The Bo-Punk (short story)
IN PSUEDO sleep I saw myself turn into multiple men, conjoined at the hip, but pretty happy, easy. They were all wearing a WHITE T-SHIRT. STRETCHED. Stretched.
Stretched across their entire twin body.
Just one WHITE T-SHIRT!
And jeans walking.
Can’t remember the shoes. But they were easy.
Easy. I remember telling Claire that one of my only nightmares was becoming conjoined to something. I try to calm down because I know that she’ll check my heart rate, from right about now… when she is running the medical diagnostics on our flight after we arrive. A WHITE-SHIRT. Just one. Wish you could of seen it love.
Of course, I know that it’s just a dream, and really, there won’t be anyone running diagnostics when I arrive at the body planet where she is.
As we call them when.
On the random occasions that I chat to someone at one of the transit stations we talk about things like that.
Usually only after a long tour, or at the beginning.
Out in this sector you get the real freaks.
The real deep sea divers who laugh at a piece of meat on a plate.
Men and women who have been out in space so long that all they can remember are the last images of themselves before they took off. And they get such a damn shock when they look in the mirror! Haha, oh dear. Yeah… Anyways…
As I approach the Bo-Punk designated Claire-Kallum.09 I take the left entry point through a cloud of golden silk eye. It looks like an eye-socket. A heavy over made-up face thats been battered by years of disintegrated stars. I’m weary from the flight as I stand in the cock-pit naked. I don’t mind about the companys policy. Or the fact that you’ll probably use this recording for training new employees under: ‘What happens when you don’t take the anti-hallucinogens.’
This happens to: The insurance men sing happy songs at degenerate speed as they descend through the atmosphere! HALLEALULLIA! Holy black moon holy white moon! Come on you sack of shit! – Hey ISABELLA don’t you rattle so much, come on honey, come onn! HOLLLLLLLLLLD…….. TO- FUCKINGGETHA-NOWWW! FUCK- I didn’t mean that you know I love you **** **** ****-
An old bashed up buggy with a blue panther insignia arrives on the body-planet.
Claire stands a few hundred metres away holding her hand in-front of her eyes. The filters in her mask are clogged, so she still tastes some of the polluting gas from the landing ship and coughs, covering the screen inside her mask with phlegm.
Moments pass, and finally she begins to walk towards the long distance buggy. She wipes the soft front of her dirty beige suit and taps on her wrist communicator.
A musty silence flows into her ear before she hears something.
‘Oh yes yes yes, hi there lover-kkxck’
Oh not you, she thinks to herself as she catches a random channel from some dead space hulker drifting by. She changes the coordinates.
‘Erm Hello? It’s Claire here, I’m outside, are you-‘
The arse end of the buggy opens making Claire turn her head.
Out walks a man in a pristinely clean space suit. Blue. Apart from the red trimming on his chest emblem and around the edges of his boots. He has the words ‘PLANETARY INSURANCE’ written on his chest, with the small phoenix between two pillars emblem below it.
The clerk walks out carrying a flat rubber bag under his arm.
Claire marvels at the fact he doesn’t have to wear a mask. Instead, an almost invisible square is projected in-front of his face that repels the atmosphere and feeds him oxygen.
‘Hi.’ Moregrin says in a steady voice turning towards Claire.
‘Oh hi hi hi, can you hear me? Yes I guess you can, wow, you’ve got one of the new masks, I’ve seen them!’
‘Why yes. Pretty cool huh. Standard issue now.’ Moregrin says holding out his hand.
‘Wow you’re taller than you were last time! How’d you do that?’ Claire says becoming suddenly animated.
‘This is the first time I’ve been here madam.’
Claire’s expression disapeared instantly.
The insurance clerk was taller. In the particular fantasy she had had of him he was only about six-foot. In reality, he cleared 6′ 5” easy. At least he sounds the same, she thought to herself, morbidly embarrassed about talking aloud.
‘It’s ok Ms Kallum, I’ve done this job for over twenty years now. I know what it’s like out here on the Bo-Punks, sometimes insanity is the only thing that calms the mind…’ Moregrin says smiling.
