In a certain town in the Netherlands, books are bound with a blank page sewn with the others. If a reader stumbles across this page when the clock strikes 8 p.m., she or he lives.
Marcel {🌳} :
Worms don’t come
Worms don’t come easy
Worms don’t come easy, to me
Many readers will notice in the following pages various transgressions of literary convention. For those who may find it irritating, I would point out that, on the level on which this story takes place, this transgression ceases to be one, and its prefix is added to the many others that revolve around the root G-R-E-S-S-I-O - the action of walking: progression and regression, in our case, are equally in keeping with the intentions outlined.
Marcel {🌳} :
Words don’t come for sure...
The title *Speaking Objects* (a dummy to be assembled) could lead us to believe that the different parts of the story, separated by spaces, are proposed as interchangeable pieces. The reader's option, his personal assembly of the story's elements, will in each case be the book he chooses to read.
Stephen {📚} :
They give you the gift of fear, someone will steal it from you, it’ll fall on the street and get broken. They give you the gift of your trademark and the assurance that it’s a trademark better than the others, they gift you with the impulse to compare your ⏳ with other ⏳⏳. They aren’t giving you a ⏳, you are the gift, they’re giving you yourself for the ⏳’s birthday.
In a certain town in the Netherlands, books are shown with a blank page tucked in amongst the others. If a reader finds this page at 8:15 p.m., she or he falls in love.
Stephen {📚} :
How did it get so late so soon? It’s night before it’s afternoon. December is here before it’s June. My goodness how the time has flewn. How did it get so late so soon?
Marcel {🌳} :
Because I know time is always time. And space is always and only space.
In a certain town in Netherlands, books are sold with a blank page tucked into the middle. If a reader turns to this page when the clock strikes 8:30 p.m., she or he dies.
Alison {👁️👁️} :
The flames slowly consume the log in the fireplace. Death stands there in the background, but don’t be afraid. Hold the ⏳ down with one hand, take the stem in two fingers, and rotate it smoothly. Now another installment of time opens, trees spread their leaves, boats run races, like a fan time continues filling with itself, and from that burgeon the air, the breezes of earth, the shadow of a woman, the sweet smell of bread. What did you expect, what more do you want? Quickly. strap it to your wrist, let it tick away in freedom, imitate it greedily. Fear will rust all the rubies, everything that could happen to it and was forgotten is about to corrode the ⏳’s veins, cankering the cold blood and its tiny rubies. And death is there in the background, we must run to arrive beforehand and understand it’s already unimportant. Close the book. Turn it over so that the front cover of the book is now lying face down upon the table. Now, slowly lift the back cover of the book with the aim of exposing to view the stack of pages lying beneath it. There is nothing to see. For there is no last page in the book to meet our gaze.
Ahsley is entering the stage.
Ashley {🪵} :
I’m done... This is too much for me...
Ashley jumps in the dark...
🕳️
Haven {🌬️} :
Whereof one cannot speak, thereof one must be silent