Conversation · Noid

"This religion of History is false-core. It has collapsed."

"First, where is that quote from?"

"A Seraise man, who lived a long time ago. An ancient hard core brother."

"Okay, then."

"Okay," he nods.

"Let's talk about that glasswork again."

"The mass murderer? Why?"

"But she's the innocence of humanism. Humanism seems to be a pretty big deal around here."

"Humanism leads to eating sugar and pigs. Humanism was invented to mass produce billions of humans. Billions of humans can mass produce hundreds of billions of pigs."

And many, many more tons of sugar!

"She liked games. Her legacy, the thing we're living, isn't real life. It's a strategy for some kind of victory. Against a long-dead opponent. But -- yo -- I'm only the Noid. What do I know?"

"Isn't she supposed to be an embodiment of the World Spirit?"

"The World Spirit does not have a body. It has organs. Hard core is an organ of the world spirit." He raises his left hand.

"This Arno van Eyck track is an organ. The carpentry and glass-cutting that built this house are also organs. She's a thief if you ask me. An organ thief. All innocences are."

"Yeah, but, like, who isn't accused of being a mass murderer these days?"

"No one says Arno van Eyck is a mass murderer. The anodic pioneer Rietveldt is not a mass murderer. He is not accused of mass murder..."

"Likewise, no one says Germaine Egg-Head or Andre are mass murderers. You can live entirely outside that suspicion. Billions of people go about not being guilty of mass murder." He nods up. "Just not her."

"But she's pretty."

"She invented the beauty you're feeling. She and her glass-cutters and iconographers." He turns to look up at her face. "You set the standard, alright..."

"Then you meet it. It's effective like that. But it is also very soft-of-core, that so-called 'beauty' of hers."

"It's anything but soft core. It's terrifying."

"Hmh." The young man nods, he looks worried. "You may be on to something, copper-man. She's got those mass murderin' hips."

"Then it seems I like it soft, because..."

"You wouldn't be the first. Millions liked her." The young man frowns, worried. "She's got those mass murderin' lips."

"You're right, I like it harder-core."

"In the true life of tomorrow, every woman will be an innocence. They will wear neon headbands and leggings, and they will glow in the dark." His eyes smile enigmatically.

But you don't like that, you liar. You like this one, the softness of her core is dear to you...

Oh my living god, it's dear. Suddenly you feel like you need to plummet into it. Look away, say something!

"I do feel there is something terrifying about her."

"There is. She is a party-repellent and must be taken down before we can begin partying in here."

No, that's not it... it's something more. Something closer to your skin...

Say nothing, stare grimly into the distance.

The speedfreak looks the same way. It is dark there, in the back of the church. For a moment the music echoes strangely.

"Take her down. Crash it. Destroy that window."

"Will do." The speedfreak nods and pets the toolbox as if it were a cat.

"No, Noid! Stop twisting my melon, man! People are gonna love it. It'll be our thing..." His friend disagrees. "Plus it keeps the cold out!"

"Keep it. Keep the beautiful sharp shards. Keep her long face and her hair."

The speedfreak's eyes narrow with suspicion, as if he's looking at a man possessed.

"It's not coming down. People are gonna love it. It'll be, like, our thing." His friend keeps dancing. "Plus it keeps the cold and the rain out!"

"Yeah, I'm done talking about her. I don't want to think about her anymore."

What a strange choice of words...

Caustic, overflowing with negativity.

That can't be healthy. What's happening here? Why do you keep coming back to this window?

I don't know.

Well -- you shouldn't. You shouldn't come back to this anymore. Stop talking about it, please.

Nothing, everything's okay.

But it isn't. And you shouldn't come back to this anymore. This should be the last time. Stop talking about that damn window, please.

It's a nice window.

Why do you keep saying that if it isn't making you feel well? Don't come back to this anymore, stop talking about that damn window!

"Okay." The young man appears constantly worried. It's just the way his brows are built. The worry never leaves his face.

"The resettlement programs were totally okay. I'm a big fan of resettlement programs, for some reason."

"Are you a commie-cop?"

"I am."

"Then that's why. Communism is just a bloodier humanism, if you ask me. Has her love all over it." He nods up.

"No." (Lie.)

"Hmh. Then it's inexplicable. Whatever." He picks up his toolbox, then puts it back down again.

"Would you say she was... you know, human?"

"Ha!" The young man stretches his ribcage made of suspenders. "I like this theory of yours, cop-man. This one I like..." He nods. "She was not human. Not really. She was an operator, playing life like a game..."

"That's not the life that humans live. She was adored. Humans aren't. I don't know about you, but they hate me. And they do not think I'm innocent, or some shit like that."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I have thousands of fans. I am surrounded by love and support all the time."