boxmaker (#548)

(an instance of Generic Ambient Noise Room made by Saffron)

     A vast room. Things spin, twinkle in an endless dance, circular,
     inate. Endless things, uncounted things.
     
     The bigger thing is many jointed; dozens of arms, manipulators,
     tipped with pliers, hexdrivers, knives, a subminature circular saw,
     a dentist's drill . . .
     
     It must have been a construction remote at some time. Then it was
     welded, shot upside down in the dome, merged. Fused. Hundreds of
     cables and optic lines snake across the geodesics to enter it.
     
     At intervals, things swing past. Memories. You've been here before.
     

You see Saffron here.

This place has a certain ambiance...
     A yellowing kid glove swings past
     Slowly tumbling. The faceted stopper from a vial of vanished perfume.
     An armless doll with a scarred face of old porcelain.
     It makes you want to laugh. But there are sadnesses and sadnesses.
     Rectangular sections of perf-board.
     The crumpled snake of a green and red cravat.
     Endless, this slow swarm; spinning things.
     An old hair ribbon, once creame.
     A caps lock key, lost once. Now here.
     You knew this once. The distance. The time
     Distant, you heard a voice. "My songs are of time and distance. Watch my arms."
     There is only the dance. These things you treasure are shells.
     A peice of flaking mirror.
     Several old, faded pages.
     Spinning, a bottle of old herbs.
     A whisper, indistinct "I sing with these things around me, fragments."
     One of the manipulators moves, brushing close against you.
     A torn map.
     Junked strands of bright cable, resistive.
     Spinning mylar, lost once.