The Fuckless Zip.

So now we are happy, happy for one night. All the happy things happen at night, so they don't evaporate in the sun. Why else do all the premiere parties happen at night? Not everyone has to work during the day; some of my least favorite highways are thick at the apex of midnight, worse beyond that.

Now we are happy. But the clock still runs, the seconds still disintegrate, the remains of the day unfocus and fall to pieces. Whither to-morrow? Already this mirthless world spins faster in its vacuum, turning its purple eye towards the terminator, targeting the flaming destiny that wiggles its double-edged crevice in our general direction..

Double-edged, yes. The old man gives our environment life, while at the same time cracking a white whip o'er our scalps. Fear all suns; yellow, white, or red. Fear them for the wakefulness they encourage, for the consciousness they impose, for the loss of fluids and nutrients they force. Hate them for the darkness they absorb like European kitchen sponges, for the cool comfort they abolish, for the visions of unveiled reality they shoo like so many teasing larks.

So we learn to see in the dark. The less we see, the more there is to see. See the edges instead of the whole, see the outline instead of the body, see the shape instead of the form. We learn to read with our hands, our fingers, our skin; read the air, read the dust, read the vapor. There are no colors in the dark, but infinte shades, all invisible colors themselves anyway. Without our eyes as tools, or without the old man to guide us, we become as braves again, trailblazers with no compass. All we have is what the earth below us speaks to us of, this way or that, a stone or wave, a moan or a wheeze, a spark, a streak, a shine.

This is why people make love with the lights out. Guessing is a bigger turn-on than seeing.

=]'