The number of words project – One (1)

A single mote drifts across the multiverse, moving so slowly that in ten thousand millennium it will have moved no more than a near-infinitesimal fraction of the smallest distance imaginable.

If it were to be detected by beings that attempted to catalog such occasions, they would record it as the only unique thing that has ever existed; an element whose properties have no match on the periodic tables of any civilization, from any universe, at any time. But the odds of such a discovery are astronomical (no pun intended); somewhere in the neighborhood of one-in-a-number-so-large-it-has-yet-to-be-conceived-recorded-or-expressed-by-any-sentient-creature.

Which is precisely as it should be, since the mote is the herald of the Void; a tiny loose thread sewn into the fabric of the multiverse at the instant of creation that has the power to unravel everything if it is tugged. All that needs happen to start the process is a simple collision between it and any matter that is not the same as itself.

Why would such a thing exist? No one will ever truly know, but one could speculate that it is the counterbalance; the thing that simply must be to give the Void a chance–however improbable–to conquer all. One could almost picture it as a clause in the contract of being that was negotiated by the Original Attorney so skillfully that it could, in theory, remain untouched forever.

But in practice (again, no pun intended) a radio signal from Earth that should have dissipated billions of miles prior–but found itself absorbed, magnified, and rebroadcast by a chance encounter with a star’s birth–will reach it. The wave’s impact will cause the aforementioned speck to careen across the multiverse, making the collision that might never have happened an inevitable conclusion.

The result?

The beginning of The End.

(What prognosticator could have foreseen that everything–every single thing–would be undone by talk radio and a born-again star?)

NOTE: This post originally ran on on December 1st, 2007. It was believed to have been lost forever, but a recent spelunking expedition into the crawlspace beneath the basement steps revealed a heretofore unknown passion for mildew and another copy.

The man who loved words

He sat with his fingers hovering over the keyboard staring at the blinking cursor on his screen. In a sudden flurry of clicks, he typed.

The infelicitous syzygy: A concupiscent defenestration of sesquipedalian grandiloquence and rampant communicative disintermediation eclipsing decorous linguistic interrelation.

He stared at the screen for a few moments. Eventually, he backspaced over the sentence and, sighing, typed again.

Twitter. Leading our language down darkened tweets.

“It’s not like anyone is reading it anyway,” he said to himself as he went to the kitchen to find a clean glass.

“I wonder if is taken?”

NOTE: This was originally posted on on July 15, 2009. When the great purge of 2013 took place, it was thought to be lost forever. It was recovered unexpectedly when the author searched for “” (apparently having forgotten that this had already occurred to him once before), and a cached version of the page was found.

The number of words project – Four (4)

The brothers Ingvar are known for their eclectic designs and eccentric concept pieces. The four Norwegians are always seen together, taking a strange pleasure in the fact that there isn’t a single photograph of them in any gallery, magazine, or newspaper where they are pictured separately. This homogeneous identity even extends to the body of their work. It is never known which brother influences which piece.

Was it Tor’s inspiration to create a set of living room furniture out of Spam cans? Was it Edvard’s influence that led to the design of the Plexiglas mini-van? Perhaps Sven is the mastermind behind the skyscraper furnished entirely with bean bag chairs and beaded curtains? Or maybe Max is the genius behind all of the designs? No one really knows.

And now, with their latest creation, a massive a-frame shaped timepiece made entirely out of wax lips, no one will ultimately care. These brothers have cemented their place in history with this latest effort, and they will always be known as the four Norsemen of the, uh… clock of lips.

NOTE: This post originally ran on on December 12th, 2007. When “fell over” it was believed to have been lost forever, but a recent reach into the dryer for a missing sock uncovered another copy, which I now share with you.