Adam burst unannounced into his own home with the pamphlet still in hand, damaged by folding, twisting and hand sweat. Justin was there to greet him. He held the pamphlet out for Justin to see.
“What’s this?”
“Yo, man,” Justin said, distractedly, “I don’t know but your computer got jacked.”
It didn’t register with Adam, “this pamphlet,” he said, “did you print these out?”
“You’re not listening, bra.”
“The pamphlets.”
“Oh, shit. Yeah I ran them off an shit at the nearest Kinko’s and shit.”
“Then, who handed me this?”
“That was probably my friend Marco.”
“Ah. Probably your friend, Marco. How come I’ve never met this Marco and he’s handing me pamphlets about myself.”
“I been bigging him up in the way of the force, yo. Relax, G.”
“Don’t tell me to ‘relax, G.’ This is getting way out of hand. I can’t do this anymore, I can’t cope with the craziness.”
Justin caught a big whiff of Adam’s breath.
“Oh damn, man. You been out all night drinking and shit? Yo breath is rank, you know what I’m sayin?”
“Yeah. Yeah. I know what you’re saying. Don’t ask me how, but I know. I’m going to bed.”
***
Adam awoke after four black hours of dreamless sleep with a headache and an unsettled gut. He took a leak and went to check his e-mail but found his computer was missing.
“What is this?”
A knock came at the door. He opened it and found another agent.
“Long night?” the agent said. He handed Adam an envelope and walked off.
Adam closed the door, scratched his head sleepily and opened it. He brushed the money aside and took out the post-it note. It said Grocery Money, all in capitals, underlined with three angry exclamation points.
Adam smiled.
***
“There was sensitive material on that computer,” Marsh said, “I can’t stress that enough.”
“You,” Adam emphasized, “had sensitive material on my computer?”
“I’ve webcast the show from it, and downloaded some documents I was going to use for my next show.”
“Well,” Justin said flippantly, “it’s gone now.”
“You’re not helping,” Adam said, “it’s your fault to begin with. Tell me again what happened.”
“Well, I grabbed this crackhead motherfucker off the streets, you know what I’m saying? And I took him in for the night, on the real. I thought I’s getting through to him and shit. Motherfucker was talking shit all night, for reals. Man, I woke up, that motherfucker was gone.”
“With the computer,” Marsh added.
Justin made a smacking sound with corner of his mouth.
“Who said you could take in vagrants, anyway?” Adam asked.
“I don’t know,” Justin replied, “I guess I just assumed. Look, I fucked up, yo.”
“Yeah, well,” Adam said, rubbing the back of his head, “Marsh here has some important documents on it and I think we ought to try to track it down.”
“Forget it,” Marsh said, “it’s gone. Just leave it, it’s probably sold by now for rock cocaine money. Pff, that computer is probably all smoked away by now.”
“No,” Adam said, “don’t worry about it. We’ll get it back. Show me,” he said to Justin, “you found him once you can do it again, take me to him.”
***
And there was David, right where Justin had found him the last time.
“Ooowhee,” Justin said, “you dumb as shit, son. Right in the same place I found you. Shit.”
David jerked around, rubbing his head and swinging his arm off erratically. He had a cardboard roll from wrapping paper in his other hand. He turned back around and began smacking the roll against the wall, destroying it easily.
“I don’t have your TV,” David said and laughed, “I don’t know what happened to it.” He laughed again and hit the wall again.
“Yeah, I think I got an idea what happened to it,” Justin said, stepping up, “what’s up now, boy?”
Adam grabbed Justin by the chest and held him back.
“You think you’re wise, boy,” David said, “yeah, you may be wise but you don’t know like I know. I know it’s like, whuagh!” he went into a karate pose and struck the wall again, “whuagh! You don’t know shit. You don’t know the things what I’ve seen, things that - that you couldn’t fathom in your whole entire lifespan. But I see them and I just smack them down, whuagh! And I’m smacking and I’m smacking and they keep on coming but I just keep on smacking them down like whuagh, whuagh, whuagh!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Justin said, “you smack them down, motherfucker--”
“Motherfucker, who in the fuck you think you’re calling a motherfucker? Whuagh!”
“Where’s the computer, yo?”
“The comp - what? - the computer? I told you, I don’t know nothing about no goddamn computer. The State Department took it.” David laughed, “yeah - those motherfuckers - they take everything. They took my dentures and they were there in the morning in the house and then I smacked them down. I smacked them down, and smacked them down. Boom, boom, boom! And they followed me here and now here they are again.”
He took a flying jump kick at the wall and fell down like a rag doll on the wet puddly pavement.
