just that fast

Horiro hates travelling by the Levitating Train. His skin stretches just too much, often his body trashes about quite wildly going through a variety of supersonic cramps. The service might need to debug a little, thinks Horiro the moment he finds himself sitting in a Victorian armchair at 221b Baker Street, London with a very little chance to catch an evening flight to Tokyo, as it is the year 1893.

There’s a suitcase in front of Horiro, increasingly reluctant to make a good impression on him, but still looking far better than everything spitted out by a luggage terminal of an average brutality level.

Horiro opens the suitcase and pulls out an object resembling a jacket. It is indeed the LACTATION JACKET! (23 lacteal model, with natural fluid circulation)

The very moment there is something buzzing nastily, breaking in the room. It is the NANO-BUMBLE BEE! (twin nano-turbine model)

“Yes, it was me who sent the NANO-BUMBLE BEE, and so what?” Horiro confesses openly several scenes later, still sporting the lactation jacket.

Somewhere else in time the countess Arhanyi is dozing off with little Horiro’s lips stuck to her brand new lactation jacket. This won’t change till Horiro’s thirty fifth birthday.

Horiro switches on the telly. The news are on. “They know less than me again” Horiro shivers. The Levitating Train reaches the orbit with an insignificant delay.

To be continued…

Demago Theatre

procedure de Sade

She’s naked in a very formal manner. Sitting at a bar stool, facing the audience motionless, pale, her eyes indicating she might be busy chasing astral pets some five dimensions above the ceiling. Hands folded neatly in her lap, feet resting on a silver frame. She blinks repeatedly, her body trembles. Silence all over.

Pushed by a man in black, casually senior with a professional look, a nursing table appears on the scene, with two rows of glass flasks on board along with a tray full of napkins, a burner and a bowl containing something yet to be seen in action. The man’s look is fire-proof, no emotions leaking. He takes the first flask, lights the burner, then a stick with cotton wool soaked in alcohol. He finds a spot on the woman’s back, quickly puts the burning stick inside the flask and presses it against her skin. Trapped in the vacuum, the skin bulges instantly . He withdraws his hand – the flask remains sitting on the skin.

Soon the woman wears quite a revealing costume made of light bulbs. One by one, the flasks are removed, and there’s a scalpel in the man’s fingers. The skin opens like a smile.

The flasks go back on skin, filling with blood slowly.  It’s like a rubber tree being
tapped.

Flasks away. The napkins’ turn. Scent of disinfection. One by one, the man picks cakes of blood. They stick to the napkins, so they can be pegged on, just like washing on Sunday afternoon.

My neighbour softly leans against my shoulder. She’s unconscious.
We take her out, soon she wakes up. Was that a thumbing sound of one of the cakes hitting the floor?

Kira O’Reilly

performance

after kira 1

after kira 2