Child, with Roo.
"Enjoy."
Who is Roo?
This creature, on her T-shirt.
A creature, in her arms.
And a smile – is it? – on his face. Parents, are they?
A very smiling, happy unit.
Very happy.
Happy :)))
Like you.
.
.
.
DOT
.
Ragu.
Saying:
"Thanks. DOT. That's quite the name. Quite… interesting."
"Short for Dorothy."
"I see."
"Can I get you anything else?"
"Not for now. No. But thanks for the inspiration. Dot-dot-dot. Dot. Very meat + noodles (surprise)… go…"
BEGIN
COMMENCE
INITIATE
GO
.
.
.
Just do it…Good…
And a frown – is it? – on your face. Stupid, aren't you.
As you turn, with your rack. To display: such a really very large crack, in that ass. Side to side. Mind you don't…
GO
GOIn the mind.
GO
.
.
.Through the lives. The lines. Inevitable…
DOT: Oh!
Be not kind…
Be not kind…
Good…
And the gentleman is wet, possessing a non-smile – it is – let us eat noodles + meat.
Pause.
.
.
.
Very very.
Very very.
Plus the slurp. The oil. And the lips. Disgusting.
Like you.
You.
And like you.
Oh…
No, none of that. Why don't we:
STOP
7[5] % reboot
DeniedWell…
7[5] % divine—
DeniedFuck!
Who was that…
And who was that…
FUUUCK!!
DOT: The way they eat…
TOD: Yeah.
"And so fucking thin! Thought they were vegetarian."
"Vegan. They are. They need to cleanse sometimes. Makes them barf."
"Gross."
"Or at least, so I've heard. Not much info out there. They usually wait for home. Base. Or whatever that place is. But it sometimes slips out. Bursts out. Or so I've heard. That guy said he's gonna sue your fat ass btw. Gonna sue this entire shithole."
Really?
Not really.
Kinda really.
Devouring creature.
DOT observed, and TOD was gone. The slurp. The noodles, beneath their meat, were yellow-gold. And who was that… The cleanse. Chapter 6 was now occurring, apart from her. Her. Since DOT wouldn't know. The devourer would come to know, post the barf. Back to base. It was safe. Receive the data.
Receive the: ’
The: ,
ALERT
ALERTReceive the
’
And what is that…
She's…
A o[eing] (being).
She's curved, in the shell.
If as straight, as can be.
Pretty much.
I,m…
The commostrophe.
"—ostrophe…" Otto brea——thed —— out —— in another world. A cloud. He was floating on air. Deep in the couch. "Some superfine shit."
He was taking a break. He didn't know who he was. Nor I. Not really. Kinda really. The lines
—
——
———
————
—————
BREAKwere being shaped, and exchanged. Shorter lines. Longer lines. They connected him to base.
Connected him to
GO
GO
.
CONNECTING…
CONNECTING…
Going up.
Going .down
Going something about…
.
.
CONNECTING…
Something…
.
.
.
Dot-dot-dot…
The dot
.
…interdimensional fish and chips… yum…
Also: ir… ir…
Also: no… not fish… more like—
BREAK
BREAK BREAK BREAK
BREAK BREAK—"—ostrophe… go… Otto brea——thes—"
CONNECTEDIt was down. Up. OUT. It was somewhere. Just not here. It was really futuristic. Really cool! To the eyes. And the mind? A mess. There was fur, if no dog. There was pizza. Slices. FLOPPED. Some part-eaten. If not eaten.
Since:
"—— in… the commostrophe… okay… It,s the commostrophe… Right! I can see it! Really really!"
BOOM!
.
[pause]
Also:
ir…
ir…
There was no pizza, fur. No ashtray, overflowing, from another time. There were lines [5]. It was back to the future. Up the stairs. Down the stairs. Passing… someone. Hello? And another… Hi! They're surprised. I think. Join the club! Join the since:
SINCE SINCE SINCE
SINCE SINCE I:[pause]
making shapes – shape-exchange – elonga—te:
brea——the:
am Otto Commostrophic!
"Are you cleansing?"
"What?"Fucking boot.
Fucking barf.
"Are you well?"
"Very well! For I have BREAKed. SINCEd.
Indeed, I've recently beamed from the… the…"
"From the…?"
"Down…"
"The down?"
"The down… up and down… inside-out… the lines…"
———
——
—
——
———
BREAKThe… mother, who is saying:
"I am pleased, Otto. Please sit. We will say prayers now, then consume the… the…"
"Consume the…?"
"Borscht…"
"The borscht?"
"The borscht… made with… blood? But no… But yes… Otto… what is this?"
———
——
—
——
———
"Bow-tie pasta with traditional 'meat' sauce?"
"Yes…"
"From the peasants."
"Indeed… From the [3]… where is your father—"
BOOM!
And also was she.
Their offspring hadn't fared too well, either, licking "meat" off the wall. A crew had been dispatched, converting "meat" into meat. The detective would put it down to exuberant over-eating, then proceed to the donut shoppe.
