Let the boy in white scream in the convention hall
Let the high lights of halogen illuminate his hemp shirt and baggy trousers, to mimic contact with something foreign in the sky
Let the wire in his ear, the mic near his lips, be checked for loose connections
Electromagnetic waves from his cells might disrupt communication links
Let him create a significant wall of sound from his body
All the technicians, accounts execs, stage managers—
with radio headsets, blue tooth, cardio monitoring machines
wires, antennae — are moving around him, trying to manage the meltdown.
Keep him calm, ground his strange vibrations
Let the boys’ blood pump where it may
We will monitor, follow him wherever he wants to go
We know he won’t listen to us
He listens to white noise moving through his body, through the ear piece tuned to a channel only he can hear, through the undiagnosed cracks in his skull
We try to find the source code:
Track, map, pin—point on sonar, predict pulses with fractal technology, give it names or codes or graphs
Try to understand it.
In hotel rooms we discuss him, shuffling through reports, projections, theories, hypothesis
We are here, waiting for the right hours, the right mix of people in one room adjacent or opposite another room with another set of people. Numbers matter, different dimensions, configurations, chatter level, ages, hours spent exposed to pictures of the boy.
We are here waiting for the alignment to happen
– Radio-in on his whereabouts.
– Keep a safe distance.
– Report his movements consistently.
Hall, loading docks, conference rooms, rest rooms, sick bays
CCTV continuity is a must, watch the boy and the entourage assigned to him.
Check the staff for fevers, hallucinations, diseases. Stand by biohazard suits, counsellors, evac protocols.
Try to measure and understand the importance of his signal bouncing between nodal points within the superstructure of the convention center
Calculate, ask questions.
Who is his ombudsman?
What is the current temperature of the halls? Is it spiking? Dropping? Has anyone felt an usual surge or loss of appetite? Sleep? Fatigue?
We must understand his codified form of expression before we can speak the correct statement or phrase about him.
This is important.
We cannot make a statement if we are unsure of his status.
But we are close.
in the middle of this late night, in this hotel room, plugged into the convention center.
TV is switching channels, montage of adverts and documentaries, stock reports, unusual glitches, weather forecasts, scattering of unidentified broadcasts, images of the new found planet.
I think that’s the problem, beaming those photographs back. No one else agrees with me.
They are only interested in the boy.
There is beige light seizing the room, neon signs from a block away spilling its electric mass onto our walls, onto our beds and sofas.
We are close to manifesting full knowledge of the boy, to focus him into the room using the patterns of his prior articulations.
No more screaming but a clear statement. We do not know what to expect. We do not know the nature of his message.
We are very close.
Everyone is anxious.