by Michael Krekorian
Different Plymouths passing in the night. Zero Coupon hears machine sounds deep inside the heat, the slide of the piston in its bore, the press of the stamp mill, the whirl of the power lathe. A cut of metal shavings shoot the curl. He looks close. The incandescent sparks they fly free. Oil the pistons. Take a spin on a tungsten carbide wheel.
Socio-sexual industrial sounds spit out the basic unit. Stamp metal machine parts fit the assembly, form the basic unit. Result: The all-metal can opener, the roll of concertina wire, the line of shiny metal fenders. You are pure E.M.F and made in the U.S.A.
He turns the channel, he depresses the switch. He becomes the big American dream. He becomes lighter than air. The sun tracks north in the sky, and Zero lives in the mid-point of an irregular series of rectangular structures placed at intervals between strips of slotted and lined asphalt. Dream now and please sign here.
Zero Coupon explains it all: his thirty-year feud ends abruptly. Zero calls this ritual and charisma "riders in the storm." It has been written about many times before. He makes the required quota of sacrifices. Tootle-loo reality, hello illusion. Not at work, just working on our tans.
Gentlemen prefer BONDS. Zero takes a long look at the swimming pool. He counts the stamped parts found in ordinary household machines. He forges the red-hot iron in the red hard coal fire. Foreground Zero's hand on remote control, his head and walls behind him lit by one brightly colored screen. This machine moves through the wires. One: voltage. Two: shaken but not stirred. Three: Zero Coupon on the patio in the desert town next to a city with a artificial river close at hand. This river flows from north to south, this river separates the green from the green.
You get on the line, you sway with the wind. You stick up into the sky, the big black night sky. Flash: this series of messages is shaken but not stirred.
Zero says the highway is a cylinder of sorts. He sees the center of it all: 1999 red Hondas power-lock into little stamped parts. He counts them all. Zero thinks: machines have more human with every passing.
Zero Coupon sees the flash in the pan. The moment is the moment. He decides the situation. Call this thought your flying ashtray. The blue sky dialogue is this: "Fight your X for the right to have sex." He stands in front of the mirror. This is his body, this is his blood. He looks up at the blue sky and works out on the compounds.
Now the sun casts down around the rock fragments of volcanos. Foreground the leftovers. Now the colors change according to the amount of available light. Moment by moment. The goals of the air appear to be unattainable.
Big-bore electric signs push up high into the sky. Day after day it's the light upon the light. Thousands of small but bright bulbs controlled by software produce words that enter the space of the sign from top right, left, and bottom. She used to be called snow white but now she is just one lucky lady. Get an earful of a new medium. Twenty-eight new subjects find the protection provided "spectacular."
Japanese lanterns glow in the dusk, supported by metal poles staked out on the patio. Japanese lanterns are not a sign, just paper surrounding a soft-glow twenty five watt lightbulb. The product is the product and life remains normal. Zero is out there.
The nights are filled with fast and hot and beautiful stamped metal parts. Between the grooves and the lands is his structural failure. Between Zero and his hand is a hot extension cord, rated for five amps. He feels a pulse. Zero Coupon defines "alive," the trash thing, the junk thing, and the who and the why. The hot pulse on the hot wire. Different drummers passing in the night. Here's looking at: Quick Assembly. Stamped parts sing songs, regular rhythm, fine motor skills. Is the party over? Will mall-cruising vapor-lock the fifties style-drain?
The sun cracks an eye over the fractured mesa and brings red stain and purple shadows. Calcium Carbide. There is dust on this trail. Tungsten Carbide. The river turns cold and blue. Wear different masks. "We're adrift on a river of sacrifices," Zero says. Metal on metal.
Dear connoisseur: Due to superior resolution and vivid image there is a growing movement. True digital sound. Place the CD-V disk in the machine, compare to the CLV disk from a different machine. Zero hears the sounds of the megastore pounding, pounding on the stamp mill. In the cool dawn, the ground under his feet echoes with rhythm and vibration.
Zero Coupon gets the treatable condition, takes the corrective action and self regulates. He transfers huge tracts of land into flexible fuel, Ethanol, Methanol. There is a whole lot of savings goin' on. The fewer people involved the better. Zero Coupon shuts his mouth.
"Mr. Zero Coupon we have got some news. You love the milling machine, you love the lathe. You fire up the disk drives, you rotate your pistons and download your intellect."
Zero has been in this position before. He fabricates an excellent case and invents a different story, a solid agreement, a man-hunt, his Zero Coupon. He is ready to take a vote.
Different Toyotas passing in the night. Urban professionals stack themselves upon columns and columns of air. Urban Professionals verge on the mystical then materialize in the zone of air at thirty-two fifty per square foot. Zero ../../images the thirty-six story 1930's style tower for wealthy players only.
Korean steel beams ring the middle C note. No other major brand comes closer to this than this. Harmony builds taller than the law allows. For the first time the best thing is the first thing is the only thing.
Zero Coupon does not invent 1930's style wealthy players. Urban professionals compete for child care and self contained order that commands the air and the light. Zero steps into the wind tunnel, into the dark alley. The pulse inside the wire yields high gains. The steel beam structure conforms to the pattern of nerves inside the naked eye. He guarantees the view from the top floor. He gets the urge to splurge. Blackout the pool. Take a trip for next to nothing then change your name to Zero Coupon.
PDQ, quick assembly professionals, hold the furs, hold the station wagons. Urban elite buy 1930 white tower habitat in the QA/USA. Clean lines symmetrical black or monochrome. Do not gawk at the giant maize. Do not wait for Zero Coupon to explain.
The shadow of the superstructure looks at the high end of the markets and comes up, up and up. Different Nissans passing in the night. No, schools of different fish with unusual names.
Major foods change into major robots, potassium, calcium, and fiber. His future is on the horizon. I do everything you say and I get everything I want. Zero's feet never touch the ground. He lives in the air. He wants. He hits a high C and sings like a steel beam. The best thing is the first thing. On television talking packages male and female are the thing. Open the revolving door.
He looks into the 1990's and he sees things. Calcium, Protein, and Potassium. One point five million cellular car phones hit the road in 1999. Hit the road Jack. This is no mass-market access, this is your low ball low voltage bell wire of the future. Zero spends YOUR day in YOUR ashcan and makes plenty of on-site calls. The big electro- echo fast lane on-line one liners is on the road, ON THE ROAD. Zero Coupon helps the money, Zero Coupon decorates the antennas.
Zero Coupon reports back through the little motor hums of a really big North America. His tools are on his shoulders and the gates open really wide. It is 1999. And the big-bore musicians do not play musical instruments. No people sit down and program and program. Men and women wear loose fitting clothes, and the prevailing look, it will be natural.