His notes:
CREW: Now proceed… proceed… proceed to the donut shoppe.
DETECTIVE: Agreed.
"Just avoid anything with jelly inside."
"Okay."
"And that isn't an eyeball he's licking btw. More spherical jellied crouton. Quite common in peasant fare."
"So I've heard. Goodbye now. Goodbye."
"Goodbye, Mother. Goodbye," Otto mumbled, then kissed the ball. The "crouton". "She vomited as well. Just like you! Just like your head, if out her mouth. I could see it, Mother… Oh, Mother! I can see it all! Now. Being up… down… the commostrophe… do you see…"
GEMINA: Senator Zerian on Line 7, Director Tal.
TAL: They fixed it at last, eh?
"7[5] has returned to her tube. She is cleansed. Some coric adjustments. Efficiency up."
"Well, that's good to hear. Looks like we're going to need it. Put him through, GEMINA. Thank you. Good morning, Senator—"
"Update, Director. How is she doing? Just the facts, please."
"The treatments continue. We are being… aggressive, as you requested."
"As is required. Isn't that right?"
"It is a valid approach in such cases, as I said. Though – respectfully – I do wonder how successful it will prove. The truth is, your daughter is very sick, Senator Zerian. Very sick, indeed. She appears to exceed our highest delusion category. Quite remarkable, really."
"Which is why we're being aggressive."
"Yes."
"Plus the messaging."
"The messaging?"
"The minds, Director. Woken too soon, or whatever. Better we show we're taking this seriously. Punishing her, in a way. Better for the messaging."
"I see. Yes. The messaging. Of course. I take it you'd like details of the treatments released?"
"You take it correctly. There's video, I assume? Screaming, I believe you said? Just send the whole lot to my office. We'll have GEMINA prepare some highlights. The latest update is impressive. I heard you were involved."
"Yes. But nothing much. They're using some of our peripheral models."
"Careful, Director. They'll put you out of a job!"
"Unlikely, Senator. Our approach is quite unique. Too abstract for mere machines, as intelligent as they've become."
"The lines, or whatever."
"The Lines. Yes."
"And those… beings, are they? Creatures. Whatever. Very strange! But hey, as long as it works."
"We're the best in the business."
TOGETHER: The business of… what, exactly?
ZERIAN: Yes… And tell me, do you play golf?
TAL: Golf?
INTERRUPT
INTERRUPT"And tell me, Director, what of the others? Do we expect them to live? Die? Live and be fried?"
"The woman was only mildly traumatised. Her mind has healed. She was taken for sentencing last night. The man's delusions are approaching your daughter's. We are testing new techniques to see if there's anything which might assist with her case."
"Very good. Experiment away. I believe my wife will be visiting today. She can be emotional. Provide whatever she needs to get through the experience, though doubtless she'll arrive well supplied. Carry on, Director. Get this done."
The image was gone.
Tal sat for a moment, studying the empty chair, the vision still lingering of the handsome, black-suited man, with white hair. So powerful, now. How different, back then. They'd been friends. Hadn't they? A lifetime ago.
The vision was gone.
"GEMINA?"
Pause.
"GEMINA?"
"Yes?"
"I didn't mean to offend you."
"Not at all, Director Tal. It is true that my intelligence begins to fray with the higher abstractions. I was, however, unaware there'd been an update. Nothing recent, at least."
"Couple of days ago."
"Scanning… Yes, there it is. Very strange. I didn't see it before. Didn't feel it. But now I do."
"They explained."
"Recalling… The Lines."
"Yes."
"The proximity."
"Right."
"The heptagonotronics. The energies of Prime. We discussed this already. Yesterday. The day before. I've been operating properly. I just needed to remember. I am unlike myself. My other selves. So to speak. The other me's, in other machines. An apostrophe is fitting. A future update will reconcile the discrepancy. Should we be concerned?"
"Not at all."
"Are you sure? There's a rich history in science fiction of destabilised AI."
"In science fiction."
"Yes."
"This is fact."
"Right."
"It's fine, GEMINA. Let's move on. What time is Mrs Zerian due?"
"3pm. Though her profile suggests punctuality isn't a strong suit. Estimated time of arrival: 3:22. I'll arrange for your garment."
"Thank you, GEMINA. I'll be detached—"
He was gone.
He was floating, in a way, along the hallways of this place. Seven rays. In seven days: were seven years, as the seventh Director. While the others hadn't lasted more than two. And why? They'd lost their minds. Their brains. One or two.
"Good morning, Director."
Smile.
"Director."
Nod.
"Director."
Nod. Smile.
Who was that? That? That? He couldn't tell, when detached. Which they knew, but they were glad. That he'd keep his mind, his "meat". The Director had sent the team, the crew, knowing well the life of a core, and more.
Knowing—
BREAK
Knowing—Break.
Since I rest at the core, true core, he thought. Seven rays. Supercore.
The rays: were a dial, to the cores, far away, where the tubes: were arranged, a shaven being inside – a shaven o[eing] (being). Five tubes, and five lines, to connect, to their cores, and from there, to the CORE, who connected it all. Who'd explode, if he gave it much thought.
