
That’s the nature of every compact.
That’s nature in every compact.
But this is a digression. I am teaching you
with discipline that Prokofiev would eat only addled eggs,
which is to say eggs from which the chickens could not get loose
and thus died still hidden like facehuggers
rotting in the cage of an unlucky space truck driver.
I have invented this detail about Prokofiev to make him or her statistically
more accessible to adults of all ages here’s a graph.
No need to thank me I can’t help
myself here’s another graph wait
here there are more still in my car
Please there is so much to tell you.
Fear is the petri dish where angels grow.