The gas seems to be working; the electricity is running swell and the plumbing is A-O-K. Ventilation, respiration, circulation--all satisfactory.
But the exit door is not an exit door of simple passage. These buildings are halls of mirrors not ordinary halls but mirror- halls installed by Dyslexia Construction.
He or she who searches for the key embarks on a search comparable to that for the grail or the link between man and ape, and the undertaking is similar to swimming without limbs.
We need. We need a key to let us into an, other, space.
I am the shell that when placed against the ear sound of an, other, place. And to get to Other we must do things to shell; clear out the fireplace, climb up the chute and onto the roof of loose shingles.
But the smoke alarm's going off, the pitch of the alarm increases exponentially and to salvage our hearing we must press through the world navel.
What we need is some sort of porthole. What we need is some sort of dynamite to blast out of the collapsed mine shaft.
I have seen a child swim without limbs.
WHAT WE NEED IS TO GET OUT OF THE BUILDING.