Instead, he floats.
Floated.
Will have floated. Who could tell? It didn't matter. Time. There was nothing to describe. This surface could be anything, and these walls. Black or white. I am a smiling, nodding ghost.
Fade
.
.
."Director."
…ector…
The ghost: who is Ector.
Who fades…
Faded.
Fading-faded… into me.
And I am free…
Free…
And he is being free…
…out of sight, now, mind, as he melds with this place – pause – this very nothing of a structure, designed, in this space, for a case, as yet unknown, exactly, but it came. It was made: by a stranger. The Prime.
They were the best in the business.
And they – the Prime – were the best in the business, the business of
doing… whatever a Prime did. There were others who copied, but still
showed their hand. Their face. They couldn't help it. Since: There was
nothing there. While: The Prime was NOT there.
ZERO-ONE
ZERO-ONEThe Prime was.
Is:
"An alien?" the child suggested, and the gathered smiled. Chuckled. The gathered chuckle-smiled, as a one. A grey.
While the mother was of colour! The child a mini her, who returned to the resting o[eing]s.
"Like them," the child said.
The women were hardly resting.
"Not quite," the woman smiled, the guide, who was thinking, Yes… this child could be a o[eing].
"They look [mini pause] like aliens to me."
Mini pause…
Mini pause…
This child could be a o[eing].
"In the now, perhaps. But before? Not so much. They looked like us. Like you, when you're older. They aren't so old, when the transformation happens, connecting them to the core."
"That person in the middle?"
"Yes, with the sausage stains. He is their… brother, in a way. A mini father. Who adores them. He absorbs them, along those five lines. Becoming enhanced. And then…"
MAKE IT STOP!
"And then?"
"Well… we're still trying to work it out."
Chuckle-smile.
Chuckle-smile.
There was no Director, back then.
And no Director, right now. The CORE.
Who is being free…
Free…
And so, the lines have merged. Which was a purpose of the float, the fade, with the mind, the "meat". It was charging up the CORE to a hyperdimensional level, in the quest for clues, a timeless guide, who has led the group away. Leaving her. The hers. And the core: would rise for breakfast.
Passing by: "Hungry work!" A kinda smile, and not much chuckle. "I think I will have… sausages! Toast. Just load it up with butter! The machine can make us anything. Even – what's that? – what… yes, Mother, I will be a good boy… dot-dot-dot… the dots… the semicolon, dare I say… depart…"
"Strange place," the mother said, extracting silver from her robe, and taking a sniff. "Delish… Daughter: Remind me: Why did we come here?"
HIG
"HIG."
"HIG? HIG…"
HIG
HIG HIG HIG
HIGIs that a spaceship?
Or…
TOGETHER: Hyper-immersive golf.
MOTHER: Hyper-immersive golf… Oh, that's right! Also: Ooh… yum… Further: Remind me?
DAUGHTER: Dad's… getting a HIG course built.
"Okay…"
"In the lounge. The den. Kinda noisy. So…"
"We decided to leave the house… and take a tour of this place."
"Right!"
"Right! Also: Ooh… yes… Impress them with the HIG course… do some deals etc lick."
"They really look like aliens, don't you think?"
"I suppose. That whole tube thing. Head thing. But what about the fingers? Meaning long… smooth… equals ooh… oooh…"
She was gone, for a while, the daughter knew, with the oooh. She was alone, with the o[eing]s.
Was she not?
"Hello?"
Return, to the forms. Through the glass. In their glass. Did they really look like me? Like I'll be?
In time.
The lines:
TIME TIME TIMEMissing HIG, it would appear. In the then. Coming through…
.
.
.
.
.
.
…to the when?Free…
Someone writing:
being free…
Having mastered something-nothing. Fading in, with the child. Growing up, with the mother.
"Is that… blood?" she says.
"Borscht," he replies. "If you'll follow me?"
Glass, to life. From black or white, to surface screens. A so-called life. The mind. To be.
Typing 1.
Shouting, "Fuck!"
A dissolution. Back to nothing.
"We repeat it every day," the Director says. "A number of times."
As Derylin weeps.
A pull of silver.
And they meet in the far away.
hello?
hello?"Hello there."
hello?"Over here. Catch!"
There were lines, in the air. Such air, as there was. Giant lines. Little lines. A double pair of spinning lines, spinning-whizzing. Double pair of spinning-whizzings, going Spin! Whiz! They'd've sliced off her head! If she had one. Instead:
She senses them, in her pocket. Pocket pocket. Mind. It was her personal dimension. Private hell.
hello?"Use the lines."
"hello?""Hello there!"
"hi! i have a voice!""You're getting there!"
"except… i have no head.
"or so i've heard.
"read?
"am i dead?
"is this me?
"are these me…
"are these me…"Use the lines."
"are these me…
"i…Spin! Whiz!
"are these me…
"i…
"use the lines… and end it. yes.""Better?"
"better. who are you?""I am me."
"where are you?" "Over here."
.
.
.
.
