Buzz Tamp. Buzz Tamp.
Executing seed function. You are alive. You are male. Proceed.
Warmth. A membrane of comfort and the symbiotic mesh of two minds as one.
"Why?"
"That sounds like a question," the responder subvocalized. He didn't speak. Not with his real voice. He tried that once but he didn't like the echoing quality of the space around him. It made him feel... lonely. Alone. Singular and empty. "You may wish to expand upon your question. I cannot very well answer such a vague query."
"Who?"
"That's a very good question. Do you know the answer?" The responder lifted the smokestrument to his mouth and pressed the nub between his lips. He sensed the pressure of the nub and inhaled. The depths of his being filled with smoke as the contents of the smokestrument's bowl glowed hot, embers fuming. The inhalation was pleasurable. The exhalation more so. He watched the blue plume as it dissipated into the Infinite Dark, the numerous winged creatures that emerged from its depths. This wasn't the first time, but that blue mist and its birthing process... it never failed to intrigue.
"No."
"You don't know the answer?"
"No."
"Do you know who you are then?"
"No."
The responder considered this. "I want to say that we cannot very well continue any serious conversation if we cannot at least identify one another. Certainly, there seems to be nobody present other than you, and I. Nor ever has there been. But what if a third party were to engage us with words at some point hereafter. How would we differentiate between speakers? I propose we decide upon terms to describe ourselves. Names. Labels. What do you think?"
The other had a small voice. Almost a squeak. "Yes."
"What, then, is your describe term? Your name, speaker?"
"What?"
"Shall I name you?"
"Yes."
"Then I call you Crush."
"Crush?"
"Is that acceptable to you?"
"Yes."
"And for me. Hm. I call myself Orbit. Yes. Orbit. I like that, I think. I want to like that. What do you think? Is Orbit an acceptable name for me?"
"Yes."
"Good," Orbit puffed again on the smokestrument. More moth-things fluttered away into the dark. Born of the smoke.
"Where?"
"Where what?"
"Where Crush?"
"I think you are nestled in my skull, Crush. I want to think that but I'm not sure it's true. I think you are a small life growing within an egg within my head. You are like an idea, or a child. More like a child, I think."
"What Crush?"
"I do not know what you are. I do not know what I am. I do not know any identity other than the Infinite Dark, and the moth-beings I create with my smokestrument, and you. It is nice that you are here. It was lonely before."
"Where Orbit?"
"I am in the infinite dark. There is nothing else. You are within me. In my head, I think. But I'm not sure where my thoughts come from. I want to say, they come from my head. But I think that's where you come from."
"Why Orbit?"
"I don't really have a purpose. I smoke my pipe and make the moth-things. Don't you think they're pretty? Oh. You can't see them I suppose. Or can you see them. Through my eyes perhaps?"
"Yes."
"Good! Here. I'll make some more. Watch as they fly into the Infinite Dark." He drew deeply on his pipe and exhaled, the blackness suddenly alive with the skittering wings of moths. They soon vanished. "None ever return. They fly away into all that space. I don't know where they go, or why. I just know that they do."
"What is Orbit?"
"I have a head, and a hand that clutches a smokestrument. I have a mouth and lips, and in my mouth live the polyps. They are squirmy and tickle my throat. That is how I know I have a throat. I suppose I must have eyes, though I have never seen them. Do you have eyes Crush?"
"No."
"So you cannot see?"
"Infinite Dark."
Orbit laughed, the polyps grasping the opportunity to flood from his open mouth and wriggle free seemed to laugh too, filling the air with a low, chittering sound. "You must open your eyes dear Crush. Open your eyes in order to see. Try that and tell me what you behold."
"No."
"You prefer the black. That is all very well. I too am surrounded in the perpetual night. I don't suppose it makes much difference. Eyes open. Eyes shut. I only gaze because otherwise I would miss the moth-things, and I do find them pretty."
"Orbit Infinite Dark."
"But that's right. Of course. You see what I see. Symbiotic mesh. So you do inhabit the cavity of my thoughts. And I yours, I suppose."
"Yes. What Infinite Dark?"
"I don't know, little Crush. It has always been here, and so have I. The moths dwell there. Out there in the black. But I don't suppose they think about that very much. To them the dark is just a place to be. For me this is also true. We all must be. You and I, and the moths."
"Why Infinite Dark? Why Moth?"
"Must there be a reason? There seems always to be a question, so I suppose there should always be an answer. At least, that's what I want to think. So yes, maybe there is a reason. Somebody's reason. But not mine. I have no reason, unless my reason is to birth the moth-things and appreciate their beauty. I name them, because that makes it easier for my thoughts, but that is not really their name. Only they know their name. Or perhaps they have no name and I am here to name them. Do you think that's a purpose?"
"Yes."
"I also think this. So we agree."
"Where Infinite Dark?"
"A thing that is infinite is all things. The Infinite Dark cannot be any place, because the Infinite Dark is any place and all places, within and without and throughout and around. I am here inside the Infinite Dark and you are here inside me. You are lucky, Crush. You have a thing within a thing, but I have only... the Infinite Dark."
"And Moth-Things."
"Yes. I have the moth-things, and my smokestrument. I have the polyps that tickle my throat, and the hardness of my bone, the fastness of my skull, the eyes I cannot see, through which I behold the black. And I have my hand and my fingers, my thumb and the sinews that make them work. These I wrap tightly about my smokestrument and breathe the moth-things into life. And I see it all in my mind. But that might be you. So maybe I am the lucky one."
"What Are The Moth Things?"
"I think they are my creation. That is what I want to say, so I shall. I think they are mine, but once they are breathed into life they are their own and no longer mine. They fly into the Infinite Dark and I shall never know what they do when they reach whatever thing it is to which they flutter. This privelege is not mine. But I am happy, for I bring into each the life they live and I am fortunate enough to watch them born."
"I am Crush."
"Yes. What are you Crush?"
"I am... awake."
"Welcome then, to the place beyond dreams. Welcome Crush, my dear little Crush."
"I am... dreams?"
"Perhaps," Orbit felt the flesh at the fringes of his teeth pinching. A smile. The polyps flowed into the dark again, eager to feel the emptiness beyond Orbit's throat. "And now I have one other thing, Crush. I have new thoughts. You have brought them to me."
"I am... new thoughts."
"Yes," the smile widened, spreading through the dark, "and there is always room for those."