Believe it or not, the ivory has mostly yellowed and I am considering turning it in for something more disposable. A piano, perhaps, or a bag of napkins. My sense of value is all distorted, you'd say, but you'd be forgetting the most valuable thing in the world: the thing you you need right now.
Now. It's a magical time, a magical place. It is the blade that was too dull to split infinity in two; it is the tip of a rubbing pencil, summoning the pre-existing into perception. Of course, one can only wonder: by whom was this engraving engraved? We hope--we hope--but we also die.
Perhaps somewhere God is shoving my spirit into some metaphysical DVD player and watching my life until suddenly it stops. But for what error? "Damaged disc," perhaps. Or: "Not yet encoded."
"Damaged disc." Don't we always consider people broken when they aren't complete?
"Not yet encoded." Anybody can tell the future, if imperfectly; all that remains is to set it in indelibly in place. Is that our job? God's job?
Now that my ivory is destined for the thrift shop, I wonder what else will become disposable. Those old video cassettes lasted damn near forever, but these new discs, the ones that survived scratching, are being replaced already. Can anybody say blu-ray?
"Dear Lord. I'm only twenty. Don't replace me yet."