Some ties are just meant to break. Some people are just meant to get hurt. And for the longest time, it isn’t clear who’s been hurt. More.
Some people believe they are lucky that they aren’t told off. They have ostensible choices. Stay if you will. Leave if you will. But the flux of circumstances is so turbulent that remaining in that time and space becomes impossible. To remain in it would be akin to allowing yourself to drown or get swallowed whole by a python, bit by bit. Or a boa constrictor. Even a big vacuum suction pipe, the kind they have in vacuum cleaners – only much larger. [Such likenesses – of being sucked in that is, as you can tell dear reader, abound in nature.]
So you must pick up your scattered brain, your trampled heart, gather up the miniscule shreds of your dignity and make ungainly haste on doddering knees towards the exit sign. There is of course no plan yet of how you are going to stitch things back together. There is no plan of where you are going to cast this patchwork self. Just a hypnotic exit sign that throbs a primordial pulse through your broken bits. Leave. Leave. Leave. Now.
When annealed glass is shoved mouth-end into a long colon-like furnace and treated to temperatures of about 680°C over the length of the furnace’s intestine, and then evicted into a strong blast of cool air, it suddenly develops stress points.
A stress point is a point which if lightly tapped, will make an entire sheet of glass shatter into a million pieces.
Ironically, after it has developed stress points, it is far more difficult to shatter such a sheet of glass, unless of course you know the exact location of the stress point – which is invariably somewhere at the centre, roundabout in those parts where the heart is. Or should be.
Tempered glass, it’s called. 4-6 times stronger than normal annealed glass. Safer, because if and when it breaks, the pieces are so small and blunt that they cannot cause much damage.
But, where was I going with this story?
Remind me, I’m not sure anymore.
Some people believe they are lucky that they aren’t told off. They have ostensible choices. Stay if you will. Leave if you will. But the flux of circumstances is so turbulent that remaining in that time and space becomes impossible. To remain in it would be akin to allowing yourself to drown or get swallowed whole by a python, bit by bit. Or a boa constrictor. Even a big vacuum suction pipe, the kind they have in vacuum cleaners – only much larger. [Such likenesses – of being sucked in that is, as you can tell dear reader, abound in nature.]
So you must pick up your scattered brain, your trampled heart, gather up the miniscule shreds of your dignity and make ungainly haste on doddering knees towards the exit sign. There is of course no plan yet of how you are going to stitch things back together. There is no plan of where you are going to cast this patchwork self. Just a hypnotic exit sign that throbs a primordial pulse through your broken bits. Leave. Leave. Leave. Now.
When annealed glass is shoved mouth-end into a long colon-like furnace and treated to temperatures of about 680°C over the length of the furnace’s intestine, and then evicted into a strong blast of cool air, it suddenly develops stress points.
A stress point is a point which if lightly tapped, will make an entire sheet of glass shatter into a million pieces.
Ironically, after it has developed stress points, it is far more difficult to shatter such a sheet of glass, unless of course you know the exact location of the stress point – which is invariably somewhere at the centre, roundabout in those parts where the heart is. Or should be.
Tempered glass, it’s called. 4-6 times stronger than normal annealed glass. Safer, because if and when it breaks, the pieces are so small and blunt that they cannot cause much damage.
But, where was I going with this story?
Remind me, I’m not sure anymore.
8 comments:
There you go, dear H, getting stuck with the metaphors.
But I do know what you mean with the heart being a stress point.
It's the sad, sad truth, innit?
=)
Ha. yes, don't I get so tangled up with these metaphors, cliches and suchlike.
sigh. The company I keep these days.
"Just a hypnotic exit sign that throbs a primordial pulse through your broken bits. Leave. Leave. Leave. Now."
Where? Where's the bleeping EXIT sign? Tell me...tell meeeeeh!!
Odd but I can relate to the sheet glass that has developed stress points.
I just don't know if I like the idea that it's not gonna cause as much damage when it breaks.
I know where you're going with the story. You have proof that Pluto's a planet.
Ok, probably not. But I wish someone would have it.
Is it safer? For whom?
Sigh, but glass always does shatter. Even the oldest glass (mirror) we have (my grandfathers vintage clock) broke only recently. Ticking time crashed and shattered. We bought a new clock...not as beautiful but it tells the time.
Leave. Leave. Now. I've heard that before. Still haven't recovered.
Hang in there.
dear tempered Pinay, that exit sign is eventually I suppose at the arse end of every experience? love, the tempering colon - H.
Ben - that might be the most profound subtexting I've ever encountered. perhaps you're right.
Prude: good question. Haven't yet figured that though. Beautiful little detail about your clock though.
nice nice...
I like physics...
Stress was a particular favourite...
but but Thermodynamics was essentially fun and there are loads of others...
and you know what the funny thing about exits are that they arent carpeted but thats cause they are supposed to be safe so as to incase of fire you get out without fire bellowing at your arse...
Some people leave as they cant manage time others because time manages them... both kinds should just invest in a good watch!
AND the best thing os that Human heart is not at the centre of the body... and hence it cant be the stress point na?
so lets try and figure what could be... the tummy yes thats it!!!
now if that goes empty the babble turns out like it has up above this line but where was I going with this highly intellectually absurd comment???
No one will remind me!!! hmm kindness is like the cute butt fairies, not even present in books...
My purple betley hasnt been sent yet H... :-I
You might have just made the most valid point here about the stomach, Pricky. And I shall say famously, lastly and pompously, that nothing breaketh a man like a stomach scorned.
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