energetic twisteries

 the story of our engergetic twisteries of ou

.. .

Q sat.   on a Thursday, no less, is more.  day became night as was the middle ground of the evening and carried on, as he was in normality, his brain jiggled just with the bits of telephonery which was perhaps a call yet to be answered.  and so it rang.

ring.

the switchboard was dusty in a corner part of town in which the operator sat, near plugs in near disrepair for the facts of conversations on blocks which hummed alongside each other from house to house and with the banks of women who managed our heavenly connection towards and about each other and for the days past and nights out to come, and even the idling where young women spun loose a chord of wire on their beds, to dream of being old to be young again, and to spend the nights about it all and dance and find their love in art and all the while draw from dreams we shared, and share through voice on this, these copper metals, found not so long ago in the fires of community minerals, worn gently as gifts and for the art of it all, she spoke, as in the bicycle she stowed for her rememberance of childhood, and the promise of her perpetual remainder in the pursuit of such a skill to ride.

'it wasn't all in the letter, it was more in his character, you know, his language, as in well versed and, well.. how's things picking up for you?'  

//

meranda sat with her notebook, opened to page eleven, with our friends the EGS pondering away at her now poetry as she stammered for a continuation of the verse.  her television was on pause, taped earlier, and frozen in still life was the static jumps of the magnetic heads which bore efforts to grip around taped heads with a taught calibration which was the expectation of motion.  she picked up the phone and dialed by stored memory.  chllnk.  

Q's hand reached over to dim the light and picked up the receiver, and answered in his usual way, which was not to speak but just listen.  meranda by way of her nature chose to make calls in the same fashion, fashioned after the idea that an operator would introduce them to her.

she waited and they both sat, with silent electrics lit from edgy retrospect.

'well you could at least. . .'

'hello freedom.  I imagined it was you.  good thinking using land.. its all up in the air these days, eh?'

she grinned, 'and sea.  by the bay, still in and about, are we?  up for anything or am I still taking notes?'

'well how are the little guys. . . still taking up poetry?  got a bit of life on the marginal edge of justified rule, eh?'

'they're sleeping.  I think the theatre blew their mind or something. . . I think we went overboard, as in overshot the arc, eh?  I think they'll be alright, but they're on my mind.. you know how that works'  she thought about Geneva, and picked up a cookie.

Q thought about the EGS and imagined them tucked into their paper beds, shielded by the pulpy puppets of their own artistry in fractal dynamics.  they ran on whatever cycle was available, as in a sine wave, but meranda noted how well they adapted to her cadence of rest and dark to motion.  it was their nature to survive, and even though she worried about their well being, she didn't want to run them unnecessarily, and so they rested on that desire.

Meranda too had adjusted, in part because of the year long project to get these guys, and moreover for the needs of the immediate, as now adaptation had introduced her to paths not yet traveled.

she clicked on the stereo and hung with Q, on the curved wire which doubled in length as they found each other in the middle their circle, at once and more.

is it me?  came the silence in electrics

grappling.  whenever you pick up this phone it rings in my head.

music played.

characters typed the teletype from a history of the copper, wired up as a memory

what is it you want me to say?  is it what you want? is that us? how are we, still? from side to side, together and left, apart or in our minds eye, frayed in sunshine like the iris of triangles you wrote me about today? he glanced around as if to ask somebody else, and they looked, as they always do and he looked back to find her, while she turned simultaneously towards and away him and on and around they searched for the bit to find each other, quite literally that bit which is always on and on and about origin.

so she spoke: 'you know you're not allowed to do that to me, I mean you are, but .. you know.. I can't handle the correlation with this many people on the wire.. how can we think or know anything about anything if the line gets hijacked as in those lunatics with the chemicals to seep around the glassier parts of our eyes?'

silence.  well I say silence, there was an actual amount of incredible silence on the line, that is the natural background of the universe, with the only solid connection at the end points of our defunct pac bell.

'put that aside' was her voice. 'the background is just like the film we watched, it changes to match the foreground, and if you stare into it, it'll change the foreground too, you know that, you're writing in both dimensions'  he worried for a second, 'well that hertz, he tried to grin, as in the cycle, and exactly 11 times 22 + 20, that's middle C.  I've been studying about circles.  they've got me spinning, and not in the predictable benefit of ways, ya know'  

"I'm hungry," Meranda blurted.  'of all the things.. well materially speaking, my gut feel is a little overloaded on chocolate...  Here let me put you on hold.' she put the receiver onto her speaker and it played some light dance techno from the 90s into Qs ear.

he got up and walked around too, with the telephone to his ear, and his eyes around and about the place, as he was out of it a bit, and out of time, and his desire to continue to create was impeded like this copper wire, with more than enough electricity to keep the circuit, but ne're an activity of voice towards either side to promote wellness, in their personal maths of disruptive not disruption, as in to say their continuity was.. well it was reasoned that a focus on nothing in particular had let him and others in and around and off their rockers, rocked the light switched on on the wall where more copper climbed into and around the concrete, thoughts of foundation, as in the series.  and he searched.  and he hurt.  and he jabbed away at keys to his mind, because he couldn't find rest.  and rest is not what he desired, and so they reasoned he wouldn't find it, and they tried with him to find it for him, but what was it?  they knew... did he?  

'well, that's impossible' she got back on the line.. 'we're out of chocolate.. I mean.. she stammered.  'Q.'  she waited.  'I know you're writing this down.. what should I say?  do you know the corr.. . ' she paused. 'you're doing it again'  

he was.  he was jabbing at his mind to find her words in spacial time, without listening, so used to the chaos now, that he once enjoyed to power over with a spark which lit up the party line.  

'you can't keep on this way'  her voice was slow, 'there's too much stuff, the material.. the light.. its randomized, and you know what that means.. and by that know you're going to pause and tell me about it, if that will make you feel better.  and you know it might.'

Q gently recovered for a second, and began again.

the narrative turned for Q to speak, and he did, in his usual way, and that was unusual.  'the meter.. its sticking the verses together.. like.. the cadences are off.. the lights are on and they just change intensity and the sensory spectrum was hitting at random pockets in between edges of what should be thought was body, and an idea was an appendage of an action, and so on, there was both overlap and underlap, and a body at rest was not restful or resting, as in that API where you're not supposed to do the work.  

'you're too focused on that quadrant,' she poked at her cranium as if he could see her. 'you know that's the overflow from these bits, ' she flashed her breasts into a mirror in her room and smiled, adjusted herself, and straightened her jacket she was wearing.  'its not going to go anywhere, unless you can plug the leak..'

the light translated to frequencies of urgency in her, I mean his, I mean... well their voice.. 

'maybe some rest, you know.. I mean.. let me look something up.. I'll put on some history and it'll be find for a moment..  do you want the audio?'

'I'll do with it, get on track, and get back to me.'