.32 miles

currently listening to:
orange sky, alexi murdoch

when i was a kid
i used to have this book
called

miles and the screwdriver.

miles is an inquisitive fellow,
he likes exploring
and finding out how things work,
how they fit together,
and
how they fall apart.

his favorite toy
is a plain old screwdriver,
because it helps him do just that.


from what i can remember,
he begins by dismantling small household objects-
a wristwatch,
a calculator,
an egg-timer.


then he moves onto the car.


screw by screw,
he leaves in his wake
the remnants of televisions, gas pumps, streetlights, factory machinery and even articles you never would have thought could be unpieced with a screwdriver.

like cheese.

it's an obsession.


so he's about to fly somewhere
(probably for deportation),
but before they can take off
miles is there.
descrewing the beast.
all in the name of search,
of discovery,
of curiosity.

cracking the foundations
and unsettling security.




that is what this feels like,
i thought,
sitting there
as i gazed into thoughtlessness.



then comes the big screw.
i mean, the massive,
the key,
the core one.
the one which holds the whole earth together.
(if my recollection of the page's pretty illustration serves me well,
it was supposedly at the north pole,
or some such lark...)

miles approached the big screw with
apprehensive tenacity,
armed with his formidable screwdriver.
as he climbs
(one could barely imagine how he intended to remove the copious redwood-sized screw),
and reaches for the top,
the big man in the sky
sweeps down,
voice
bursting forth
erupting out of the heavens
calling a time-out.

the edge has been reached,
miles is told.
there's no more left to test,
this is the one answer
you really don't want to see.

so stop the destruction, and start the repieceing.

repeacing.




then,
after the wait,
i heard these words-

"you are my home",



and
i decided
to agree.