In the red room we maintain a certain straightness of priorities: Specific softness and curvature of the shoulder, surface area and yield of the cheeks and buttocks, a square white percentage of the mind’s eye in which we pay unwavering attention to the weather, tide level, length of time since last meal, length of time since last bowel movement, length of time since last lay, presence and position of limbs or their extensions  – such as but not limited to wheels, matches, cutlery, staves – position of loved ones, position of facial features. We suffer the spaces between our teeth and cultivate the network of pink glowing tendrils and filaments that facilitate locomotion but are nevertheless incapable of preventing the sudden and acute awareness of empty space within the head, typically the mouth cavity, the ear canals, the nostrils, the tear ducts. During especially violent or prolonged episodes, the esophagus and the lungs may be included. We imbue each word and motion with a calculated ease and laziness. We string beads on long threads around our necks to drag in the sand behind us and rake away fresh footprints, beads which can be harvested for a small fee from underneath the pillows of the ill and obsolete whose offerings, they have been taught, are fantastical bribes from the hoods of notyet and willbe into am. Is it unfortunate that the length of this ritual’s existence drags through the time behind us and rakes away the troubling morals of infant or enlightened secondguessmanship? We run across the sand leaving nothing behind us, adapt to unpredictable surfaces, stand on one foot, pick ourselves up after a fall. We take the supple and lightly freckled upper arm into our mouth and gnaw gently, remark on how pleasant a sensation, hear the gasp that results when air compressions vibrate the vocal cords, present a reaction calculated to resemble surprise, including an appropriate facial expression and awestruck verbal remark, when told that the arm consists of platinum-cured silicone secured to a central ceramic pneumatic cylinder and stuffed with the fur of a white dog, on the inside, just as false, a short series of transformations away. We respect that the body is little more than a glove wrapped around a tentacle or perhaps root system of pure air and empty space. Therefore, we may draw up from the sand goosepimpled gray bulbs and the quills which we grind and imbibe in mixed tinctures, staining our teeth and waters to a more effective extent than blood or wine, drawing attention away from corrosion or loss, as purple, violet, maroon, or chartreuse are all considered more pleasant than gray, though graying is in all respects considered more polite than yellowing. Regardless, we rejoice when we are made privy to the creation of one whose hair is as blonde as her tongue, which slides between rows of teeth harvested from the sands or beneath pillows. Upon exiting the red room we take up places behind the observation barrier, request an address to which future correspondence may, should it be accepted, be addressed. While we are incapable of sealing the nostrils by voluntary and natural bodily means and are therefore in no danger of being wholly disrespectful, it is considered best to open the mouth as often as possible and let the empty space that exists within that cannot be denied or safely filled mingle and unify with that of the world at large, with the empty space that exists within the bodies of others. We use quills to inscribe four letter names in capitals recognizable around the world on the back of the wrist. We respect the urchin for a number of reasons, not least of which for the amount of empty space that its small size allows to flourish. Emulation is considered proper; exercises, sleeping positions, and clothing that restrict the amount of space that a body fills are encouraged. Upon dying, giving the beads in one’s head and those around the neck to one’s children is generally considered only right, and the least that one can do, after all.

~by Kevin Toth