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iv. Morse-Code Flickering of a Flame (in th loins)

"Hello Deadies!" said the boy to the gated property. It was an old cemetery and they followed their feet between the saint of medicine and the saint of computer, –– that is, the tall statue of Doctor Ross Decklin and Mister Stently Cheznit, the king of nerds. Beneath their stone shoes were words engraved:
"The mind is a body of water, and without the proper boundaries it will spill out the ears and man will behave like a bleeding animal," read the text beneath the doctor.
Beneath the technician read the words he once said, "Man wears the computer with his eyes, like a proper pair of glasses which see into a body of knowledge, and the computer in turn wears man as its conscience."
"No, I am a walker," said Virginia when He-Joliet began to run, "I was not born to run. I land on the outsides of my feet and beat the glue between my ankles."
"Demonstrate," he demanded, and she threw her first foot forward and stepped onto her ankle, swung her second foot forward and spoke a raspy Ow because that was her voice: her voice was like a boy's, a boy who smoked his father's cigarettes and burned freckles into his face.
"I have a few suggestions," spoke he politely, "shoot first your knee and prepare your foot to land properly."
She laughed and nodded, her short boy hair did swing with the quick movement of youth, "you've got me figured out again! I am your rock to be chiseled, just like your women previous. No, I like it, really, they are all artists now. You boy, I think I will thank you!"
"Thank me all you want with your mouth, I would much rather prefer a long handshake or a hike along your chest plate."
"Stop," said she, "there are spies in the bushes."
"You are nothing but paranoid, and these berries are completely indifferent to you, unless you were one hydrogen and two oxygen."
And what stopped their feet from stepping? It was a strange sound to wake the ears on their hearts: the simultaneous singing of a crowd of grown men and women, th low moan of a quiet riot.
"Do you take to your ears th' sounds of howling?"
She grew her ear, "Howling is a curlier moan, these are words spoken from each mouth identically."
And they were frightened and amused, moving toward a hypothetical gathering of engaged adults. He spoke, "It feels as if we are walking into a room where two figures engage in expressive sex."
"Their words come honestly, their voices weave in and out of my ears like frighteningly intimate music."
"Have you noticed the sensation of hot rose tea beneath the roof of your sinus?" spoke he, and he crawled himself along her arm with his fingers. She laughed a young woman's gaudy laugh and began walking forward, breaking away his scarce fingers feeling.
"You are moving toward the white chapel, aren't you, woman!" shouted he with love-tones in his throat. Upon hearing his handsome call, and not the words he spoke, she began moving sweet as maple through the air with the airborne flower-chutes. She gathered herself into the white chapel and walked through a curtain of dead insects.
"In there you are without an exit!" the young boy plotted with a quick trumpet on his tongue. The girl did shriek, upon feeling stiff microscopic hands along her skin and through her shirt, "I am covering my clothes with citizens of dirt!"
"Let me in there to clean," said he with extra concern, "and perhaps a careful study of your color I have earned."
"It will be enthusiastic red on humiliating white," said she when he came into the window's spilling light. He reached his hand forward and removed four spiders, two thousand gnats and the empty shells of five termites. The last two carcasses he reached to wipe were on her breasts about to bite.
"A shew-brute glass-stained Indiana locust! And a wax-mouthed spider in a police man's uniform!" came the card trivia from the mouth of the boy.
"Just bring your finger nail between th' hooks of their hands and my best winter blouse being worn in the autumn."
"It is autumn now isn't it?"
"Now you are color blind?"
And his fingers wiped her breasts, and the skeletons fell, and his face became red with magnet longing. Wet flesh was drawn to wet flesh. Their lips were red of alarm, sewn by juvenile spit. Their tongues came together as creatures in the rain, rubbing.

15 Jan 09

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 — OKcomputer