arrival. [ she is floating and not floating because the ooey-gooey water is holding her up. gentle hands of a thousand fingers and she would laugh except the sound does not travel. sound wants to stay right where it is, in her breast and throat. have you ever wondered where sound lives? sound must have a home.
then she realizes that the door is locked and that's why sound can't travel! silly, silly. ooey-gooey is moving, though, being set free. bye bye. delirium is sad. the ooey-gooey held her up. it was her friend. quiet friend. they had naptime. everything is draining down, where does it go? she is right here, she thinks. she does not always know. she knows other things, things you do not know. she tries to tell you. sometimes. she does not know how.
everything hurts and she thinks it is from the loss of her friend, though she can no longer remember why she liked the friend. she is sticky. she is a jelly doughnut, full of filling. vitreous humor. that's what it's called.
eventually, she crawls up out of the little hole. (a hole, a hole! just like a doughnut.) she shouts. she is shouting red and blue and green and yellow, allowing the sound to move, watching the colors puff and fly and whirl. ]
Can you tell me where my friend is? Or who they are? Because I'm reeeeally messy, so I probably shouldn't see my friend without a bath, right?
exploration. [ delirium lies flat on her back, gazing at the sky through the leaves. she makes up a number for each leaf. grenty-nope. ickloo. thile-quark. she needed to make up new numbers, you see, because there were so many.
she hears feet, and there are only two of those. two move over and over again. two feet, four steps, then eight. steps are growing. are the feet growing? she needs to know. she rolls onto her belly and waves at the figure. ]
How many feet do you have? I have two, most of the time, but one time, I had seven. A foot for me and my brothers and my sisters.
delirium: the sandman
[ she is floating and not floating because the ooey-gooey water is holding her up. gentle hands of a thousand fingers and she would laugh except the sound does not travel. sound wants to stay right where it is, in her breast and throat. have you ever wondered where sound lives? sound must have a home.
then she realizes that the door is locked and that's why sound can't travel! silly, silly. ooey-gooey is moving, though, being set free. bye bye. delirium is sad. the ooey-gooey held her up. it was her friend. quiet friend. they had naptime. everything is draining down, where does it go? she is right here, she thinks. she does not always know. she knows other things, things you do not know. she tries to tell you. sometimes. she does not know how.
everything hurts and she thinks it is from the loss of her friend, though she can no longer remember why she liked the friend. she is sticky. she is a jelly doughnut, full of filling. vitreous humor. that's what it's called.
eventually, she crawls up out of the little hole. (a hole, a hole! just like a doughnut.) she shouts. she is shouting red and blue and green and yellow, allowing the sound to move, watching the colors puff and fly and whirl. ]
Can you tell me where my friend is? Or who they are? Because I'm reeeeally messy, so I probably shouldn't see my friend without a bath, right?
exploration.
[ delirium lies flat on her back, gazing at the sky through the leaves. she makes up a number for each leaf. grenty-nope. ickloo. thile-quark. she needed to make up new numbers, you see, because there were so many.
she hears feet, and there are only two of those. two move over and over again. two feet, four steps, then eight. steps are growing. are the feet growing? she needs to know. she rolls onto her belly and waves at the figure. ]
How many feet do you have? I have two, most of the time, but one time, I had seven. A foot for me and my brothers and my sisters.