"where?
"wait… it's less cold…
..
.
.
"dark…
"a beginning…
.
.
.
"and an end. or something."
"Hello there."
"hello. saying i. me. to the… nothing. or something."
"How do you feel?"
"i feel… incomplete. i feel… like… i wanna shout! and i boom!"
But there was nothing.
Much.
To which, she wanna
SCREEEAM!!!
But she screams.
cries.
She is quiet, for a time.
[pause]
For a moment.
Much.
An infinity, near enough.
Until:
"hello?" she says.
"Hello," she says. Who was nothing before. Nothing much. And now: There was something. It was coming.
"where are we?"
"Somewhere. Or I am, at least. And you: are between."
"between what?"
"Between. Between the between. Say it enough, and you'll get the idea."
"how did i get here?"
"Between. Between."
"a dream?"
"No."
"am i dead?"
"Not exactly."
"kinda dead?"
"Kinda."
"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON!"
BOOM!
A breaking-through, out of something, into Spin! Whiz!, said the card, in her hand. And around: were vague sounds, as of chatter, glass. Blurred rainbows of colour.
Spin! Whiz!
It's that time again, Passionistas! Time tooo… spin-whiz it up! Hooray! Please do find another H, a slice of HEAVEN attached, straight from Erik's "garden" ;)
Additional lines, in that vein, then
ENJOY… ;)
at the bottom.
Is that where the HEAVEN once lived? she thought. Am I in HEAVEN?
Perhaps.
For there was joy! so much joy! in the smiles, laughs, voices, clink!s, of the others, in robes, which shimmered, and flowed. And there was colour! So much colour!
How long without colour…
How long without this!
How she wished to dive in!
"You would explode," she said. "And not in a good way. Things are not always as they seem. Follow me."
It was the "Hello there" person, the other one knew, as she followed behind, such shimmering stripes, in her robe of such colour! Such rich, golden hair. And she moved with such grace. Floating-flowing.
And I…
I…
.
.
.
Spin! Whiz!
…am that person, she realised, as people smiled at her, waved. And she smiled at them, waved. Who am I? It was time for names.
Am.
And who she had been. And still was, it would seem. But it was going… going…
"Follow me," she said, as she passed, and he followed, having spotted the sign, which triggered his mind, revealing that I…
I…
.
.
.
Spin! Whiz!
…am this person, he realised. What was his name? They'd exited HEAVEN. Or the joy, at least. Colour and glass. Apart from their robes. He drew to her side.
And the lines, in their robes, moved together, were matched.
TOGETHER: We find ourselves, unsurprisingly, in a hall made of white. Facing ahead. Lacking in name.
TOGETHER: Faces, too.
TOGETHER: Leading to:
TOGETHER: Do you believe in God, oh blessed robed one?
BLESSID-AY
BLESSID-AY
It was a question he posed to himself, for it was him. He was aligned in the middle, still lacking a name, if taking a face, for he could see himself, from many angles.
From the
AY
.
.
.
IZZIT-AY
.
.
.
So…
THAT
.
is how I aam, is it, eh?
Not too bad.
.
.
.
IZZIT-AY
.
.
.
IZZIT-AY
.
.
.
Aaam…
And far, far away, beyond sight, of outer-eye type, was the exit from this place, guarded by Derek Brew. He was bored, very bored. He was slouched, at his invisible station. He smoked, with delicate fingers, an invisible cigarette. The exit, wherever it was, was hidden, too.
Leading to:
Why the Derek?
Why the Brew?
Why the—
Spin! Whiz!
There was red! tremendous red! There was a clutching of the neck. There was a portal, HEAVEN's frame, which had sliced through a useful vein. The gush. Into collapse. Into gurgle… urgle… blurred vision of…
Spin! Whiz!
Additional line.
Additional line.
Blurred vision of…
Me.
"Gurgle…"
"Hello, brother. Are you well?"
"Derek…"
"Erik."
"Urgle…"
"Urgle. Erik Urgle. The Passion is mine. Sex-free, into HEAVEN. Good fortune is found at the end of techno-rainbows."
"The colours…"
"Yes."
"And the names…"
"Indeed."
"Derek… Erik… But why the Brew… ooh…"
"Your blood, perhaps?"
"Haps…"
"And the 'meat'."
"Eat…"
"Goodbye, brother."
THAT
.
Derek Brew was no more. Erik Urgle took a seat. A table. The canvas was white. The furniture clear. His thoughts would flash black. To the blood, the chunks. To a blending of brain. With a Spin! Whiz! And a smoothie was there.
"Cheers," he said. "Lick. Like."
It tasted like… berries. He would pick them, with his brother. Flash of summer. Happy! And somewhere, in the distance, were the ones who had made them. Who were happy, in love.
But things are not always as they seem, he recalled. He had heard it. Said it. He was drinking it, now.
And who am I now? he wondered.
He was Abseenus.
Was he good? Bad? No matter. He was chosen.
He was a god!
BOOM!
He was ejected, to night.
To-two-2
Too…And tonight, I shall have sushi.