‘I mean, you know, should we…’
Moregrin wished that he’d worn his old worn out helmet. The downside of the newer Proteus models was that due to their transparency it wasn’t possible to hide your facial gestures so much. If anything, the glowing tinge of off-coloured liquid water even emphasized them. It was as if the skin behind it was framed in rays of sun. If you smiled. Or, if you suddenly realised that you said something strange, that you wish you hadn’t, it gave you a sickly glow of dying radiation.
‘Er yes, on your ship or?’ Claire said regaining herself, ‘It said in the brief that your firm does things on-board, I can’t wait to see the insides of your buggy, it’s been so long since I’ve seen anything real!’ Claire said adding a small chuckle.
She was exactly like the dream. But the laughter. Each time Moregrin heard it he forgot about his job and the procedures. It was the sound that the debree made from small dwarf stars that had collapsed as it passed on the screen of his buggy. Like rain. It was one of the only two things that reminded him he was alive. The other thing was thinking about death.
‘Oh no. We change the procedure when it’s this far out. And due to the nature of your policy…. The time it takes to take you through it that is, it’s best if we look over it in a more spacious area. Moregrin said reading from a script.
Claire tilted her head, ‘Oh ok.’
Turning around Claire pointed at the moave mountains in the distance and closed her eyes. She held up her palm, briefly looked over to Moregrin, smiled, and continued. This, she wasn’t embarrassed about. She chose which replay of herself impressing the insurance clerk it was, and, it was exactly that.
The skin coloured sand that covered the entire planet enlarged and jumped out from itself several feet – enlarging itself for an instant – then returned to its normal size, giving the impression from outer space that that planet may have burped for a moment, then decided to be polite again.
The mountains died into the ground as Claire held her palm out. The Gods were reversing. The sand was taking the aberration down into its body. Rumbling. Going further. Down down down. Inversing into the peach ground creating a vast canyon. Claire snapped back into the normal voice she used when creating structures on her planet.
‘We need to make sure that the coliseum isn’t too busy today, and we need to make sure that the office is ready for our guest. He’s taller than he was before, so lets adjust the ceiling for him…’
The mass that had been in the distance lifted around them creating liquid walls that shot up to the skyless hemisphere – ushering the stars to come down! – where Claire created a rim around them forming a building made of light. With her opposite hand she pressed down in-front of her laying down an onyx black marble floor.
‘Holy-‘ Moregrin heard himself say.
It was true what they said about the people who bought Bo-Punks this far out. There was some type of unity they had with the history of space. Although, this client built her things slower. There wasn’t the rush that a lot of people had in their madness. She moved her hands like she was playing a Theremin. There were none of the architectural flaws that many of the Bo-Punk buyers over looked. There were patches of over polished marble and under polished wood. No people. It seemed. Imperfect. Real. The way people forget.
The spreading structures weaved in and out of themselves without the sterilised feeling of chaos-that could be found in most of the structures he remembered from training on Terra Deus.
‘It’s not – the new one – it’s a bit old, I mean I hope you don’t mind-‘ Claire said touching the back of her helmet which made it disappear into her suit.
‘No no, it’s fine, it’s amazing… You did all this?’ Moregrin said touching his wrist and making his watery visor disappear.
‘Of course, oh, space or roof? Which do you prefer?’ Claire said adding the last details to the hall by making smaller intricate movements with her hands.
‘Er space is fine, you know actually.’
‘Um hm?’ Claire said looking over.
‘Er do you know what the colour of burst dwarf stars are? Can you make it rain that stuff, you know, it’s like small pebbles in pink…’
‘Course course,’ Claire replied.
(I know what you like) she thought. Claire flicked her arm up in the air making small circles.
‘Like this?’ She added without looking up.
Twenty years hovering in his bust buggy through the junk-yards, fixing things, singing things, mumbling things, only washing when he neared a clients planet, pretending to be a civil juggernaut that wants to kill nothing. The space rain. The type that reminds you not to eject yourself out just yet. The wash of opium rouge. The infinite sound of memories tapping their invisible nails on your screen, Moregrin thought.
