Reception
Spencer Lai

I.

Those remaining in the township who did not yield to their unspeakable impulses were left with the inordinate task of maintaining the blaze of the gigantic pyre. It was not long before a Notice from the City was nailed on the doors of our houses: this is the responsibility of the community.
 

A tender winter dawn rises over the meadow, illuminating the young grass heavy with dew-sodden mites, bowing towards the earth. I am accumulating, drifting above the charred wooden crates, the silos, the mute fixtures which populate the town. From this perspective, sections of scorched farmlands give the illusion of an intricate cross hatching deftly executed by a talented draughtsman. On the land's surface: a bank worker replete with office footwear extinguishes a rogue ember.

I come to thinking when in the company of the officers: I touch the sword of one of them, my hand seared as if by a hot iron. Reared backwards. Seated, an officer's boot intercepts the radiator with great force, formulating a series of chrysanthemums. Their pastoral beauty stirs inside me anciently, providing what I can only describe as an electromagnetic force. From perspective seated in bed, a number of large dinner plates laden with meals from the week swirl around me, in the manner of a compacted solar system. After minutes of a heavy and suffocating calm, succeeded squalls of stinging wind. The leaves of a tree fold before the eye. The clouds of flying sand soon eclipsed the obscured disc of the sun; and the different shades of yellow, orange, saffron and lemon melted into a mass of copperish colour impossible to describe.

 

In the township, the air becomes metallic scented as anger is emitted. A bounding animal halts as blood in crimson unfurls in still waterhole. It runs through my head like a gong.

II.
 

Dissertation about Mrs. Gern. 

Stand 1886 at bed Mrs. Gern on recommendation Dr. U. treats G; give transparent glass; Iooks at it 1 minute; speaks on command: ·I am tired and want to sleep' ·you are tired and want to sleep' - slumbers- ·your body circulation healing electromagnetic current'; moment wave hair violet sparks; swell arteries, cheek red - 'awake completely healthy to new life'. - 0 . H. General Manager
 

III.

As I cannot write I put this down simply and freely as I might speak to a person to whose intimacy and tenderness can fully intrust myself and who will bear with all my weaknesses–

There are many that have designs for the Earth, their dreams of vast, frightening reformations I hear mumbled in their sleep. These incantations are propelled by sour evening breath pushed through gritted teeth, accumulating into greasy deposits in the straw rafters above. Because of the skill that God gave me, a lot of people started visiting and taking pictures and talking to me. Wanting to know about me and my life, my time here. But I don’t mind it so much. My favourite nights are when the hot World Sound Music-Air travels from outside and is pressing into me. It feels good, against my skin and body. In the distance, Cicadas are crying out.

The door stands open: across lines, invisible hands are held, golden streamers building in the night. Alone, the possibilities are enormous. Step outside and parasites deprived of their meat wait to suck on tiring flesh. Unending statistics that fatten leaders, prisoners of their morality. Afraid of death we can not save ourselves. To breathe is not enough. A whispered command and I instinctually stand on end, rigid, a tool for use. I wish I could say it was due to Self-preservation that I arrived at a higher power. That my logic returned to me. Dispersed through the Sun's rays or detectable in moisture (Rain). But as You know it takes many Hands to shape a subject. This subjugation of the self. I firmly believe that imperceptible forces guide me in everything that I do.