The Pleasure Tube

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Still image: a woman frozen in space, fixed in inky blackness, the funnel of infinity pierced by diamond points of light, stars in the celestial sea. She floats as a swimmer, her palms flat and forward. Her hair streams behind—yet no breeze. Her expression intense and incomprehensible, lips slightly parted to show the glistening edges of teeth—a kiss or a cry—silent in the void.

DAEDALUS SEQUENCE 33.2871//

SPLASHDOWN//

12 August 06:42:19//

We hit the water and penetrate for what seems a minute and surge back up, as if pushed by an immense hand.

My stomach cringes and folds, snaps into a knot. I black out for the blink of an eye.

I think: four years ago.

Salt-rich air spills in as the hatch is blown. How I know we are upside down, not the entering divers: my spittle ascends; hints of my digestion swirl on the roof of my mouth.

The motion of the sea is weather of a heavy medium. In the reentry capsule’s aquarium light, I am lowered like a child from the liftoff rig by four hands, guided through the hatch to a rubber boat.

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