Goodbye From the Pie
by Henry Rosenbush on Mar.10, 2011, under eXisTenTiaLNihLisT
Nucleoproteins do not judge
Cosmic bloodshed pools into gravity spheres around third from the sun and awaits shrieks from its dying civilization. Once again matter balances the intergalactic ledger with anti-matter and the universe, for the least understandable time differential fathomable by unenlightened tiny brains, is returned to normalcy.
Until yesterday.
Don McLean’s “Bye, Bye Miss American Pie” was the final song heard beyond earth, as it played on a deep south radio station the day humankind, and all the music died, as SETI finally received a reply, albeit as radioactive fallout, in the form of a Millineum Long Redux of the Polka, which was incompatible with our ozone.
The golden oldie escaped gamma ray bursts that incinerated the architectural wonders, William Shakespeare, “Carmen,” VH-1, male enhancement drugs, potent drug-free marijuana, all the clones of the wealthy and powerful haters, technology and all its supporting data, and every song ever written by Lady Gaga and her husband, Justin Bieber.
The focused reply came from the Centre of the Universes’ Black Hole, which is actually a transmitter designed by the Great Creator’s answering machine, roughly the size of the Milky Way, except for that tiny tip to the far left corner, which answers all calls for intelligent life forms by emitting Gamma Ray Bursts larger than our solar system to reply: “Yes and so long.”
Crackle, crackle.
Renamed “Goodbye to the Pie” and transformed from a song into galaxy’s pulsars, it quickly became the number one intersteller hit, replacing Crab Nubula’s “Bebop,” “Andromeda Strained Spinach” by the Celestial Sisters of Quadrant La Magia de lo Real and “Hypnagogic Wet Dream” by The Time Lords with Special Narration by Dr. Who during his Galifrey Prose Epoch during Year 12,0000000000000000.1.
Earth’s only other top ten cosmic music was “Can’t Find My Way Home” by Blind Faith, which fit nicely into the Black Hole in which is was distintigrated moving it to number thirteen to the power of Pi times infinity.
eXisTenTiaLNihLisT, from a booth in the rear of the Dark Star Poetry Juice Bar reading BEAT poetry with Jack Kerouac, who is alive and well on the Planet of Pluto, and its Poet Emeritus. Yeah, it’s a planet, just ask its Chamber of Commerce, which is operated by Allen Ginsberg, and the High Council’s Supreme Thinkers are Anaïs Nin, George Carlin, Albert Einstein, Plato, Max Ernst and most anyone who was talented, philosophical or accepted creativity as the true Goddesses of Inspirit. Nice place to visit and similar to Europa’s poet lilypad where they gather to muse over life without form in reverse free verse or something like that….