‘And don’t come in until after we’ve finished signing the papers ok?’ Claire said quietly.
‘Sorry?’ Moregrin said, watching the long table rise from the black marble, as he stood beside Claire and she dotted around it with her nail creating seats.
Moregrin could here something running near the North entrance of the hall. Behind the walls. Then fading out. Then nothing but the space rain above them again.
‘Oh nothing, sorry I, ha, here, please…’ Claire said straightening herself, and making a black leather seat move out for the insurance clerk by moving her hand to the side.
‘I told you it’s fine, after twenty years on the job I-‘
‘We’ll get on with the signing ok, sorry it’s just…’
Moregrin took the queue and remembered his training. Don’t ask questions, do everything inside the company ship, don’t stay.
And never, NEVER, touch anything that the clients have created.
‘Ok…’ Moregrin said laying his folder on the table as it opened and changed into several holographic screens with small glowing writing.
‘Oh wait wait wait, you’re gonna love this’ Claire said pointing up to the ceiling waving her fingers in a rapid set of symbols.
The pink liquid ceiling sent down several twister like tail points. The needle ends of the spinning star dust touched the table, forming two cups of liquid.
‘Well take me back to Pluto…’ Moregrin said laughing.
Of course, his stomach had been adapted so that only company nutrients were permissible. The nearest touch of anything outside the prescribed nucleic range sent an instant signal to his supervisor on the nearest station, which froze his buggy, made it turn around, and created a level eight buzzing pain in the middle of his solar plexus. Ten was death. Nine was like giving birth.
‘Cocktails for us!’ Claire said clapping her hands, flicking through expressions and grinning like a small dusty animal. Moregrin’s stomach reacted before his mind, making him move back a little.
‘Oh I’m sorry are you aloud? Oh I’m sorry I didn’t think… I’m sorry…’ Claire said before becoming completely quiet and trying to flatten her down.
‘Hey it’s fine, don’t worry, of course I’m aloud, it’s just been a while you know…’ Moregrin said trying to smile.
Moregrin looked up at the swirling pink sky that Claire had created with just enough transparency so that you could see every triumvirate gas planet: Helena VI, Pahnyetta III, Livelliene XI, in the blackness of the galaxy. They looked at him as he flew by them a year ago, and he had been weeping because he’d scratched the glass panel on his arm rest.
‘You know what Ms kallum, I’m sorry, I can’t.’ Moregrin says lighting some additional holo-screens and preparing the documents.
‘I know I know I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…’
Claire was like twitching and fidgeting like an adult sized amoeba shaped from sweat. Dirty. Cheeks pocked with tiny specks of dust and fragments of miscellaneous minerals. Moregrin was used to this. There were people who bought Bo-punks, who never saw another soul for decades on a stretch.
The only equipment and structures usually intact were what they had created themselves, from the invisible cells in the air. Apart from that, they were often a mess. Hair uncombed, skin unwashed. No one to care and no one to see.
And even if there was, they would look the same.
They often looked worse if they lived on the Bo-Punks with a living partner of some type.
‘We need something to toast to-‘ Moregrin said nudging Claire, making a small chuckle.
‘Oh! How about high music! I can play music! I can play anything! Lookshup, lookshup! Look you see!’
Claire shot up into the air as quick as the words came out of her mouth, as more tails from the swirling pink roof obeyed her, and came down to meet her.
It was the old joke that the Bo-Punkers didn’t change their planets but the Body-planet changed them. As well as their language, mannerisms, and evolution of their behaviours. One microcosm of a Bo-Punker could crawl right up your arm and live in your glands for years, before bursting out a random tree, or gushing a song from your lips as you sleep.
‘Halsane! Gyen Hellanesh?’ Claire sounded aloud looking down at Moregrin.
‘What? I can’t hear you!’ The clerk said looking up making Claire laugh through the tirade of rushing liquid she began to throw around the hall.
‘Sorry! I mean, what music! What music do you like?’
‘Anything! I like the sound that you make when you rain on my ship!’
