..., .

~He didn't think it was fun, it wouldn't be fun, lazily resenting the prompting of this apparent fun, it was stock dialogue, it didn't believe in itself. But it was all just distant cynicism and his arms were scratched up from branches and nettles. Which had gently flooded him with an earthy belonging.

Having a bath was something people enjoyed, used to relax. He wondered if he had ever relaxed, somewhere he panicked in a tiny way then felt absent again. Sweat moved through his brow, he breathed methodically through one nostril, becoming aware of both.

The bath was hot, maybe too hot, that is something men are meant to worry about or at least be careful of, he affected worry, but didn't in fact worry. His leg hair swayed like alveoli, if alveoli do indeed sway. He would probably never see inside his own body, this was probably good. He once drew an old woman who was dead, then was told to draw over her eyes, you weren't allowed to draw the eyes, that was illegal. Death smelt like sweets and formaldehyde, omnipresent and rich. Or at least that death did.

He imagined deep bottomless kelp fields, silently drowning things due to their very structure, a toy car forever sinking. A dolphin swimming by but not helping, to prove a point about long worn stereotypes. It was as self absorbed as everyone and was distracted with thoughts about whether it had said the right thing earlier, whilst simultaneously wondering if his friends eyes were smaller, but not really caring either way.

He remembered plunging a raw finger in dirty cold water, it throbbed, it had been squashed with a hammer, forming a ruby blood blister.

Pulling the plug, the hot mass began to eek away imperceptibly, he couldn't really conceive of its reduction in relation to time, but then it was gone. A small watery tornado formed and began singing in tongues like some great dying fish in a foot of water. Everyone in Australia was essentially upside down, from his point of view at that moment. The world is spinning through space at 65,000 miles an hour, or something like that. His pubic hair swayed as the liquid receded. The water was illustrating immutable laws and forces. Gravity pulling substances together and through, illustrating their elemental properties, gently referencing oxidisation and friction. Earlier he had thought hard about surface tension and boundaries, confident and constant, he was not.

Once the water had drained away he began to really enjoy the bath, sitting warm and naked still charged with latent heat, looking around aimlessly. This was the only relaxing part, or part that in anyway resembled his idea of relaxation. The empty turquoise bath warm and wet, looking at his feet...

ORACLE EMULSION;

FIG.3.2 Mr Arka Noah

so one day everyone woke up, feeling like their minds were made of ginger ale and gold leaf, full of tiny crystal pavilions constantly sinking and rising and fizzing. then they all reciprocally agreed to boycott verbal language, but without saying it, obviously... but then they were lost. they could deal with not expressing annoyance, jealousy or disgust, for sadness, their would always be tears, but happiness, mild or extreme, they new they needed something. a symbol that was not only universal, but one that could transcend time, space and infinity. they formed a silent council to form a gesticulation worthy of the cause, it took them seven years. all they could form was a high five, but decided it was too reliant on physical contact and needed something more singular, more ephemeral.

One member of the council was pretty unhappy about their combined failure and slipped into a heady melancholica, partly because there was a tax on smiles, but mainly because he couldnt express his hapiness, due to the lack of said universal gesture. he cried for three days straight. he resorted to turning the heating on full in his one room appartment to try and evaporate his tears, eating only salt in the hope of drying out his tear glands, but all that happenned was that the steam soaked his linnen, and photographs, and the wall paper started to peel.

in impotent, melodramatic desperation he tore the paper from the walls and weeped on his knees. what fresh hell is this. through the salt and steam and sparkling lashes he raised his head and saw something scrawled on the plaster beneath. half hyroglyphs half childs pictogram. it was it. the thing they had been searching for for so long, a tryptch diagram displaying the inspirational all encompassing gesture of happiness, and one long word in a large childish font...

AIRGRABELBOWDAGGER