Hold me closer, spikey dancer
I was reading a magazine (strange, old floppy thing with no moving pictures) with an article about this guy who got busted for growing weed. Must've been inspired by the old High Times magazines that I found in my father's stuff a lifetime ago. I saw a picture of his sister who was adorning one of his plants with Christmas ornaments. The caption said, "Wish you were here for the holidays." She had streaked blond hair and cateye glasses. Her expression was a short story of loss punctuated by many stoned jokes and wiggy adventures.
I thought, looks like she needs someone to comfort her. So I stepped into the magazine, just like the hologlyphic books of my childhood. I got close so she could smell me and I her. I exuded the faint odor of an ox riding a motorcycle through a hempfield. She decided that I was safe enough to risk a walk through the museum.
We moved through the dark room illuminated by indirect, colored lights and the glows of the displays. Through a passage, we approached a corner around which would be a new exhibit. From a high, small side window, I could see a jungle of alien plants, like her brother's marijuana. She squeezed my hand and I put my head over her shoulder so that our warm, moist breath mingled with the anticipation of a licorice braid.
In front of the diorama, we were greeted by a bold sign announcing NEW JERUSALEM CANYON. A sandstone plain stretched back, further than we could see, lit up with the full day desert sun. All manner of succulent cactuses sprouted from the model floor, some twisting like spikey dancers, others squat like blushing hippopotamuses. And we took them all to be psychoactive, powerful enough to make our knees weak with the enthusiasm of just meeting them. She turned to me, and said, her face wild with joy and pride, "My brother, the writer, made this."
"Henery. I've scanned this compound and logged into their glyphnet. It's a fairly sophisticated human community." Madra described the crusty encampment as we rolled closer. We were running on methanol fumes and Madra's hydrogen converter was completely down. This was our only chance at repair. Otherwise, we'd all be picked apart by coyote gangs soon to join the fate of millions of humans from Panama to Idaho.
"Just got to psych myself up for this." I rubbed the ribbed material of an armrest. I've always thought it felt like the way a gecko foot would. But who knows what a gecko foot feels like? Am I a collection of unexperienced memories? Will all these assumptions spontaneously organize themselves into a set of skills? Where does the body learn these things? I was beginning to see the imagination as a cellular place.
"There's no preparation for this. Just act, Henry. You'll need gear to trade."
"I have these oranges from Honduras,"
"Won't get you very far. Take the sexbox."
"No!" A chorus of rat voices joined me, "No!" They had logged a number of hours over the months.
"It's the best piece of non-essential equipment we have. Don't forget to tell them it's the model with the calcium ion channel. If they know anything about it, they'll know that this is the best there is. Releasing the machine interface." The device slid from under the dash, a thin, black box attached to a bundle of wires that terminated into gold-tipped connectors that hid the tiny needles and dermpads.
I stared at it. My nuts shrank into my groin. A million receptors in my brain died.
"Be a man, Hank." Caligula punched me in the ear. I turned around, my knees on the seat. But I had nothing to say to him. "I'll bet there's a real woman there, not just tech sex. There might even be a real woman there who would fuck you. Maybe," he said.
"Get out of here," Madra said, stopping the car and popping the door. The camp spread out below a low, dusty ridge. I looked to it like a dog with a full litterbox.
"I'm leaving, but I want some respect when I come back." I pointed at Caligula.
With his arms crossed, and something of a smile on his ratface, if I knew at all what rat expressions meant, he nodded.
Titus' black head poked out of the backseat nest. "We're decided that the cat should accompany you."
"I hate cats." Actually, wasn't fond of any other members of the animal kingdom, there being too many examples of them being not what they seem to be. I thought about the noises that came from the back when they first trapped it. "I thought you killed that thing."
"No. We merely harvested its will. We can use it to communicate with you. If it starts meowing, bend down and let it jump on your shoulder. It'll press its head to your temple and we can use bone conduction to send messages through its purring."
"Hmm, then it won't seem like I'm hiding a wire or slugphone." I thought about what folks like this might do to a coyote spy. "Fine. Cat comes."
