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Clingtone - JPop.com
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Clingtone

Clingtone

Clingtone


The dream had repeated itself and he was puzzled and frightened. Again he saw the faded blue suit trousers billowing slightly across his legs. Again he saw his left arm rested against his torso. Again there was a matt black ‘Z’ across his shirt. When he tried to focus on the mark it blurred and took him further away from the dream. As he woke he touched the crook of his right elbow. There were visible puncture marks that looked surgical in their precision, with a scratch between them creating another ‘Z’. Read more on Last.fm
The dream had repeated itself and he was puzzled and frightened. Again he saw the faded blue suit trousers billowing slightly across his legs. Again he saw his left arm rested against his torso. Again there was a matt black ‘Z’ across his shirt.

When he tried to focus on the mark it blurred and took him further away from the dream. As he woke he touched the crook of his right elbow. There were visible puncture marks that looked surgical in their precision, with a scratch between them creating another ‘Z’. He gently ran his fingers over the broken skin. The door to his right was shut, but the enamel handle turned, making a thin click as he opened it.

He looked out and saw two figures in blue suits hunched over a manhole. They were frantically pulling thick white ticker tape from the opening. Then he noticed the words printed across the paper - Dr. Zupan and His Incredible Gliding Sonicvox.

The words looped over and over. The figures turned towards him momentarily and he recognised them from the dream last night as Clingtone’s Mip Fumo and Richmond LaMarr. They looked through him and went back to the seemingly endless streamer. He shut the door and locked it. A gramophone had been placed against the wall inside the room.

Around it were paintings sat on easels, depicting foetuses in differing stages of development with some attached to umbilical cords that twisted around their neck. He looked at them in turn before his gaze returned to the gramophone. Leading towards it were tiny footprints, each no bigger than a thumb and not yet evaporated, following one after another across the dark wooden floorboards. As he looked at the footprints, they slowly faded in the order they had been left.

The arm of the gramophone lifted itself slightly and then dropped downwards to the record beneath it. He moved forward to touch it, not knowing why. The record was marked with a large ‘Z’ printed on the centre label. The volume was set at 10. Read more on Last.fm.

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