Claire halted her moving arms for a moment, hovering slightly lower, and stared at Moregrin… Before disappearing from sight.
The light in the hall turned off like it did in Moregrins deep sleeps. Then flicked on as the space hail from a passing dwarf star scattered against the ship. Its pattering spoke in high and low crowns of sea-like drum, as the swells and gush of the rhythm woke around his body, he was no longer certain if he was sat alone, or beside space, or within the oceanic storm, or the 2nd Sun, or the first; but he could certainly hear Claire singing, Helena, Pahnyetta, Livelliene, crescat, umbræ, luculentum, by shallow harvest, by deep harvest, by violet pursuing the animals of storm, the rain just blows before we are born, tear near my liquid, the city of night, the city of gale– Claire appeared in the hall, sharing her dream again of the lonely clerk.
She knew instinctively which song to play. The song of space hail gently drifting over his small ship as it travelled towards her. The same dream she had played with over many months talking to the planet she had spent her life savings on.
Never did she expect to play it, but she did. The chorus crooned high, low, and long. Like a Hawk flying towards a mouse. But retreating before its talons pick it up with a loud percussion, that seemed to be rumbling through the floor below Moregrin’s seat.
‘We’re definitely in Pluto now.’ He said to himself as the song continued and Claire drifted back down to her seat. She smiled and looked away from his open eyes.
‘Erm…’ Claire said.
Moregrin looked up at the swirling roof that dimmed and rose in cohesion with his words, still transparent enough to show the galaxy outside.
‘You don’t normally talk to us guys do you? Your ‘Booo-punkers’ Claire said with a mock scowl, before picking up her glass and taking a sip.
‘Err… Well I…’
The training was more fucked than the time he puked over the dash board of his cock-pit.
‘It’s best not to look at it too long love. I’ve got no idea what reactants I programmed into that particular song. They might do something strange to your eyes! Grow you a new one! In the middle of your head!’ Claire said bursting out laughing.
‘I’ Moregrin said looking at her, still a little a stunned.
‘Oh no sorry I’m just kidding, don’t listen to me, I’m just-‘
The clerk blinked.
‘I’m just kidding, no eyes no eyes-‘ She said waving her hands in-front of her.
A small gust of gas near Moregrin’s face disapeared and shot back up to the mixing ceiling.
‘Sorry I’m just not used to having company!’ Claire said trying to keep her laughter in.
‘Er the toast…’
‘Yeah! Why the hell not’ Moregrin said looking back at the glass in-front of him.
‘To your song!’ He said raising it, clinking it with Claires, making the hologram documents waver slightly in-front of them, and downing half of it.
The NPS (Nutrient Provision Sentinel) that lived inside Moregrin’s stomach twitched.
It moved around the fleshy walls and among their contents like it always did, regulating – what it normally produced itself – with care. The multiple claw-like tendrils that surrounded its circular body tested the cocktail. The sentinel shot a small amount of purple liquid into the liquid substance to analyse it, before the sensors inside it calculated.
Moregrin smiled and looked at the glass.
‘What do you call- In the smell- You’re here in me aren’t the call… It’s-‘
Moregrin said closing his eyes and putting his hand on Claire’s wrist.
His hand easily covered it.
He waited for the buzzing pain of a number eight penalty.
‘Sorry, just give me one moment…’ Moregrin said feeling Claires hand on top of his, which surprised him as much as not feeling any pain, making him turn to look at her.
‘Oh… fffuck…’ He said remembering the mid-flight brief he’d read while in dream stasis.
He’d turned the briefing data into a collection of tin cans that he fired at in a desert, knocking off each one, and pouring out rice pudding when hitting the sand.
But, being too lazy to transform the briefs completely, and also, being nervous about shooting the shit out of them, he had still left some of the original data crawling inside them.
It oozed out in the pudding like black data mites as he looked down at it. One of the scraps of data that Moregrin could still pick up was something about the penalty hierarchy being altered.
‘What is it?’ Claire said squeezing Moregrin’s large paw.
