We had to be sure eat enough Skittles.

It seemed ages, but the clouds began to move. Drift over flat wallspace. Then the grid. A microfibrous mesh of red, green, and blue filaments. It covered and created and permeated every surface. From it arose the giants. The slender and imposing spirits of omniscience. They were scattered about the room, faceless and silent. She knew what I was thinking—the one with the long ponytail and thighs powerful like a racehorse.

On the bed in the next room. The mirrored closet made the window over our heads tunnel far, far back into the north, taking with it the trees and field behind us. Yet when we sat up, it was returned. It was as if the prone position offered a better view. A nameless track wailed and washed over us. Leila and the ancient birch engaged in mystery, sending senses and sounds from metal to glass upon our bodies.

The ceiling fan spun about. Then stopped. Then spun. While the right half whirled about, the left paused and bent at its elbows. It signaled to us the coming of a new sound. "Be aware," it said. "Awaken to the strength of your position. It cannot be titled. It only is. Shake hands with it."

From the balcony we saw the conehatted gnomes playing miniature golf among their huts in the green cemetery. Christ and his fellows mourned in the distance, paradise above and below their crosses. We were quickened by the new sound. The trees were inexplicably alive. Every insect crawling, every branch arm sprawling, every squirrel hauling treats into the field. I got closer to him. Closer. And when I gazed upon his eye, there were reflected there a thousand more of me, each looking infinitely upon the next. And the song asked us what we had been asking ourselves.

I want to be flexible enough
To go out of my way for you…
Where is the line with you?

Where is the line? Music or noise? Beautiful or grotesque? Separate or one? Nearer or further? Content or ill-at-ease? Friends or mates? We asked the questions and answered them as we listened. A barrage of sounds. Layers upon layers of dipping, soaring, writhing, trembling, haunting sounds. Undiscernable, normally… but now completely unified and precisely portioned. The genius was clear. The lake experience will certainly destroy us all and birth us back to a newer, better age. We will be swept into the night when we celebrate our blessed lives around the pier.

From lying in his lap, break to new mutiny. A 80s dance party, care of the 90's, with 00's music to boot. So many moves were busted. Better than ever. Arms and feet, eyes and hands, shirt and hat—all popping every beat to Timberlake. He rocked my body, for sure.

The night began to come to a close. The camouflaged naked bodies of our fallen men dancing upon the tree trunks, the honeyed landscapes inside the bill of my cap. He kissed me gently. Reminded me that I've gotten better. And said he'd leave the door open.

No big deal. He was glad I was back. And so was I.