(BIG) TREE OF (TOO MUCH) KNOWLEDGE - jais brohinsky


jais brohinsky

The tree bark flows like rivers digging soft chasms into its massive trunk plopped layer upon layer like rolls of fat. The tree grows upside down. Its roots extend into the sky, sprawling hundreds of feet across in a system of reaching hands. The tree top sticks into the ground, and here and there giant boughs curl out from under the earth, fanning bushes of spade-like foliage, before diving back underground.

A man approaches. He kneels in front of the tree and prays. His tongue is a hatchet that swings into the trunk. The tree creaks, and black sap drips from the wound. The man puts his mouth to the bark and sucks. He falls back gasping and choking. His eyes film over as if injected with ink. He is still for a long time.

I am he, but I and am and he disintegrate. Surfing the edge of the universe like waves. Too much. Big. Too much big.

These words are pathetic.

Jais Brohinsky
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