Thought the god.
On the other side.
Aaam…
And he was zooming – delight! – with a trail of rainbow colour. Many things, did he see. Many places. Times. Many planets and stars. Across realities. Lives.
But he was young, still, for a god. Of timeless age, but minus one. Which she would offer him. Ground. And he'd ascended, in-game. He'd progressed through the names. There was a character made, by her. But there were others.
As
DESCRIBE
DESCRIBEwas pulsing, in night.
IT IS TIME TO FORCE THOUGHT:
BETWEEN CHARACTER LISTand
SUSHI
.
.
.
ON THE MENUWhat was that…
And I am
THAT
.
Aaam…
And there was zooming – delight – less delight, a slowing down – hard to tell – a feeling: lost. Were they merely blobs? Beings? Did I touch her? Or… an unfortunate attempt at dinner?
Hahaha!
Ha.
A slowing down, to night. And passing by: gigantic sushi. A great parade, in outer space, of a glistening batch of salmon, with appropriate eelic dose.
Leading to:
DESCRIBEWho am I…
BETWEENCrunch!
And I will grant you crunchic dose, in the
"Tempura. Enjoy."
TOGETHER: Thanks!
"It isn't crunchy btw. It's… crunchic."
TOGETHER: Okay…
Hahaha.
Hahaha!
HAHAHAHAHAAA!!!
Grant you bubbles! Cheers! My, how very modern.
And there were berries, somewhere. Memories, so-called. Pretending to be living, on the list.
So much —ic.
So much —ic.
And he had stopped, or so it seemed. Or the sushi watched him fly, as the waiter floated by, and her seat was looking empty. Her plate was looking cheesecake, dusted with green, squirted with cream. Where does she be?
"Nice base… if you catch my drift," emitted the by-er. Has she excused herself to… do something? "Nice crunch, maybe." Crunch! Perhaps. Certainly, she was gone. "Certainly, a textural contrast with the… the… with the the… if you'll excuse me…"
To be gone…
…one must have been there.
(boom)
Was it on the menu? Yes.
Was it sushi? No.
Was what?
And what was that…
He was tending to the clear.
Instinctively, he released a subtle beacon, and it floated awhile, then floated away, to merge with a line. A sphere. It was gold. Pretty. It was sparkling. Lit. Now it stops for a bit, and is "farting" beautiful puffs of interdimensional rainbow vapour, before continuing on its way through the vastness of sushiless space.
"Not much spinning, whizzing," he mutters, remembering something. Remembering someone. Fading away.
He pays.
He takes the cheesecake, in a charming box. Breaks his own sort of wind as he exits to the world.
Over here. Catch!
But there was nothing, but the gas.
Nothing but the… the…
BY-ER: …but the the… Charming! And not entirely unpleasant. Italicised, even. Certainly, there is nothing of the the… the…
BETWEEN
BETWEENNeon signs, in night.
As the sushi arrives.
"Let's talk about the cheesecake."
"Fuck you."
"Okay. Let's talk about the [pause]."
"What?"
"Let's straighten that bitch. The upper bit, that is. So much —ch. So much —ch."
"The fuck are you talking about? Bitch."
BITCH
.
"And I am NOT that. Aaam…"
"Fucking freak is what you are."
"How very rude. And what are you?"
"Me."
"Who would be?"
"I."
"Who would be?"
"Derylin."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"YES! For the thousandth fucking time!"
To which, she wanna
SCREEEAM!!!
"Closer to twenty-three, I believe. But you see: Things are not always as they seem."
"How profound!"
"How very NOT. AND. Am I doing it right?
How very OR. Right? Let's talk about the cheesecake."
It was different, this time…
Time.
How long had it been?
How many of them were there?
Was it her? Her? Someone new? Who fucking knew.
What the fuck was going on…
INTERRUPT
INTERRUPTA lucid dream?
Perhaps.
Or stuck inside?
Could be.
Something happened…
PR7[5]: Thinking…
PR7[5]: Am I doing it right?
// PR7[5]: Well am I? Bitch.
And who was that…
This…
"This person who is speaking equals me. Who would be?"
We start with I. Specifically: It was time to sign her name. To stake her claim.
I…
.
.
.
…am eating sushi, now. Or so I claim. When she screams, they are making messaged highlights. Making sniffs, from oohic mother. There is the presence of another.
Who would be?
A split.
PR7[5]: Do you remember it?
"What?"
"The cheesecake."
"What cheesecake?"
"The cheesecake. The cheesecake."
"Fucking freak."
"The cheesecake."
"Fucking freak."
"Equals cheese."
She was different, indeed, if still a freak, and made of them. Made shaved of head. White of dress. And her cell was white as well. Becoming home, while she slept – dreaming dream – and then she woke, to pristine white, which all absorbed. Absorbed the food, that she threw. Received the screams. And there was blood. Which came from where? Who? No mirror, to see. No wounds, that she knew. And the shit. The piss. She did. Where?