The tendrils from the NPS withdrew back into itself in a sudden jerk, that rumbled in Moregrin’s stomach. This made its body enlarge several times larger than its normal size, although, it kept an inch of each tendril still outside its body, forming spherical land-mine shape that dove down through the liquid and towards his pyloric sphincter, the exit of his stomach, where it pushed against soft fleshy lid, before the upper part of his ascending colon.
‘Ha. Looks like things are going to get-‘
– NOTIFICATION XI: All nutritional transgressions previously bringing about a level 8 penalty are now updated to level 9 –
The birth began.
Old pain behind the shadow of Sirius.
The pink sky playing music reacted to Moregrin’s scream as it dived towards his mouth. Before the bright coloured sand entered his body – as Claire had programmed it to – she lifted her hand up to dismiss it.
‘What is it? What do I do? What is it?’
Moregrin turned to Claire and smiled through his clenched teeth.
Newer, primordial pain. Sharpened.
Like a panther taking your intestines out from inside with its claws while a spinning ball of mercury has lunch.
Moregrin began to howl squeezing Claire’s wrist, lunging forward onto the table and shattering the holo-docs with his head. The NPS moved slowly through his system alternating the firing of its tendrils.
‘Oh fuck, fuck me fuck me!’
Moregrin let go of Claires wrist and began to roll on his back in pain.
He tore away the lower part of his space-suit exposing his genitalia.
‘What do I do what do I do what do I do-‘ Claire screamed backing away.
‘This – izzzn’t – how I. Pictured. ITZZ.’ Moregrin said, forcing his face to smile at Claire. He ripped more of his suit away exposing the back side of his arse.
‘Tell me! WHAT.CAN.I.DO?’
‘Too grosszzz. Ah jeezz… You don’t. Want. To see this. I’m gonna-‘
‘Say it! There’s nothing I haven’t seen you dumb arsehole! You know that!’ Claire said grabbing Moregrin’s face as tears poured from both their eyes.
What had that dusty old freak said in the canteen station said near Helena VI? Moregrin tried to think. This old timer had been working the Bo-Punks for even longer than him. Insane. Insane in his walk. Insane in his beard. Everything non-company. Even the buggy he flew had been customised, which was a level 8 every month until the violating augmentations in question were removed.
He laughed at Moregrin’s meal, and sat opposite him in the sad dirty eating area.
The phoenix on his shoulder might as well have not only been crapping, or eating it, but actually writing a full length film that is revered as art, and laughing about it, then doing it all over again.
This guy can’t be a fucking insurance clerk, he thought to himself.
‘You know your problem bronko?! You eat this shit!’ The man had said dipping his fingers into Moregrin’s meal, eating it, and spitting it out in his face.
Moregrin had looked at him for a second, before wiping his face. He leant over to the side, reaching a slow arm under the table, grabbing the chair leg of the space farmer’s foot, and pulling it towards him with one aggressive tug.
He looked down at the old clerk’s face as his skull poured blood on the ground and spat in his face.
‘Have some more.’ He said wiping his lips.
The old man began to pass away, having long ago stopped using his strength enhancing stims.
Moregrin looked over at the chef behind the counter at the far end of the canteen, before tapping on his wrist and sending him a reimbursement for the death price that you incur for brutalities on eating premises.
‘Hey bucko!’ The old man had said with the last of his spirit.
Moregrin looked back from the exit as he called on the rusting lift down.
‘When you crack, ask her to sing, it won’t be as bad.’ He said before releasing his hold.
The old man was making the peace sign with his two fingers.
‘Sing! SingZZT HA. HAAA- Can yuh’ The man said toiling on the table, ripping away the last of his suit from his arse.
Losing the shock from her face, Claire looked up at the moving galaxy above her, tapped the back of her neck, making the visor unfold from the back her suit covering her face, and disappeared again.
She shot up through the ceiling having created a body sized hole in the roof’s architecture that she travelled through.
Claire looks down at the large body of the man visiting her and questions why she came so far out. She had recreated every type of birth imaginable, desecrated each one as she felt. Eaten everything imaginable and flown it into orbit around her home as was her legal right (as long as it was kept inside the perimeters of her land). People. Animals. Geese made from space muck. Carnivores with teeth made of stars.
