Glodon had a problem with spontaneous pixelation. Glodon didn’t tell anyone. No one knew. Not a soul.

One day, while raking the colorful autumn leaves, Glodon slipped around the corner for a smoke, pixelated, and then just disappeared.

No one knew where Glodon went. No one looked because no one cared.

Meanwhile, Glodon had slipped into a place where there was no space. Glodon’s conscience defined his existence. At any given moment in a universe without time anyplace becomes every place if there is an awareness of space.

Glodon liked it. It made his nonexistent heart go fast.

Glodon learned to control his pixelation. All he had to do was slip around the corner to have a smoke while raking colorful autumn leaves–flash-flash- he was pixelated.

Glodon would do things while he was pixelated. He was there. He was in a space within a space that used no space inside of the space it was in. In a place where everyplace is everywhere anywhere can easily lead to anyplace. Time is just a place where time is all the time all at once.

Glodon would create poetry while he was in this pixelated state. Here he could be a poet. He would write poorly contrived and awkward little rhymes;

Blue
Not blue
Blue
Not blue

. . . and he was happy.
.
.