She slipped arms inside his loose kimono. "Shaper," she said, "I want your genetics. All over me."
Her warm hand caressed his groin. He did what she said.
Or see:
If it weren't for the roaches, the Red Consensus would eventually smother in a moldy detritus of cast-off skin and built-up layers of sweated and exhaled effluvia. Lysine, alanine, methionine, carbamino compounds, lactic acid, sex pheromones: a constant stream of organic vapors poured invisibly, day and night, from the human body. Roaches were a vital part of the spacecraft ecosystem, cleaning up crumbs of food, licking grease.
In this fictional universe, the body can be imagined as a processor just as language can be imagined as processed.
This is the first book that I wrote on a word processor. [...] Now I could do what I liked with words — bend them, break them, jam them together, pick them apart again.
Evidence:
Something fizzed loudly with a leaping of white-hot sparks. Startled, Lindsay braced to fight. Paolo was holding a short white stick with flame gnawing at one end. "A candle," he said.
"Kindle?" said Lindsay. "Yes, I see."
"We play with fire," Paolo said. "Fazil and I."
Indeed.
And so for day 255
26.08.2007