Palace, cathedral, drake.
Doors made from strange memories. But no songs. Only space. A tear fell from her body and wove into the exosphere of the ceiling’s ocean where she hung above. It dove through the hole where she could see the giant insurance clerk giving birth.
The pink mist separated and ate the tear as she forgot again where she was, as she always did, as she always couldn’t avoid when this high up and looking down at the Bo-Punk.
But the tear remembered.
A small programme she had placed inside of it at some point infected the swirling pink sand with itself as it fell into it, spreading out like many dancers in the storm around Moregrin.
The programme was what the clerk was trained to avoid, and a particularly virile programme at that. One that she had designed to play with the spawning ideas of hating the idea of giving birth itself. So that at least, if she cried for any reason, the tears would create a mockery, and a pageant from the mockery of mid-wives and surgeons made from pure air.
Surrounding her and removing the pain.
Moregrin screamed as the NPS hovered just inside his body, making sure that it moved wearily, and didn’t rush the procedure, while still sending out its spikes along the way.
The lolling mid-wives and doctor looked at each like dumb ghosts around the clerk. Two of them playing patty cake. One of them looking up at their creator. Then down again at the marble, then over to the screaming thing on the table.
‘Birth-ache.’ The Doctor said to the mid-wives playing.
‘Milkshake!’ They replied in chorus laughing.
‘No no no you’re doing it wrong, here…’ The Doctor said walking over and busting in between the nurses playing hand games with them at humming bird speed.
Claire looked at the three sovereign planets in the black planes of the neighbouring galaxy, clapping her hands, and thinking other ridiculous things.
‘Must must must, talk to Helena VI, Pahnyetta III, and Livirnelle, when I have the money! Ha! Hell-ena, Pahn-yetta, Liver—nelle… hahaha’ She said whispering to herself, ‘Who was that dream who-‘, she added looking down, ‘Oh… Who’s that…’
Claire dove down from orbit and landed hard in the ground of the hall on one knee.
‘Help him you fools! Don’t just play!’
‘Fools and tools! Fools and tools!’ The group of medical staff say in unison playing their hand games as quick as Claire’s mind.
‘Nooo you idiots. Really!’
The blood leaking from Moregrin pours out onto the table, as he ruptures internally and spits.
‘We don’t know how! We don’t know how!’ They reply.
Then Claire holds her mouth, and closes her eyes, and feels the solid void of the past five years she has spent interacting with nothing but intelligent minerals, and remembers why she had to come to the Bo-Punk.
‘You do.’ Claire says.
She goes back to laying on the table herself. The birth. The love. The hate. The pain. The death.
‘Near the end… That’s it… As I breached.’ Claire says instructing, watching cross armed.
And this as well, Claire thinks to herself…
Two of the mid-wives flip Moregrin over, jump on the table, and hold down his wrists, another two appear near his ankles.
The Doctor carefully slides out the NPS as it begins to whir in his hand and attempt to enter his mouth, obeying it’s programming to immediately re-enter the company personnels body after having delivered its punishment.
Moregrin pants as he looks at Claire.
The NPS spreads a liquid red over the face of the symbion melting his skin, making it dissolve back into invisible particles.
‘Nooo, come on now…’ Claire thinks closing her hand in the air.
The Doctor reanimates and crushes the metallic crab in his hand killing it. Drops it on the marble floor.
‘They’re gonna stitch you up k?’ Claire says leaning over to Moregrin, and tapping the back of her neck making her helmet retract again.
‘It’s like a mixture between a seat and something to hold you up.’ Claire says trying to figure out what exactly it is she is creating around the fatigued insurance clerk.
The structure has two crutch like attachments that rise up and under Moregrin’s arms, and a sloping back rest that spreads down to his legs where it aids his steps, and whips around to the side as he goes to collapse every now and then.
‘I didn’t realise… You know…’ Claire says adjusting the apparatus with her dusty hands out spread.
‘I did… You idiot…’ Moregrin says looking around.
Part of the mechanis-liqui pulls from behind Moregrin and slaps him in the head.
