Sed Sed

Push mutters "Gerb plug" undr his breth, slowly with precision, not knowing what he sed and what it might have ment. Just sputters, then berps real loud. Nothing concise cums or arranged sounds into meaning. Joycean nosense. "Brrtgharfinklisk Gorgolespheneinip," he says. Doktor Werds bites the top of his lips and his shulders slump like a slinky stepping downwards. His face crinkles just above the nose, distression. We all feel the distression, it's a bad headache. Yes we do. Yes we do.

Doktor Werds says: "How today is my big boy? Is he feeling gud? Yes he is, nod and tel me he is feeling gud." Of course Push smiles big wide across his fase, pulling tightly on the sides of his face to create big ripples on the sides of his chin. "Gud," Doktor Word says. Gud. Push's first word was mezmerize, which was the last discernable word ever sed publicly. In secret, whispering to himself in the cot late late it was impossible to sort through the pattering whispers to locate anything English. Doktor Werds spoke only English, he was from London, so it came out like rubber. Since he was five, Push had been here at SKIZUM (which is MUZIKS in reverse interestingly enough) trying to get better. Ther must be some significance to that.

It is every day Doktor gets Pull and they speak, one says one the other says another. No connection between the to. "Now Pull," Doktor Word says, "Pull say MOM." Pull grins wide, little white incisor specks in the pink crack. "Qworoughliferivemp jwiiingryphuliptid yesptewken." "MOM," Doktor says, mouthing out MOM slowly, his left hand in his pocket. Push stares, thinking for a moment and looks at the bright reflection in the brass colored doorknob. "Iferivempjwin gryphulipt." MOM, BOMB, BOB, MOB, all the lips look plaster identical. This goes on for a half an hour. "Now Push, we know you can speak," Doktor Werds says. "You do quite a lot of jibber jabber�talk and such. Speak?" He mouths out the word speak (peak). Doktor writes on a yellow pad, underneath Pull isn't deaf, Pull isn't blind, Pull isn't dumb. Pull is excused, opens the door and remembers just as he is about to leave that he forgot to get his lollypop. The watermelon flavored disappears with Pull's bright orange head. Ther was gharfinklisk he sed�perhaps garfinklish because garfinkle sounds familiar. What in those werds is sense? Jwiiingry perhaps you angry. Doktor Werds calls, "Sed, its your spin. Ready for the chair?" Doktor keeps talking blah blah. Werds, there are is such music in werds. Sound, texture, fun things like Pull pontificates pleasing posture. It sounds fun, it is, but there is a pattern to werds. "Sed sit." E D F C Z P 6 "Sed, get here and sit. Lets talk." F E L O P Z D 7



"A Character Named V," sed looking over the letters in the lunch menu, rearranging lasagna into saga, slang, and nasal, "Pull sed Qworoughliferivemp, am I mad to assume thorough life for five minutes? I am." Big stretches, rubber meanings, but ther is art in partial madness, but never madness alone. The trouble with werds, one of a limitless conjunction, is that they violate precedent. They are unexpected, surprising, playing games with things. PULLISNOWHERE, which is it, both? Haha. "A Character Named V, what do you see? Do you?" A Character Named V does not answer, listlessly sitting in the corner staring that the words.

Down the white hall, cream painted cement blocks, Doktor Werds is in the standing room talking, and ther is a woman listening to him. "He is not much better, no better actually, I am so sorry. I hide words from him he persists to sit by himself and stare at the things. They are inseparable." She sobs into a tissue.

On the opposite side of the room, on a bench, Pull and Fill both enjoy ther time candy. Both are pops, good pops with wax paper covers. "Pull" Fill says. "Pull say something." "Gleb Brolkithemp." Fill and Pull look at each other, Fill twirling her finger in her brown frizz. Fill is new, only sevn with just long memory, pretty green eye. "Pull," Fill asks. "Pull wher are we?" "Skimuly samuzikstanisch." A Character Named V looks at the werd novice, scratched in a paper towel, and in it finds voice, coin, vice, what else. "Sed," Doktor Werds says, walking in with the woman (she looks peculiarly familiar, some reoccurring theme?). "Sed, Francesca is here again to visit. Sed, don't you recognize her?" Funny, ther is a smell that can't be placed, like a milk shake sumthing like. Francesca (G.) is it, stares at Sed, then Werds out of desperation. Familiar, so familiar. The clip board under Words's arm says Francesca G. clearly; France, grease, scare, fear (a pair, a pattern!), care, grade, near, anything else. A Character Named V has nuthing to say. "He has been sitting by himself all day, I'm sorry, he's not here, it is all dementia." There must be a pattern, reoccurring, certain themes from past novelties. Francesca tears up and blots out big sobs. "He doesn't remember you, or he is second guessing you. Is there perhaps a clue in one of his books?" The woman looks at him, scratching under her eyelid. "Maybe," she sed. "Maybe ther is something. It's a word game, ther was something from The Enprise that has been familiar to his dementia. He's always been a bad spell, like that, but this must end." She played the ring bearer, that was it, she was a character, a MET maiden, Eden's choice. Why has she ventured into this, this is a different story. Ther wer no vowels in six, but pole in seven. And flop, but no clue. She's not a character, I wrote that years ago and it is alredy dun.