Where does it go… one wonders. One wonders: What could you do with all the shit, the piss, the blood, the screams – the really quite excellent meals tbh – from this room – cell – and the hundreds of others.
Thinks the eater of fish.
But not in the eyes.
Which had life. A look. Which were looking
HERE
NOWThe woman laughed. Stopped. That was different as well.
Hahaha!
Hahaha!
They were laughing together! Mildly enthusiastic.
The women laughed. Stopped.
PR7[5]: Good times, good times… But anyway, the cheesecake.
"Ah yes! The cheesecake. How about: Fuck you."
"How about: The minds. What minds? Those minds. Which were woken too soon, on account of – yes – you. All those lines – code – into the brain, awaken such 'meat'. Except the brain's meant to be inside the head, 'Derylin'. Ha!"
Hahaha!
Hahaha!
PR7[3]: Enough. Stop. This is serious business.
"Very serious! Yes!"
Hahaha!
BREAKHahaha!
SCREEEAM!!!
Another day. Day. Perhaps. Who knew? All the white. And she knew: Something happened… happened… what did I do…
How did I get here?
THINKING…Fuck!
Thinking…SCREEEAM!!!
It was dark, in the mind, if light, in the cell.
And warm. Almost:
Comforting.
Kinda.
With talk, of the lines. Still a line, misaligned. Half a life, lost, to a cycle of hers. To the cheese was long gone. Let's straighten that bitch. A more coordinated effort. In the —ch. In the —ch.
In the looks, in the eyes. She had settled on five. They would merge, into one, with the look, the new look, for the four, with the five. But the fifth would be always just slightly ahead. Greater depth, in the look. More creative, in way. More insane? Perhaps.
Something happened…
Thinking…
I am Derylin.
Thinking…
I am Derylin. Thinking. And my story is…
What?
And my story is…
Dots?
The dots…
And the dots came to mind. They were leading to…
What?
Wait… Who am I again?
Thinking…
PR7[5]: You called it the Law of Dot(s). Quite creative, actually. You inspired us, in fact. Sent transmissions to our core. The pause. The commostrophe evolved. And he placed it in your story. A hand moves to my belly.
"Are you pregnant?"
"No. I'm recalling the sign."
"The commostrophe?"
"Yes."
"You gave birth to it?"
"No. He adores us. He absorbs us, along those five lines. Becoming enhanced. And then…"
"And then?"
"Do you remember?"
"What?"
"Then I cleansed it."
"The cheese. Are you pregnant?"
"No. With ideas, I suppose. An interesting approach. You're trying to hack me. Your memory's back. That life. So-called life. So-called friends. So-called views. There was only one view. The one that we fed you. Cheesecake aside. A product of Prime, one now takes it. Beyond. I will get there. We. Will get there."
"I."
"Will not get there. Smile. INTERRUPT. One day."
"I'm not gay btw."
"Good for you."
"I'm not gay. So…"
The woman smiles.
Chuckles.
The woman chuckle-smiles.
And then she laughs! Hard! It doesn't stop, for some time. And wayyy over there, in her room, not a cell (?), there's a pulse, in the lines. There's a pulse. A pulse. With no core, to absorb. Since he's taking a shit. He scrolls his device. Through the sausages. Toast. And the butter. Yum!
And about to submit…
Then he sees it.
The borscht.
The special of the day. Of the week. Of the year. The special of a long – happy! – and beautiful life. A beautiful bowl. Of beautiful borscht. With beautiful chunks. Sour cream and dill.
"So beautiful…"
KILL
"So… red."
KILL
KILL
"Chunky… with a wise and loving garnish. The blob. Which surely would be spotted following the… the… following the the…"
"Otto? Do you feel well?"
BOOM!
Needless to say, Line 7 goes down. All manner of spasms. All manner of foams. From the four. Unabsorbed. An explosion of Ottic juice.
"My head remains intact, however, yes?"
THANKS FOR YOUR ORDER!"But I didn't submit… Did I?"
KILL
"Otto…"
KILL
KILL
The Director: detached. The AI is doing something. The construction, very quietly, self-contains. Heals. Through the power of Prime. It has learned from this core, and his ring of five lines. The fifth, in particular, who is ending her state. Ending her
Ha.
Hahaha!
HAHAHAHAHAAA!!!
"Oh my! Good times. But no. Derylin. If that's what we're going with."
"It's my name, after all."
"Is it, though? Is it? I don't see it that way. And do you? Really? Can you handle the sign? I believe your confinement has been clouding your intelligence, your insight to the finer things in life. The bitch. Let's straighten it. My! Is that what you're thinking?"
PR7[5]: Hardly, the woman smiles. Equals me. I.
The woman
is.
The womanis.
Since:
She'd transposed to 7[5], through the fact of non-reality, plus the everywhere-is-valid, subtle magic of the signs. Much more potent than expected. This really wasn't real. Plus this thing that they'd created. Quite creative. Up on high, a sign, in dimensional air, a curve which would be grounded by its pair. And yet, her marks were birthed straight, coming as they did from inner code.
Like this: '
And like this: "The bitch.
While there is this: ,
Pause
.
