Cassandra Whitaker
TWO BOYS IN A ROOM IN A DISINTEGRATION LOOP
A boy sitting in a room with a boy who is a mirror of the boy sitting in a room with a boy in a room bristled with light. Light purring, purring fire, machinery purring and thrumming the floor so that all vibrate, and the boy sitting in a room with a boy can feel the other’s boy’s weight lying on the opposite fold of a long wave of sound which is light humming, light vibing through the floor so that all are joined in one long wavelength. As a boy begins to comb his hair the other boy begins to comb his hair and the static from the comb is enough to spark the air and two boys become charged and with their charges begin to grow out their hair as if their hair were pulled from their core by the comb, the comb cresting and curling like a wave and the hair cresting and curling as it combs out of the boys in a room of white bristled light that hums and vibes and connects the boys in one long wavelength. Pretty soon the boys are pretty and hair has fallen down around their feet which flow in waves of hair, in lengths of light, in a room where two boys comb their hair, the hair having lapped and curled and cut around in swirls and eddies and branches of rivers that collect and fall into oceans of hair in a room where a boy vanishes into another body and into another body the boy vanishes, the hair now the ocean, the ocean now the question for all answers.