Prophecy. (Loosely Based on a True Story)

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Today, I woke up, and I revisited an old band I liked. And Wreck and Reference told me, "eris came to me at night and whispered in my ear you're getting boring you're getting old". The music was triphop, not noise rock. The sound was low quality through my fancy laptop speakers. I requested guitars, and there were none to be found. The apple Eris left the singer was mealy and bitter, and nothing grew from its seeds.

Today, I woke up, and I ordered breakfast. And I ordered a coffee, and it did not arrive. The bagel was sweet and dry where it should have been buttery and slick with oil. I requested no sauce, and the bag was heavy with it. The thing they call an apple pie was missing.

Today, I woke up, and my roommate had a vision. And they said an apple divided the world, above and below. The worms lived below the earth. They proclaimed they would act above their station. I requested news of the world above, and there was none to be found. The apple was rotten, decaying, falling to slime.



Today, I woke up, and I could not find my phone. And I cleared my desk of a month's detritus. And I saw: A house centipede. 12 black packs of American Spirit cigarettes. Two cans of Coca-Cola. A fading diagram. A hatchet. A mug shaped like a cauldron. A hundred cables.

The centipede is massive. We give it a raise: one US quarter dollar.

But I did not see my phone.



Today, I woke up, and I searched for my lost phone, and it was hanging from the pantry rack in the kitchen. I spotted it as it was installing an update: the Apple logo bright and clear on screen.



Today, I woke up, and I remembered. The heraldic basilisk lurks above. The snake becomes a king. It lends me its eye, and I open it. Unbidden, an axiom springs into view.

A golden apple cannot be eaten.

Fair enough.