Many matters bubble beneath Bubble Girl and her mini-
meanings. For once we make speak, talking the talk of
the speak that cannot speak its name—names like Ninja
Kitty. See Kitty’s city, we all belong here, yet who a
mong us crawls its spaces yet like rats, bemused by all
its snaking plants, its hard snowmen, and its violent iPods?
Serious answers lie beneath each twentieth century master
piece. Take Mister Fiction, for example. He cannot
find Zero for the life of him, yet his algorithms are no
finer than Anysoul’s algorithms. What makes one rhythm
worthy over another? Let us escape portraiture! These
are the pithy words of dance, commingling among the
in- and out-boxes of yesteryear. Let us forthwith to Now,
our fat [berths] mingling gleefully among its many mini-spurts.
