Thought to myself: if you think you have
a lot to do - do something else.
That´s the result (I call it Noli me tangere...)
Still like the idea of little printed
hands clapping - or slap, slap, slapping...
"Cheap, made to travel they throw their tiny
drumbeats out in stereo from the bed table
to the work station. They fill the room
with a music of ticking, only just out
of synch. It could be maddening,
Poe's buried heart, or that spinning toy,
a shuttlecock, ratcheting over nylon cord
slap, slap, slap. Or the body's racket
in the blood, the slow tock of sex undone.
It soothes, they do, soothe, the ping-pong
rhythm of their second-clapping hands:
red line, a vein between this and that."
(Crystal Bacon: Between the Beating Clocks)