by John Skipp
Chapter Fifteen
Ite.
Nite.
Night. and the night, in the night is quiet, as the day is Quick and loud. I learn while Gene tappities - taps, the words to my soul, the words to my mind.
A day here forever time, many days.
And now I will try to go up - stay here, go up, put my mind fingers out into the sky, out into the cloud, unnum-ber cloud.
. . . The underneath glows black, i touch and make myself small. . . small. . .
Thin fingers ripple dipping down from It - black empty. pluckily pickly.
Seekly. and cannot touch me now:
The Lifely musics resist it, magnetopposy poles, slidy-force.
And It tells me without telling, with its moving, thin fingers from unnumber to number, I number to word - tells me It comes from far, out - out of far from the round world, out of the between. a lonely far away from a hole in the made. . .
and. . . the terrible power of the unmade!
It feels me, feels me flealy on its coat, tickling, tickling, it speaking unspeak - but, me so small. . . and hard-shelled
High fly me in now, into the black, falling up, feeling the age of the thing, the hollow that holds the man and unmakes him. . . and again it unspeaks
. . . It comes to undo. . It comes to make fold up the sky, to level the mountains - to unlife the lively. . .
and bbback i go down into safely numberland again, safely now, but for how? Tomorrow
back now, playly down the wall of the falling colors, the tetris fun thank you Gene. Gene be carefully, carefully care.
