July 1st, 2020

Nature deceives a concept by changing its spring.
A thread is for the needle as the wire for the need.

Nartine breaks into a laboratory, carrying her sewing machine in a brown backpack. He unloads pieces of fabric, threads, needles and thimbles by an operating table. She disassembles its legs so as to get it on ground. Works the wires so that some of them are prepared to let the earth loop in.
She undresses and sticks a cable into his belly button. Slowly threads a yarn through the plastic protecting copper filaments. The needle goes into her guts and starts sewing. Marten’s bloodstream gives a pulse of a steady excitation. This is recorded onto an obscure fiber that she made on her night offs. Machines can’t decipher it and can’t store it. There’ll be no trace to rewind and review.
Narten plugs another jack into her calf muscles. Another thread finds a way to connect her twitches to his fallopian tubes.There is soothing buzz in a room. According to reads of a scanner she is dreaming. A part of Martine’s belly skin starts transforming into a textile tissue. It vibrates and interrupts the buzz so as to create a silent beat.
He whistles in her dream.
The needle now works the fabric formed out of her belly. Signs, letters, stitches, scars that she reads with his fingers.
Her whistling changes.
The moon is high listening to the black earth purl. For a moment Martene forgets her name. It disrupts the song as his heart not only beats, but echoes itself in her chest. Electric currents propelled forward by uterine joy make his stomach into 29 butterflies. She is now of the earth and the moon.
In rising waters lilies, drunk with linalool, dance to drumming of celestial spheres.
Needles and wires, plugs and threads stem and spring, branching into a labyrinth of whispers. The ascendant voice gets quickly and gently wrapped into a rag, whose time is of tomorrow.

Marten runs out of premises.
Her work will learn to walk as his hole will howl.


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