Karma’s Arrow

I release the arrow and let it fly. A traversable swirling portal of light opens up from the arrow piercing the fabric of spacetime. My light shoots out. A pinpoint at first, then emanating outwards and inwards in concentric waves of every colour washing over me and you. A rupture in spacetime. A beautiful new tunnel narrows down and wraps itself up, so tightly not even gravity will hold it back. On the redlight shift of the spectrum inviting all to participate in the race through space on her cosmic string, a place and time with an ineffable rhyme

You will feel the blood that runs through your veins with a veracity that makes your breath quicken like never before. Listen to the anatomy of an orchestra trained to push the senses to their very limits.

What a piece of work! I am the only one to take the mantle up. A time collecting clock with an arrow of time. KLK. It takes 8 strokes to make the letters. 9 to make the circle complete. 10 to hit the target and the game is on. We are in. We will follow the trajectory of the arrows at intermittent points in our story but meanwhile, on the more earthly realm, our pranxterrorist et al are having fun.

I park my Sherman tank on a police car’s wailing siren, gathering an inner circle of adoring fans as I hand out vanilla ice cream cones to teenagers who want to learn what they were not taught in school. Hopping on each other’s shoulders to get a glimpse of me.

Malcolm Mc Claren rolls out of his grave to savour a whiff of my punk rock wave but I graciously decline and no contract is signed. I am the revival that you have been waiting for.

Vivien Westwood cuts my cloth from stormy cumulus clouds that hover above my head. Drawing them down to her fingertips to weave a shimmering costume around my body.

I somersault up and down my Sherman tank.

Tongue in cheek at blushing boys so meek.

Street vendors cry out my name and a chorus of a song’s refrain carries over their heads.

I am born out of a black dot. A full stop. The insignificant made paramount.

In between the big bounce and the big squeeze is where I lie. An artful dodger with no singularity, you won’t believe the universes that I can conceive.

My story was born before the ink well was filled before the nib was even sharpened.

This is my moment. Silence for my armour. Nowhere from, to go wherever chaos takes me.

I am the universal orphan coming back home to take my rightful place.

Purple Cat says.

Karma walks a tightrope.

Duality has a sneeze.

I can cross this century into the last like I am floating in the breeze.

I am the abyss that looks into me as it looks into you.

One sky into another. One is afraid of what Xi might do.

Xi dances and swivels. Xi pirouettes and bows.

Drawing every last breath from the excited crowd.

This is the line of illusion.

Oh but there is something here to see. Karma and a Purple Cat playing the Game.

I don’t pretend they’re not me.

So I fashioned a role out of my mind.

Xi is better than a digital toy that you could find.

Coming up through history cleansing every word

Cutting through lies with yer tongue as a sword.

Xi is the spark and the fuse burning up the line.

When Xi gets to her mark it’s revolution time.

Karma makes a ruse and dresses it up to kill.

And what Xi kills is the illusion that who we are is how we live.

How we think is how we live, says Purple Cat

Right on the mark, says Karma.