FLATLAND
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“There!” said Warhol, again. And so, Pride and Power looked and commented in their usual way.
“They look like lines,” said Pride. “Yes, wavy lines,” said Power.
They’re black.
Yea, black lines.
They aren’t straight.
They’re MOSTLY straight, though.
Straight, then a curve down. Straight again, a curve up. One line like that. Then another.
They aren’t flat. They slant, I mean. A line, a space, another line… kind of angled up.
Those are angled up. These are angled down. They’re angled lines with bumps and dips. They cross each other!
You bet, they crisscross!
The Twins were enjoying themselves as they fed into each other. In this way, they were encouraged each by the other. And so, Pride did motivate. As such, Power did inspire. Yet sometimes, in that way, they’d be lured down an illogical path to a false conclusion. Notwithstanding, this time they were certainly right (”Definitely, right!” and “Surely right”)!
“No… no…” Warhol protested, standing up. “No!” he squeaked and stomped his feet. “You aren’t attending to it properly!” he quavered… using odd words and drawing out their syllables with emotion like he was wont to do. “They’re not LINES. They don’t CROSS. This isn’t a BUMP and that isn’t a DIP.” He ejaculated the words “lines”, “cross”, “bump” and “dip” as if, because of their seminal nature, they were repulsive to him. Then he tossed his brush down, shook his oval head, and pulled at his bleached hair with both lankish hands.
“Most affirmatively, they figure to be serpentine linearities,” said Pride stomping his feet and exaggerating his words for fun. “And, in actuality, the otherwise straightness of them transverse,” said Power waving his arms about and flopping his wrists. “Ha ha ha,” they both laughed in unison.
Thereupon, Power punched Pride in the shoulder good naturedly. Whereupon, Pride made a back-handed slap toward Power’s crotch.
As such, Power was moved to block Pride’s cuff. So, he slumped into a semi-crouch and used his cupped palms to protect his jewels. But, he squealed just a little bit as he did. And that had caused the more seemly patrons to glare, snort, and take on superior airs as if to say “Why aren’t those two more like that dainty one, there? We marvel at his bearing, his grace, and his charm. One can tell, he is emotional and sensitive. Just look! He’s so refined and so delicate… like a little flower.”
On seeing how the observers reacted, Warhol settled primly. In contrast, the boys froze… shocked. For, they could never understand it when people reacted that way. Then they straightened, too, in mock civility. And in this way, they finally piped down (though Power kept hands to front and at the ready).
Warhol had The Twin’s full attention now. So, neither he nor they noticed when Faith bent over, as if to pick something up, and flashed her beaver in their direction. Similarly, no one heard Hope giggle as the girls left the building.
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