Chapter selected from Infiniity 

( I wake up to a peeling sound on the cold steps of the steeple.)
Tricky little sub town structure.

A moment of thought. Trying on the patch work, iris stocking and fur pullover.
Fear lives underneath the skin of the flowers, and I vomit looking at it. I am back in town. The pink fur of African Fawns, and a mammal from the Galapagos islands puddled in dollar bills there, arm in arm. Tooty swoops out of the house before me and the grid appears from beneath the mammal pile. Stained, bone flavor floats in my mouth, adjusting the legs. By the far edge of the house glowing over. Last look, the sheep suit in my hand. I try not to throw up. A density, a crochet, a neon thread converging in rat kings, a relationship they formed beneath me.

The suit has been knit in four stitch. Tooty is blur, I am blur on the layer of thread it systematically maps lines for firmament. Embedding numbers 3.5 and 7.4, figures appear, woven in sky. Diagrams. Encryptions (3.7) turn to (7.3) as I set one foot to the ground to walk, numerics start up. Town shuffles through hymnals, the order of designed chaos, the worms ripping pink grid, upside down 7.3 to 3.7, sheets of newspaper heard tearing around the 'room.' (The grid area) 3.75 and going fast,
pulls into a cavern in my arm. My wrist is fused to laser gloves. Controls fairly even; Tooty perches on my shoulder on a raven stand. She shakes away deer ticks from her ruffles, looks at me, (her eyes) glow in a jar, hold her soul. Every strand of the grid. (Pink string) plugged into her from a back hatch.
Weaving a loading cord in through her cavities, along a fine length of her chest, the woods reflect black (a motion picture inside of her chest) stuck to the middle of it.
Error in the past sequence now surrounds a gold leaf picture frame, where I am holding a flower stitched pullover suit and extension cables. Protected by this grid of our lineage, the color of our threads, us. Our direction. Swimming world in tangles because (we are told) a heavy cluster of wire (A):is stopping to perch inside a cable or (B): has built in lines woven to it. Coordinates to the basic designer appear near the trees in my right peripheral.
Tooty pecks a bundle of threads to say 'I don't get it,' and I am pulling apart the fabric of the monkey suit with my pointer finger and thumb, investigating what it wants from us.

She gets a few good worms, shredding out neon hosts as they hide away in the fur of the pullover. Poorly with her talons (The engineer/ programmer) parts the reality. A cute red bike and a parked Oldsmobile, green houses lined by river. I cannot focus my eyes as it comes undone. Examination of these strings shows a bond forming in the suit. Grid lines become parts of the map. Integrating numb data.
After a moment of running lights - the main street of town appears.
A school house building is sewn in, various threads in brown canvas, pink yarns, linen bag, stretched over reality. Stapled into view along olive wood frames.
Town is inside of a cocoon. Mid-winter, Nineteen Fifteen. Photographs had originally been developed with copper plates in a sepia tone developer. The dollars were captured in the photograph using microscopic films to achieve the blowing effect through trees. School house and swing sets all represented digitally, through yarn, copper plates, gels, through wood grain. Through plugs, through wires, through marble.
Cold, pink lines, built of triangles, attachable that evening, settled in the developer. Picture.

I pull a note from a pocket in the black fur suit. Folding it open, and attempting again, some form of understanding, I witness a new marking engraved in the paper, another grid within a grid within a grid, a replica of hand writing. I have seen this in the office before. Hybrid. Russian stirred Mayan.
The note comes into focus: :[enter town (area seven,) by supplementing this body armor in sub-town area five, where area five meets area seven]::

