Word Piano
Blue hue behind the tattoo, Claire Bloom and Bradbury too
When I play the keyboard I know that the words can be used in construction work and architecture and they can be set free to wander through the underground, finding clubs where a family named Galette has been working the neighborhood for generations, turning it into a cartoon, a hip version of West World, except here the robots are in love with their masters, because that’s how they’re programmed.
You come in the door and she is bouncing around with the dog, a border collie named Bloomberg, like they are competing to impress you with their excitement at the almost unendurable joy of being with you. Maybe it’s to just curl up at your feet and sing with the voice of enchantment, and yet you know that behind her green eyes there’s a circuit board and the impulses are flashing through at just the right rhythm and blues.
It’s like making a moving picture with a deck of cards, the most basic moving picture, and then the film moved on the darkness and there was light, projection of us onto a different medium, Laurel and Hardy waving to us from another planet. You paid for the deluxe program, the one with Japanese skin, feels like the real thing. She can’t get enough of you.
