November's Element of the Month:
Neon!
Ne
10
Atomic Mass: 20.1797 amu
Melting Point: -248.59 °C
Boiling Point: -246.08 °C
Pop Quiz: Is the November Element of the month written, as usual, by Michael5000? Or is it another post by guest chemist Cait? Or is authorship even relevant?
So in 1898 two bored Brits capture bits of our atmosphere, because I mean what ELSE could they
capture at this point and like anything worth saving it was frozen for later use. Whaddaya know,
reheated, our atmosphere blazes a brilliant red. Bottle recycled breath and freeze it, liquefy the air, capitalize the letters like in our ubiquitous EAT AT JOE’S. Inert and unmoving like the bodies eternally plastered into grey barroom chairs, noble neon glows forth from foggy windows in the form of a shamrock greener than any natural grass creeping up in-between cracks in city streets. Chemical bonds lure able bodies out of factories homes schools and down memory darkened alleys to places where
The Centerfold!
Neon!
Ne
10
Atomic Mass: 20.1797 amu
Melting Point: -248.59 °C
Boiling Point: -246.08 °C
Pop Quiz: Is the November Element of the month written, as usual, by Michael5000? Or is it another post by guest chemist Cait? Or is authorship even relevant?
So in 1898 two bored Brits capture bits of our atmosphere, because I mean what ELSE could they
capture at this point and like anything worth saving it was frozen for later use. Whaddaya know,
reheated, our atmosphere blazes a brilliant red. Bottle recycled breath and freeze it, liquefy the air, capitalize the letters like in our ubiquitous EAT AT JOE’S. Inert and unmoving like the bodies eternally plastered into grey barroom chairs, noble neon glows forth from foggy windows in the form of a shamrock greener than any natural grass creeping up in-between cracks in city streets. Chemical bonds lure able bodies out of factories homes schools and down memory darkened alleys to places where
The Centerfold!
the sun might always shine indoors, for this we thank Earle C. Anthony and by proxy the French, two signs sent to Packard Auto from gay Paris now number in the trillions. Supply, Demand, Construct, Consume. Images run underground underneath flowerbeds; this, our least reactive element sticks bodies to couches in front of flatscreens and glues thumbs to remotes. The potato chip crumbs will continue to stick stubbornly to openmouthed patrons staring at nothing; the LED revolution will still be televised (what won’t, these days?) but like those old bodies coughing spasmodically into hazy neon evening, nothing stays forever bright, sorry just business, nothing personal.
2 comments:
It's gotta be Cait, doesn't it?
Either that or a very classy imitation.
Does not sound much like the 5000 prose style I might say.
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