(AREA 5+7)
The note draws up light from a weave in the thin cotton to air. Inside the pastel card, the letters line in the dimensions of rag to the oxygen molecules dispersing e's followed by exiting C's. The note is blank. Dollar bills blow by at my feet, onto Tooty. Since before reality he has been curled around my legs. The black suit is squirming. Laser hand shuffles through settings in the teal interface.
Maybe Its the demon suit. Lead me astray on the grid, huh Toot?Tooty shivers, jumps from my foot, shaking dollars off of her violently and letting out a small, perturbed yawn.
Town, that sews me to the wrong threads! Never in my entire stay have I heard of Town,
Tooty?" She shakes her head and sneezes.
Sub town At the note again, I check pronunciation as it disappears in digits, no pronunciation! I make out the last E's bleeding a tiny dance, numbers maybe? Temptation is to put on fur, watch thick growing, uncontrollable urge and have strange burdens. That seems to be right, I am by the minute plagued. I linger in the middle of the field,waiting for Tooty to get out of the clutters of her yawn. If I go back to the (cat house) they would know about Town, this sub town.
Or maybe, you'll just put on the suit. (dead mammal's, raccoon, bear, dinosaur.)No, No, No! No put on the suit! Who said that, Tooty? You say that? The animals fall apart, I thrash them around.
Whispering dollar bills, folding over each other in wind. School boy activates behind me. Somewhere, an array of digital one, zero. Tooty jumps from the dollars, stuck mid-yawn and relapsing to raven, forms wings, perches on and digs into my shoulder. I see it standing in the window of the house for a millisecond. Thoughts spin in its mind. It deactivates.

Now this moment with concrete fingers, I am unraveling the edges of the suit. It executes painful symmetry on my flesh and methodically, loving, inserts tiny knives into the concrete hands.
Put it on now. Screeches from the activity place. Out of a far radio, tucked behind a window, a weapon from five dimensions, intermingled persona, just another item in a sorceress hat collection. Inspecting threads, I get back to work beginning on the loose weave of the three joints making up the knees.
A part between the armpit opens into a tiny threaded hole of raccoon ligaments, I fear the exact mph these holes move in, and see the threads move in order to
force shut the air. \A violence in
mmmmmmm0oim dismemberment mp,m,,m,m;autoimmune0}
Feeling comes from each thread in black objects, is of excruciating evil,
and in no way has place. Throwing suits down in the dirt, I swiftly bury them.
( *2 )

I wind down to the school house and brush dollar bills from trees as I open the heavy wooden door. A wall of eyes slams behind me and pale light of evening folds slowly in, through the window. A shutter after burial, picturing suits in slow attempts to inject thread in me, I am slithering on the internal lengths of numbers, as to form adjustments with my skin. A second tying of my bone is sinking in the lace of it. The third adjusting of my skin is itself in the fat and the muscle of it. Tooty climbs off of my shoulder and morphs onto an old stage. This time she is a Selkirk Rex kitten, prowling behind thick velvet curtains with an umbrella. She wanders around a wild notion in a state of cat paranoia, while I look for Town. Reestablishing general cleanliness, (as to create a central space,) stacking boxes of code print outs commences in the corner of the room.
(*) TERM Glitch: Unraveling reality taking place within the applications screen.
(*2) TERM Glitch set: Repeated unwinding of data occurs within the standard coding (possible virus interruption by programmer) Also known as playful interaction between the coder and receiver of codes.


Boxes of clues on top of boxes of clues. A map of town marked with green dates. A burned copy of the original. Three marks in the wood, three violent claw marks that are coded, printed on sheets of rice paper. Overlapping numbers through the stacks. Boxes of this:
[ ,b'/

00000000000000000000000000000mp-;-l866po8p knuckle 0o.lllllllllllllln

Paper is flipped up in the room. Digital code ink blobs and paper. Neat geometric patterns, rain here. I drop near a lawn chair and ponder its existence. Thinking about the patch work and me. Get a shovel and dig a hole near trees where he cannot go. Try. Live there. I want to throw it away, get it out of my site. It pulls me toward it,
It wants me to regret this if I see to its death. Folding it up into neat fours,
I set it down near the paisley window and sit on the white lawn chair.

