Chapter 1

Ak has claimed the K while I perch on the J. It’s odd, we two unable to inhabit the same space, as we’ve always done, being an entity, but the typewriter has come between us, both of us enamored of the machine that gave us language. Royal is its name, and from its shiny black keys, silver rimmed, white lettering identifying what will print, we gain what we’ve never known. Names first, Ak and Ik, both demanding the K. We await the man who sets the typewriter working, applying pressure to create the clacking which throws us about, such as we can be thrown. We insinuate deeper into the Royal at times to engage in clacking frenzy. We are much taken with frenzy, which is a word the man likes. We’ve learned so much from him. And the K we like best of all, with its lines instead of curves, its complex structure.So appealing to us, as an entity, or now entities, who are fluid at best. The key itself is round, but this is forgiven. It’s content, after all. We’ve heard the man say that.

He’s called Bill and he gave us the idea of names. Until arriving here, there was no need, as space requires nothing, being a flurry of orbits and flashes. Arrival was confusing, encountering this thing called life and the people who carry it. So many. Amid the chaos, we flew into Bill’s hair, which is dark and plentiful, and he brought us here to his place. We stayed because we needed to absorb so much. That is our failing, we entities. No substance, nothing visible, yet thriving, taking it all in.

Bill arrives, throws off his bag and jacket, then comes to the typewriter. When he rolls paper into the Royal, Ak rushes to me and we ready ourselves for this thing called writing, which is to us frenzy.

Bill strikes the keys with a fury and we bound around in ecstasy—another of his words we’ve come to like. Here I must confess that another reason we love the K is he uses it so often, and when he does, he heats up. We’re sensitive to heat and when he grows frenzied with his writing, the K is used over and over. Cock. Cock. Fuck, fuck.

Bill stops after several pages, sweating now. He opens his pants and frees his appendage. Ak and I argueon what this is called as Bill gives it many names. Cock is most prevalent on the pages, but Ak likes prick, which also appears. I consider dick because it tickles me. Imagine that. An entity tickled.

Ak flies by, then comes back to his K and tells me, though we have no speaking facility, communication being insinuation, that he’s been pounded between keys and paper. Just as Bill writes of pounding pricks. And look at the real prick. Bill types faster and faster and the page is full of cocks and fucks,but then he stops and we watch him work the cock—prick! insists Ak—until it erupts like the flaming mountains we’ve observed elsewhere, except this is on a much smaller scale and his issue is white rather than red.

When done, he sits back and we wait for the sigh. We like those, and the one now is long. Bill then takes up a cloth to wipe away his wad before leaving the typewriter to do other things around his place. He’s written often of a man’s wad, though it sounds funny to us. Ak reminds me most of what we observe is funny and I can’t argue. Funny itself is funny. We settle back onto our K and J keys to enjoy our place within his.

He has another device we entered when we first rode in here. It is flat where the Royal is tall. It has no keys, no nothing, yet it beeps and sounds and Bill tends it often. Drawn by its light, we entered it within minutes of our arrival, but found chaos within. And it was too hot for us. We sprang from it as one, for we were a single entity back then. The Royal happened to be next to this device so we landed there.

How welcoming the Royal was. Absent chaos, cool to enter, we settled as one only to split up not long after, and it was words, of all things, that caused it. I gorged until I broke in two, which was quite remarkable, as I had no idea such a thing was possible. I now enjoy company for the first time, though wedo on occasion argue, mainly over the K key.

We’ve since noted Bill has a smaller flat device which he speaks into and is spoken to. We are fascinated with speech, though we have no mechanism for it, sending or receiving. We absorb sound as we do all else, and while it interests us he uses this little device, we refuse to enter anything flat. The thing mostly lives in his pocket.