The Emulsion of Lise Meitner
            in the Island of the Transparent Heartbeat

There are equations in a cactus — crystals suspended in the impossible purpose
of the Aztecs — but for Lise Meitner, the chain reaction pointed to a convex
stone shop alone in the world of three layers, and the calendar was a snake.

                                    What is exposed to find the world? What failure would stretch them?

The inevitable was to know it all for 74 minutes, in the thorax, which is a tiny
island surounded by the same, the visible world as seen by the base of the physics
and used exclusively for the swamp. The priests said the questions must wait,

                           questions afraid of the gelatin and questions modified in the moment.

                                                She too worked in the moment but with a thin layer of other
                                                                     to occupy the fear of what they’d find in the light.

“Hollow” days sweating the possibility of veins for the essential ingredient in the stacks.

Lise Meitner spent her days worrying that the Aztecs were an eagle eating a race
to occupy the world, that the scientists in the cactus, called codices, would ascend
to declare that from these glasses all people were built.

She understood that the uncertainty of their ritual for reproduction involved the right
of the answer to be clouded by emulsion — she struggled with it — the wearing
of the ambiguity and the white, a volunteer of the island in the transparent heartbeat.

Jeffrey Little | Mudlark No. 22
Contents | Martin Buber