Dreaming in unicorn vision.
Second Sleep.

I get up and shuffle my coat onto my legs, lying back next to her, my vision goes thick velvet, red curtain, thick dark cotton. Shapes behind appear a low lit stage, Tooty crashing her face into my skin, and in a maniacal giggling manner. Wrapped suddenly across me, the noise: muffled peep recognized by hands pulling me apart limb for limb. This process is called deconstruction (undoing of threads.) Being enacted with a set of tools, laser hands they use to destroy with, the suit has me. Menacing Giggles out in the distance, coming near the paisley window.
Little curtains of glass, threads my body. My guts are being taken out and set aside. I cannot breathe, witnessing the shards of metal dis-attaching the liquefied bone. I stand up in a sudden gliding, off in red curtains on the clouds. My feet on stage, no matter, the curtain grasp, folding sunshine at an edge of tropical forest. Forget it, I can't leave her behind.
The birds fly to me and peck into pieces (within a matter of seconds) the old mask I had been wearing. We're all the same now, gliding low in the sky on a valley of trees. I grab a hold of curtain in its plush red velvet and arrive at the school. Lifting Tooty, (who turns into a cup and saucer) green tea steaming as I spill some on my leg passing back through. A note reads: Don't drink Tooty, unless you want to kill.
At the edge of the saucer curtain, falls out of view. A cat fish comes at me through bubbly. I ask the air in branches, of discombobulation of reality.
Tooty seems as though she has become a peacock. She turns to face me in the bubbling light, a glow of random eyes the color of bent glass, sequins, sends me whirling about theater, in vision of two rows (one theater and one peacock feather) does double in one picture. I see legs as somebody else's, giant hooves, white fur leading my eye to thick monster wings jutting from within my back.

Jointed from a larger picture::

We launch out in a cloud, wing made of the horizon. Tooty peacock clutches my back wind and warm tastes, like sea water, pushing our wings deep in the salt, the pale blue of sky below whistles up. A puzzle of a town, the land has been tilled and built up on. Wood and layered cakes, bunkers and shops.

We descend in a small area of marble. At the sea's cliff we land on top of a roof, inspecting a tiny glass window in the place. A quint magic shop filled with gnome characters and cast, bearded fishermen. A large gold clock hangs by the window display. It changes times on it. We look away and watch as it changes. No one tends the store.

My hooves rest in compressed sand on the roof top. Sets of stairs going north to the hills up an avenue, dark gray are lined with shops. Tapering to a great dark shade of cob huts along the walls of a neat cave, another set of stairs traverses up along the descending ground of the shop. I trot down ragged slope of the cobble stone near the forest, peeking into the magic shop one last time before Tooty and I make our way along little sunken sidewalk.
Up, on an open grove of trees, Tooty stops short suddenly, calmly glancing back. Her wings open to the direction of woods her neck stiffens with. She releases an irritating sound I have never heard,of a chicken. Building irritation that explodes into noise, a sonic resonance passing into the aqueduct, shooting everywhere at once, echoing.

I notice little figurines of bearded men, standing on the cobble stone street; each a replica of the next. All have the same, casted expression on their hand painted faces.
Bent necks tilt the little gnome faces down at something on the ground that I cannot make out. All have been fired with heads pointed down. Tooty, (not seeing the figurines) continues her squeaking in the woods. Her feathers brilliant beside the gray Malachite. She folds them down behind her, calm comes over her tiny bird mask. The cobble stone slope to the figurines tapers and then grows. I knock a figure of a garden
 elf over and it shatters open onto the cobble stone. The other figurines shift castes, molded looking at my direction. I didn't notice any movement in my periphery.

They congregate around a hole, the gnome people shatter under my giant hooves; I sniff at the darkness and see something deep under ground. Something that comes closer. It gets right up to the cobble stone edge where a patch of moss has grown, and becomes a velvet cloth. I sniff the edge of the velvet. Tooty, (a gray cat) curls around my arm, a long tail flipping up sporadically, her paws on my chest.

