Call Answer - Now Attract
Tapping like distant, twirling, helicopter blades. Scurrying like little animation animals. Amber like reminiscence of eras past. The dots stabilized, drifted, conducted heat, were swathed in self-aware consciousness, swung like sweeping flags, itched. He caused himself a headache. His face scrunched like a shriveled grape. His forehead rubbed his nose. His eyes underneath layers of layered eyelids. He caused himself a headache. He was as noiseless as the white tiles beneath him, except for his breathing, he shared a ghostliness with them. Besides it’s self-compression, his face was vacant, drifting as if no thought to conduct it. What do you think it is? A jungle? A song? The only thought he could ever pay any attention to was the thought that the dots he saw or thought he saw when making his face as shriveled as could be, must have been the most natural of what he could perceive. The dots, the melody and cacophony of them, must be some sort of nature, maybe a jungle, maybe a song. He made his face as shriveled as a grape, and caused himself his constant headache.