Bastard Gum

Having just read this quote from an extract of A Pentagram for Conjuring the Narrative by Hollis Frampton, my attention was drawn to the entrance of the room, just below the apartments electrical fuse box. A pair of opaque brown lizards - who have been keeping me company most evenings this week - became entangled in a vertical bout of coital chase. The slightly smaller male seemed to latch its mouth on to the females neck or shoulder area, if these physical distinctions are made for lizards. Attempting to hug his body close to hers, the male is slowly eluded by the calm female, who moves in sporadic circles, away from his hind advices - always maintaining a counter-clockwise direction. The two freeze in motion, a ritual is quickly becoming apparent. The male's tail begins a side-to-side swipe motion, which is broken down into individual jumping frames, as if being manipulated through a projector whose spools are not working fluidly, instead strobing every second beat. Around and round they go, gripping toes to painted wall, resistance against plopping to the ground. Eventually, after thirty minutes of close scrutiny, I leave the room, turning the lights off as I go. I suddenly feel embarrassed for my prolonged eavesdropping.