( last post )

"The Post-Mortem Life of Music."
By V. Fan, printculture, December 2008.
((c) V. Fan, 2008, please attribute and don't alter.)

i's

They never forget, you know?  Nor forgive.

Is

"Is this to be an 'empathy' test?  the capillary dilation of the so-called blush response, fluctuation of the pupil. Involuntary dilation of the iris."

"We call it Voight-Kampf for short."

                            "Mr. Deckard, Doctor Eldon Tyrell . . . "

"Demonstrate it.  I want to see it work."

                                                            " . . . Where's the subject?"

"I want to see it work on a person.  I want to see a negative before I provide you with a positive."

                                                             "What's that going to prove?"

"Indulge me."

                                                             "on you?"

"Try her."

(eyes)

The eye is the window to the soul.  False.

The eye is part of the brain, exposed.  True.

(i just do eyes)

Some things are too terrible to be true.  That was Bob Dylan, or Robert Zimmerman; the absence of quote marks was a device.  As is this:

Standing in the dry cold at one in the morning, breathing, slight, unhurried, misting in the air.  The moon and streetlights reflecting from the railroad tracks cracking the dark under the bridge into crazy endopsychedelian geometries.

(on the meniscus)

How strong are the surfaces?

(eyes, only eyes)

One has been researching old Azazel while the shabby goat sleeps crushed beneath its burden.  One has found that all is apparently not as it seemed.  Soon, one shall wake it for the morning's journeying.  Then, but not now, it shall be asked to look over what I have dug up.


* * *


Morning.  I show the thing.  "Once one would have been laughing; yet years heaped up years, laughter was lessened, still sadness . . .," it hissed.