Outside, the air is blowing dollars off of a tree behind the theater. Rubbing my eyes, watching them drift passed, I wonder (in my haze of sleep) what the figurines had been, wishing I had wings.


::Vortex suit :: Found Mirror::
A reason to stand, I'm planning to stand, I don't stand. No where in sight, not found peeling my eyes open, I decide and shut them right away, back to sleep. For a moment I catch glimpses in the window, rain drizzling through bare trees. Wind pushes little segments of sequin beads to the window pane.
I close my eyes, feeling my Rex cuddled under my thighs, slowly a tiny yawn. I readjust my arms and drift far into sounds that the rain taps on the schoolhouse. Patters dancing in the black forest of my head. Cartoons - a lit up stage arriving on tires. Rain drops dressed in outfits. Puzzle pieces from an elephant puzzle around waists, lights on.

A roaring, crackling open, upstairs window waking me to a theater. The stage lifts my head slowly with a streak of panic under my chin. Kitty has already run off, near boxes stacked by the wall. We both look to the ceiling. We stare in panic, in wood grain. There is no upstairs of this building, I am sitting very still, staring at the wood. Dust falls, followed by heavy sounds on the roof. Off the stage, I wander to a door, watching movements in the periphery. It moves to a far paisley window. Rain builds rows of light in pathways, impossible to see through.
A plastic, sheep mask drops from the edge of the roof, peeking into the theater (its breath already inside) the plastic sheep mask twisting and melting with the lines of rain. Tooty sees it behind the boxes, meows, syllables the thing outside talks through. The plastic mask hangs upside down in the window. I lock the door slowly. The voice becomes clear as Tooty changes form behind the box. More codes, a rambling nothing to say. A program running dashes, periods. Slashes More dreadful, I come from the door into the theater, watching the melting mask.
Tooty has gone. Three sixty and the room blurs, stencils of chicken wire.
I cannot stop the grated blur as it spins. I see the end of his tail around the back of one box. It could see me watching it and I see myself in a mirror. The mirror is blending. I used to come here when I was a child, never once a mirror. In it, dark figures stand behind me. Figures dressed in black, eight year old boys. Knocking a lamp and boxes over, the lamp shatters. Shards of glass blend away with beads of water, the wood floor sucks it all through cracks. Boxes stacked in a disarray fall, replaced by the boy.

I hurry to the stack where I had seen Tooty. I see two things: one is Tooty peering from a hole into other parts of the building. The other is a pair of pearls, eyes under a mask. Directly, for a moment, I notice no hole, the illusion made of corners. I mutter, moving back away from the fallen boxes.
From the boxes black shapes, masked wolf details jump to feet and pause at the door. Pausing in mid air, it scans the room until it gets me in its view. Over a whole stack of boxes it leaps toward me, lands hard and I make out the mask switching through faces; tiger mask made in Taiwan, rabbit mask made in Sweden. Richard Nixon mask.

A scream is heard at the swing sets across the street. An odd silence takes form after, into darkness, night. Hours go undisturbed. The sound of crickets grows as the front door of the old school house opens. A dark figure steps into the night. The crickets quiet to the shape. It looks over both shoulders and walks into the forest behind the old theater.
A door shuts by wind as the suit stumbles through pink lines, soft pink light of the grid. Onto a hillside, the lines following a dark wood behind the school house, the daylight whispering away behind it. Suits pass into an orange pink glow. Bright light grows as it pulls in the first subject (suit.) Neon pink lines over everything, deep.
Forest is mapping coordinates. Deep vortex of shapes emerges. Stepping ladders lead the suit far into the sky. A ship floats in the center of the vortex. Snakes below, wolves above, the suit tries carefully through impeding beasts, to create, the ships horizon sinking into space.