Time Out of Place

All who have no faith in time live at peace in a timeless mousehole a hole in the fabric of nothing at all, where a moment is but a whisker that twitches infinity. Danny boy walked boldly out of O'Reilly's Irish pub right into a catastrophic gap in reality, immediately he was drunk on his own legend knees buckled, his head lolled. Back in some fictional homeland his mother sang like a bird in a kitchen while she stirred a dark mouse stew, Danny's eyes flowed over with all the milky dreams of the unborn. The cosmic joke is endlessly amusing. It is not a matrix nor a malignant mystery, it is the love of the undying, the faith of all those that have lost all faith it is the tall stories we tell ourselves that make even shameless death shudder. The mouse squeaks and yet another tale falls through a torn pocket to be heard as birdsong by a perfectly conscious oblivion.