Playing. Playing up to the crowd: beating a drum to sound out the script.
Pulling away, the sound of strings played a hundred years ago, ghosts crammed next to the present. The disintegration of time, right here. An era of proximity with ghosts. The nauseating vacuum of lost dimensions.
Reverberation. A sickening blur of fire.
words not mine: "Today, too, i experienced something I hope to understand in a few days. Around my left hand was shining a ring of hazy white flames..."
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Incinerary intentions. The sound of raking coals, preparing a bed. A mattress.
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A Fictional Dialogue, late afternoon:
1: What happened to you today?
2: I just couldn't get up this morning.
1: So what did you do all day?
2: I stayed in bed and read about Jesus.
1: Well, are you going to come out tonight?
2: No, I need to get lots of rest for my baptism tomorrow.
1: Baptism? Where are you getting baptized?
2: Oh, this guy I know from work, he has a big pool he uses for it.
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Big City.
A man is walking on the sidewalk, but he is suddenly hit by a mattress someone throws out of a second storey window. He is knocked down. A woman approaches him:
W: Are you alright?
M: I..i think so. Some jerk hit me with a mattress.
W: Are you injured? Can you walk?
(Rises) M: Yes, I think I'm ok. Thank you.
W: Is that your briefcase over there?
M: Yes, thank you, I was looking for that. I think the mattress knocked it out of my hand.
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A healing sound.
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