The strange bud, Part 6
There are other things in the wires, other juices. One of them is like a flock of birds that each take a kernel of sound and race down through the wire in a jumble to rest again somewhere else, just as they were before. No one can explain it to me. The little birds sing in little boxes and I am told they are born of the air, that sometimes the wires are not needed.
One of the wires carries the vision from the eyes and scatters it to everyone at the same time. There are many fascinating things beneath the ground that carry water, that carry the noxious gases into metal tanks like great boils full of poison.
Sometimes, the sky whirls around so fast it becomes alive. Sky creatures are very strong but rage themselves out quickly. Sky tantrums that come with storms sometimes, crackling, electric, spinning down from the clouds.
Sometimes the metal boils explode and great flames of death race out like vicious ancestors tired of neglect. Sometimes the earth itself shakes inside and everything gets shuffled on its back.
Sometimes a house burns down to the ground, just gives up all its ghosts at once in great conflagrations. A gaping maw breathes from the rooftop. Hoses are connected to pipes. Water is shot in great arcs into the coals while the pipes underground creak and complain. Other wires are cut loose. The house burns alone like a great mouth eating itself.
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