I stepped out of the car. The cat jumped over the seat and out beside me. If it walks like a cat, and talks like a cat, is it really a cat? Or is it a halfdozen rats, with their nimble little hands, tweaking its every move. Must have all the memories and instincts of its former existence. It looked plenty convincing to me.
I thought, looks like she needs someone to comfort her. So I stepped into the magazine, just like the hologlyphic books of my childhood. I got close so she could smell me and I her. I exuded the faint odor of an ox riding a motorcycle through a hempfield. She decided that I was safe enough to risk a walk through the museum.
We moved through the dark room illuminated by indirect, colored lights and the glows of the displays. Through a passage, we approached a corner around which would be a new exhibit. From a high, small side window, I could see a jungle of alien plants, like her brother's marijuana. She squeezed my hand and I put my head over her shoulder so that our warm, moist breath mingled with the anticipation of a licorice braid.
In front of the diorama, we were greeted by a bold sign announcing NEW JERUSALEM CANYON. A sandstone plain stretched back, further than we could see, lit up with the full day desert sun. All manner of succulent cactuses sprouted from the model floor, some twisting like spikey dancers, others squat like blushing hippopotamuses. And we took them all to be psychoactive, powerful enough to make our knees weak with the enthusiasm of just meeting them. She turned to me, and said, her face wild with joy and pride, "My brother, the writer, made this."
"Henery. I've scanned this compound and logged into their glyphnet. It's a fairly sophisticated human community." Madra described the crusty encampment as we rolled closer. We were running on methanol fumes and Madra's hydrogen converter was completely down. This was our only chance at repair. Otherwise, we'd all be picked apart by coyote gangs soon to join the fate of millions of humans from Panama to Idaho.
"Just got to psych myself up for this." I rubbed the ribbed material of an armrest. I've always thought it felt like the way a gecko foot would. But who knows what a gecko foot feels like? Am I a collection of unexperienced memories? Will all these assumptions spontaneously organize themselves into a set of skills? Where does the body learn these things? I was beginning to see the imagination as a cellular place.
"There's no preparation for this. Just act, Henry. You'll need gear to trade."
"I have these oranges from Honduras,"
"Won't get you very far. Take the sexbox."
"No!" A chorus of rat voices joined me, "No!" They had logged a number of hours over the months.
"It's the best piece of non-essential equipment we have. Don't forget to tell them it's the model with the calcium ion channel. If they know anything about it, they'll know that this is the best there is. Releasing the machine interface." The device slid from under the dash, a thin, black box attached to a bundle of wires that terminated into gold-tipped connectors that hid the tiny needles and dermpads.
I stared at it. My nuts shrank into my groin. A million receptors in my brain died.
"Be a man, Hank." Caligula punched me in the ear. I turned around, my knees on the seat. But I had nothing to say to him. "I'll bet there's a real woman there, not just tech sex. There might even be a real woman there who would fuck you. Maybe," he said.
"Get out of here," Madra said, stopping the car and popping the door. The camp spread out below a low, dusty ridge. I looked to it like a dog with a full litterbox.
"I'm leaving, but I want some respect when I come back." I pointed at Caligula.
With his arms crossed, and something of a smile on his ratface, if I knew at all what rat expressions meant, he nodded.
Titus' black head poked out of the backseat nest. "We're decided that the cat should accompany you."
"I hate cats." Actually, wasn't fond of any other members of the animal kingdom, there being too many examples of them being not what they seem to be. I thought about the noises that came from the back when they first trapped it. "I thought you killed that thing."
"No. We merely harvested its will. We can use it to communicate with you. If it starts meowing, bend down and let it jump on your shoulder. It'll press its head to your temple and we can use bone conduction to send messages through its purring."
"Hmm, then it won't seem like I'm hiding a wire or slugphone." I thought about what folks like this might do to a coyote spy. "Fine. Cat comes."
I stepped out of the car. The cat jumped over the seat and out beside me. If it walks like a cat, and talks like a cat, is it really a cat? Or is it a halfdozen rats, with their nimble little hands, tweaking its every move. Must have all the memories and instincts of its former existence. It looked plenty convincing to me.