‘Don’t you call me a fucking idiot – you’re the fucking idiot!’
The mechanis-liqui frame closes around Moregrin’s body.
‘Ohohohohohohoo I’m sorree I’m sorree’ Claire says making the apparatus sink back into the ground, before making it help Moregrin up.
‘It’s ok’ – hak – ‘You’ve got mucky hands… And, you smell like a meteor shower’ – hak –
‘Ha. You can’t even insult properly lover…’
Claire thinks about a song that her ex-husband put on for her at night once before he headed out for a smoke.
In the darkness of the hospital room she mouths: …(arsehole)… to the light creeping in from the half open door.
‘It’s ok, turn on the lights too wouldya-‘
Claire illuminates the black hall, ‘Fuk-‘
Claire walks over and tries to help him.
‘Are you going to be ok, how’s mister… You know…’
‘My fucking arsehole? A mister?’ Moregrin says stumbling without the support of the frame, as Claire moves in to catch him.
‘Woah woah, we’re not moving to Texas yet-‘ Claire says trying to steady Moregrin, unable to do much to support his massive frame.
‘Ah- oh fuck-Texas’
Some of the sand whirls above the clerk’s head as Claire struggles to keep him up, unused to using her muscles.
‘What did you say?’ She says quietly.
Moregrin chuckles a little under his breath.
‘Or I dunno. It’s not even there anymore… I don’t think… Otherwise… We could…’
‘Rule one… Don’t talk to the Bo-Punks…’ He says beginning to laugh, ‘Ooh..’
Claire stands motionless.
‘Twenty years…’ Moregrin says trying to laugh, ‘They said that it would be like this. They said that space – ak – would change along the way.
I’m glad you’ve still got your temper though…,’ He says leaning against the wall, ‘It’s what kept me going…’
‘When you go…’ Claire starts to say.
‘Insane insane, call Planet Insurance again… Bup-baba…’ Moregrin says singing the old commercial played over the space waves.
‘You came…’ Claire says.
‘I’ve course I came. Except that I’m too fucking old now.
All those damn planets.
All those damn stars.
You know Claire… This place is pretty nice…’ Moregrin says grabbing his chest.
‘Well you shouldn’t have…’ Claire says, kneeling down to where the clerk lays.
‘I’m good I’m good…’ He replies seeing three shadows appearing behind his ex-wife.
‘What the fuck love? Are you still dreaming about that shit? Even here? You can dream of anything…’
One of the ovens opens its mouth.
One of the others closes.
Inside two of the old style gas ovens are the heads of two pretty young women.
Both speaking poetry. And another head above the ovens. Which was Moregrin’s.
‘Oh fuck! No!’ He screams, ‘You’re not gonna do that shit to are you? You can’t! I wasn’t as bad as that guy surely, and maybe they were sick, I dunno I dunno, I never read all that stuff…’
‘Well lets both go fuck in that oven, you seem a little tired, so I’m gonna go dive into it and start without ya’
‘Hey I thought you said you’re old?’ Claire says beginning to stand up walking over to the ovens.
Moregrin reaches up and pulls Claire her back.
The Doctors in the eyes of the vast walls surrounding them look down. Solitude dances on the table. She wears a dusty space suit where Claire throws hers. Her body helixes with Moregrins as they rise up into the air.
The vision of them flying appears on the walls as it projects from all directions and onto them as they turn.
All of the fucked up shit was about you.
All of the fucked up shit was about you.
(Has to say)
The walls vibrate with soft glowing sand, moving to and fro like the sentience dancing in the middle, almost screaming in their chorus, almost, repeating, but more like space just creating its own life.
‘Hey wee cat, in space everyone hears you scream…’
‘That wasn’t funny twenty years ago Mr Cool…’
‘Yes it was! Oh come on! Tough fucking crowd tonight…’ Moregrin says before they kiss in the amphitheatre.
The old space farmer Moregrin killed after Claire left appears on the viewing screen walls, smiling, showing them the victory sign for a second, before disappearing.
‘Who was that love?’
‘An old friend… Who came to help love…’ Moregrin says.