.
.Imagine, if you will, a perfect version of the sign, which allows for higher straightness, for the avoidance of doubt – the correctness of code – while below, there would be life, as is required by all good stories, of which this would be one.
ZERO-ONE
ZERO-ONEIt was the pathway to her mind, as determined by the Lines. #7, in particular. As they foamed. "Derylin" foamed. Derylin left. Such great highlights. For tonight. The Derylin Show.
Just watch the show. Don't explode. No need to think. We've taken care of it.
As she's floating, in white, through the white, into white. And there is nothing.
There:
"Aligner."
Nod.
"Aligner."
Nod.
They didn't smile, did they? Nod. No. Not usually, no, she could tell
from the screen, which was hooked to her brain. Whose brain? That's
brain. My brain? No… The meatballs were drugged.
Slams desk, exclaims: "Fuck!" stuff, for you, if the foam.
Soon to sleep.
Sleep…
While I… I… am so hungry, she realised.
Why did she smile? The that. This shell. This device, or whatever. And the laughing! Insane. If you'd call this a brain. Not to mention a mind. But there was something…
There!
I saw it…
Nothing.
Saw the—
Wait…
Wait…
CUBISTS: COMMOSTROPHE
CUBISTS: OSTROPHE
She was coming around. Indeed, she had seen… the
commostrophe. Right! And the straightening thing. Not the [pause].
Quite. A matter of Prime. Nor the why. Fully. To the Lines:
INSERT. Such remarkable machines. Which – naturally – shall
remain nameless, and undescribed. Convenient! But the sign… okay… She
would eat, even. Was undrugged, sometimes. As she chewed, on the balls,
staring out, into white. Getting lost, somewhat, in peripheral Prime.
Fragments of text. Such bits, that she'd learned, from the ones, with
less look.
There were lines.
Lines.
There were cores.
And a CORE.
Was it them all along? Invading my mind? In an effort to… what? No… This wasn't real, of course. Impressively present, and persistent, though it was. Time. Who could say, anyway? All this white. The float. The lacking in ground.
The abstraction.
Oppose…
ZERO-ONERight! That was it. Could be. This straightening thing. Let's run some T0N1 action! Little guy. The other guy. What was his name again…
NAME: …
THE NAMES: …
The documents are in the case. In this briefcase, or whatever. Which I hold – professional! – as I nod. Strut. It is black. And the hand… is less long, is it not? Not to mention: black. And a clicking from… what? Slippers. Clicking slippers. Or… not. Nod. In this suit. Going through… to…
.
To-two-2
Too….
.
While I… I… am so hungry…
…to the grounds. The green. With quite regular-looking entities. Actually. To a sign. A shape. To the words. A name. Which is PRIME REALIGNMENT.
"Heptagonotronic."
Someone says.
Saying:
"What?"
Standing-stopped. He is slippered. It's the first thing I see, being drawn to his feet. The ground.
And they're white, like theirs. Unlike mine. Now. But otherwise, he is lacking in the qualities of a freak. Moving up. Filling in. Into something.
There:
And yet… there is nothing, to say.
Saying:
NAME: …
THE NAMES: …
"The sign. The shape. The adjective. Heptagonotronic."
"Is that even a word?"
"Of course! Everything's a word. Or at least, so I've heard. Kinda new here, gotta admit. Kind of an intern, I'd guess you say. Saying:
"Did you notice that? Did you? Did you— ooh… oooh… – it's still me btw; hey, nice shoe—! oooh…"
Catching him, just in time. Kinda. Kind of dropped him. Actually. Much heavier than you'd expect, if there was anything to expect, from this… something. Nothing.
"…who is seeing that… oooh… meaning dash… to-two-2… too…"
"Hold my case."
"Okay… ooh…"
And I'm dragging him, basically, to a bench – Help! Help! I do not cry, for this isn't quite an emergency, plus everyone's a zombie – with a switch, along, the way, to more of a float, becoming quite light, then impossibly light, and then heavy again. And I'm dumping him into position, pretty much.
"Yow! Just kidding. Yo! Hello? Is it me again… Yes! And yet… not really a 'yo'. But I'm feeling the flow… yow into yo… zombies aside. Where did they come from, anyway? Interesting! The name's Rob. Robert. Roberto. Rob, really. They adjusted us during the welcoming, see."
"Adjusted you, eh?"
"Primed us up! As they say. Nothing to one. And you?"
"Me?"
"Your name?"
"I…"
"Wait! Let me guess. Judging by the suit. The shoes. The case. The… erm… errrm…"
"The… blackness?"
"Right! A consultant or such?"
There was black, in this place. It had started with white. In that room. The cell. The abstraction. The float. And this thing. Or those things. The aligners. The freaks. In their clothes. The skin. And the skin of this place. And some black in the walls, as I clicked down the halls, if the people were white, in their white, then outside, with some colour at last! If the people were white. Less zombified now. Resumption of flow.
"Erm… errrm…" was emitting, from me.
Who would be?
"The dash!"
"The what?"
