[-empyre-] start of july......directions

Angela Ferraiolo aferraiolo at gmail.com
Sat Jul 19 02:16:08 EST 2008

>> 1. With the brakes chewed, their front axel pops over the planters. And
>> with a spooling swerve they crash their van past the front porch into a mud
>> thatched oak. (JN)
>> 2. "Now its your turn," Whistler laughs. "I think she's good for one
>> more." The way his left eye bulged still bothers Denim, but he knows better
>> than to say anything, especially when Whistler is in this kind of mood. (AK)
>> 3. But they were car poor. Such high tops, as in shoes. Not Whistler's
>> shoes as he is shoe rich. Jeans as names and the birds, those moody fear
>> mongers, can lift the trees, such bark heavy alarms. (JN)
>> 4. the van's headlights screened by the mud from the oak their
>> electric light washing over the walk the porch the house itself unlit
>> empty the street almost stubbornly dark the moon divided the stars
>> fracturing in the now cracked glass of the van's windshield their
>> reflection faintly lighting shards of glass splinters of the front
>> porch the cracked pottery of the ruined planters suburbia's uniform
>> order cancelled now like a series of bad checks until finally the
>> headlights went out too a door down the street opening and then
>> slamming not followed by footsteps but only by a more complete silence
>> the night pushing on Whistler beginning to perceive the low rush of
>> air entering and leaving his lungs the silhouette of Denim's face a
>> distant curve that slid lower as Whistler strained to lift his head by
>> degrees by inches forward skyward up causing the moon to scatter
>> deliriously across the crazed glass stretching dilating revolving and
>> then inverting again as incapable Whistler fell back staring into
>> shadow unable to quit listening to the now flat growing unbearable
>> silence of the night where he could sense an approach of some kind of
>> outcome indifferent unnameable yet as certain as dawn and he thought
>> (af)
> 5...his  synth_suit. all p[l]ocked.mar[c]ked + r[l]e[i]s[ure]in bound. no
> crash was programmed  4 this session!?
>     6. He took off the suit, and was about to write a quick complaint  to
> the project manager, when he changed his mind and phoned her instead.
>        "Hello S ? We need a team meeting. ...I've just exited from
> World(3)... ...The violence bug is no better but it's still not ready for
> user testing.  Unless the
>         violence is turned down we will never be able to present  World(3)
> as a replacement for focus groups and polling surveys which is the supposed
>         purpose...11Am.." And wondered when and if world(3) would ever be
> ready for the clients.  (s)
>         7. ' i want 2 b emptee '
>               sd S
>              'emptee of vishyuns n 10shyuns
>               n memoreez uv dreems 4 a whil
>               so hunee what do u want from me
>               tho we r alredee heer wer gonne put a trackr on u
>               feel the ekstasee as it cums 4 u ... '   (if)
then the laugh as feared as expected his voice over the cel suddenly
amplified approaching unreasonable so that the part of herself still
struggling with words suddenly withdrew the hotel bed shrinking the
phone itself now useless the tracker already blinking and the
something within her which had no need of body moving pushing out
scanning the room's pressurized furniture nylon curtains plastic
windows its artificial walls themselves dissolving under a moment of
observation as placid as a child's who suspects it will be orphaned
who has always suspected and who finally abandoned can somehow
concentrate for minutes before making even the slightest gesture it
was four o'clock she (af)

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