Lesbians Demand More Responsible Films

Chama Tilly's turning 40 and won't come down from the sea wall cave. In the middle of getting her preen gland expressed, the fully-organic K turned on her certified technician, flinging her more than 300 feet into the cloud cover over Cliff Suites. PharmSupply's medically licensed glandular biotics rep known only as "Phyllis" is passing a hard convalescence at Thong Clinic over in Chalk Chank.

"She was saying all day how much she needed me, how my skills were all that made her sane, and then whoop, flips out. Maybe I got too close. My rescuer was a level-2 protection boss in a flying-F suit."

We asked Phyl if her feelings had changed at all about having real K's or K blood/K love/K rule still flying, suffering when everyone would prefer to drive their own false K with closed legs or recycled K meat with privacy screens sewn on.

"No, because K's are not the only ones who suffer. None of us up in this chank or the crack that runs through it gets to live in an environment most suited to our "natural habitat" except of course for all humans. On the other hand, if humans and their actions are considered to be part of the natural habitat, then everyone and everything is entirely natural. If curing K’s would mean a major culling of the species for commercial gain, that's not okay. On the other hand, there is the odor, emissions, the sounds."

The K is a re-emergent life form that was named for the way it flies with its legs spread eagle. Barely living K's were hooked up to muscular positioning outfits and wireless saline IV's and flown remotely first secretly, then as a silent swell of cash transactions, and finally the unlucky target of public outcry. Flakes can't afford a K implant or the kenneling. But they deeply value the patrimony of K lore/ love/ blood/ rule.

We asked Phyl about all the hoo-ha on ground below the Chama’s lair: balcony to the world, sea salt and moss tacky. Though we understand now there was normally no more no less than pounding waves down there, with a narrow spread of rocks close as a penguin’s foot and only accessible at the pleasure of the moon, and where every low tide documentary reporters and free-speech zone die hards staggered under rubber ponchos in the mist.

“I asked them to give me a shot and bring me right back. Maybe I was the only one who could get her down. When I pulled up in the ambulance, somebody told me here, take this, and I did, thinking we were all a part of the same occupancy. Here’s a sign, they said, shout and walk around with it now. We were moving in a tight oval, no, an ellipse. I thought they meant it was a sign she wanted to be with me forever. But it said, “Lesbians Demand More Responsible Films.” Even when I put what the deal was together, I thought what better way to be where Tilly can see... that I’m totally willing to come out.


Chalk Chank [the Mp3]