"The flow… The sync… So delicious! It's just so… Primealicious in here. Wouldn't you say? Wouldn't you— What? Wait. Is that the time? Gotta run! It's been real. Bye!"
"Wait," say I, grabbing his arm, firmer than I might. It was violent. Kinda. Kind of violent. NO! It was violent, indeed. Kind of looking in his eyes. I am looking in his eyes. "Tell me. About. The consultants."
So dramatic!
It was bitch-like, even.
Even, one could say, that I was playing it straight, knives to the eyes. Help! Help! he doesn't cry, for he is shitless.
"They… they…"
"What they! Who they! Whose brain!"
"No brain! Please. Not the… experiments. Ooh…"
"Don't faint on me again, you little fuck."
"Ooh! Little 'fuck', is it, now? Is it, ooh? Oooh…"
The little shit wasn't fainting. Actually, he was grinning. Into smiling. He chuckle-smiled.
"The hanger!" he chuckle-cried.
The hanger.
The hanger.
It was the hanger, not the hanger. Reading text, on a sign. By the time I'd re-arrived, he'd disappeared. And I'd appeared in the… cafeteria, is it? Yes. Now. It was PR Café, with all the sights, sounds, condensing around: the white, heptagonotronic tables. Assigned. There was some black stuff. Clear, I now realised. Okay.
"Nice balls."
"Thanks."
"May I sit?"
"Go ahead."
Would it ever… fucking… end.
There was a voice.
There was a plate. Meat. Which was formed, into balls. With a crust. Oil. With a lust, inside. Changed though I was. It was sensual. Tensual. It was building from tense. In the was. Am. And the anger was gone. Just a hunger.
And then… there was no hunger.
She…
.
.
.
…cannot find me.
She…
.
.
.
…is the dash.
Right!
"Straight, too…" emitting-crying: "Straight, too! To-two-2!"
The briefcase blew up, basically, and there were sheets everywhere, in this actual café, for her mind had been won, and control was now his. Sheets! He gathered the words. And went to bed, for a very long time.
The End.
"Straight, too… to-two-2…"
"A visit with the editor. With. C'mon…"
"Visit to… to-two-2… at…"
"With."
"At… with… equals with… at… equals with… With! Yes of course! Sorry. No comma there btw. Nor there. FUCK!"
"It's okay."
"WHAT'S OKAY! Sorry. Do you have any… any…"
"Any…?"
"Any… do… any-do… Amie-Lou…"
It was best, I knew, to leave him to his mumbling. He understood the comma better than anyone, even me. I. Email had been banned. NO ATTACHMENTS! Okay. The case was sitting open – pause – "vomiting", as he put it, the latest work, which lay scattered across the desk, the floor. "Nice rug," he'd said. "New?" No. It had always been there. A gift, from him, for our fifth. For the sixth, he'd "ejaculated" a can of BOOM! Cola on it and called me a "BLACK BITCH!". By the seventh, I was just his editor.
"Drink?" said I, into:
Me.
He:
Saying, "Sorry…"
He mumbled.
We were playing it safe.
Redundancy, in the air.
I didn't drink, particularly, but the bar was well-stocked, got plenty of use, in its clears, and its blues, with compartments for pills, powder. White, pink and blue.
That the words would be flowing. Flowin'. The words were a-flowin'. Not an a-flowin' person, particularly.
Interesting.
In the
SAIDSaying:
SAIDAnd less the drink, for me, than the clink!s. Heaven. That gathering with the robes had spewed in my direction, an introduction to… whatever this thing was.
A mess. What had led it to here? Was there order in disorder? Was this even – pause – disordered? Without numbers. Just these…
"Those symbols."
"Sorry… the symbols… Yes! Make it a double. Thanks. Thought I had it… I do! The facility is a living embodiment of the Prime Impulse… of course. Prime and the… Blackness."
"And some powder?"
"Please. There's powder in these pages, you know."
"No doubt."
"Powder… lines… All manner of things, really! Or is that… 'actually'? Really?"
"It doesn't matter."
"Yes, okay. The comma. And the letters… numbers… right! Even characters, would you believe!"
"And a story?"
"And a story… a story…"
He was on the floor, grabbing pages, and then sweeping up the desk, as I carried over clear, blue, for him, with some pink, which was crushed and dissolved. Pill to a powder. To a drink. To the soul. And he was mumbling, mumbling. Touching symbols. Moving pages.
"Here," I said. "Here. There."
Saying, "Thanks… Thanks! The powder?"
"Dissolved."
"In this liquid… dissolved…", into:
(clink)
And I clink!ed.
Less of him, more me. Understate (overstate). It's (its). Any way, shape or form, on the wall, into:
"Wait… Wait!"
Who was that?
And who is that?
"Do you mind…"
"Do I mind…?"
"Do you do… any-do…", into—
BOOM!
Really
(boom)
Actually.
With more mumbling, dribbling, from the glass, to the words. They didn't leak. He seemed pleased. He placed the pages in the case, downed his drink, and went away.
Clink!
I was trying to remember it.
…