“Look,” Marsh said, “he doesn’t have it. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
“Yeah,” Justin said, “this shit is whack. Last time I ever help out a crackhead, motherfucker!”
David was sprawled out on the ground. He reached over and yelled nasily toward Justin, crying.
Adam had a hard time just walking away, but he just didn’t feel like he could help anyone anymore.
Saturday, October 4, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
36
Denny’s was a Godsend. Open all night, he made a home in a booth there. Piled his regular people jacket in the corner and leaned into it waiting for his burger and fries. While he was waiting he slipped back in time.
Nightclub.
It might as well have been called The Golgotha Club. This is the place where dreams came to die.
He was feeling good, so he decided to go talk to the trees. They looked just like people and they had drinks in their hands, but they were trees.
“How’s it going?”
Silence. The would pull out their cell phones and start texting, or just play around with them.
The establishment of good rapport with others is essential to sanity.
He awkwardly moved on, double fisting, to the next trees. Silence. The wind blowing through their ears.
Eventually he found people who would talk. He didn’t like small talk too much, but as soon as he got off it, that’s when the conversation fizzled out.
“… I wonder what kind of effect advertising really has on these people. Everywhere you look there’s people flaunting brand names, like it’s their own name …”
“… see, most people here fit into my six categories of obnoxiousness and uh, I’m having a hard time finding anybody here who fits into my six categories of charisma …”
“… I mean what is a soul, right? Let me tell you, there is life after death, you just have to make sure somebody clones you …”
“… I know Henry Falconer …”
Each time, he tried to cut the crap and have a real conversation, it was nullified by bored glances around the room, raised eyebrows coupled with slow nods, and cell phone play.
Just people being people, he guessed. Real conversation, it appeared, was no fun.
***
He ate his fries one at a time, each one bringing him a sliver of infinity closer to the present.
Gallery.
He was the one there who just had to have something interesting to say. There was a taker.
They were talking about art.
“It seems to me,” he said, “that artists these days are so cynical. They think everything’s already been done so they don’t try to push the boundaries. They don’t try to find new genres and new mediums to express themselves in.”
“Maybe,” the taker said, “they’re happy expressing themselves in the medium they’re working in. Maybe they don’t need to create new genres, new mediums and new classifications.”
“But, the audience needs it, don’t they?”
He didn’t get an answer. The conversation moved to film. The taker was caught up talking about his favorite scenes from Star Wars.
“… and then when he shoots Greedo …”
“… and then when …”
“… and then when …”
“oh man … that was awesome!”
It seemed he was missing the whole point.
“I know Henry Falconer.”
The conversation was put to bed, where it died, surrounded by loved ones, became one with infinity.
Otherwise it was mostly the same. A whole lot of dressed up people avoiding eye contact.
***
He started in on his burger.
A group of young men were making a big ruckus, laughing, goofing off, twisting off salt shaker caps, mixing condiment ingredients. They were giving the waitress a hard time about beer. They just wanted to keep their buzz going. People being people.
The pub was quieter than this.
The pub where people acted like people. It too, was a Godsend, but people were still obnoxious there too. Puking and cussing and spitting and punching, people dressed down but still on display.
The city was a zoo whose big attraction was people. Different dress codes, different style of speech, but all basically alike.
***
By the time he got to the metro station he realized it was eight in the morning. It was a new day, for most it was just beginning for Adam it was just ending. People shuffled into the underground station in waves of three, waiting to ride the river of steel, all it costs is a token.
There was a three headed attack outside the station doors, three people working, doing their job. Two of them were handing out newspapers, Adam walked right past them, the third, he handed Adam a pamphlet about the exciting new religious group called the Adamites.
Nightclub.
It might as well have been called The Golgotha Club. This is the place where dreams came to die.
He was feeling good, so he decided to go talk to the trees. They looked just like people and they had drinks in their hands, but they were trees.
“How’s it going?”
Silence. The would pull out their cell phones and start texting, or just play around with them.
The establishment of good rapport with others is essential to sanity.
He awkwardly moved on, double fisting, to the next trees. Silence. The wind blowing through their ears.
Eventually he found people who would talk. He didn’t like small talk too much, but as soon as he got off it, that’s when the conversation fizzled out.
“… I wonder what kind of effect advertising really has on these people. Everywhere you look there’s people flaunting brand names, like it’s their own name …”
“… see, most people here fit into my six categories of obnoxiousness and uh, I’m having a hard time finding anybody here who fits into my six categories of charisma …”
“… I mean what is a soul, right? Let me tell you, there is life after death, you just have to make sure somebody clones you …”
“… I know Henry Falconer …”
Each time, he tried to cut the crap and have a real conversation, it was nullified by bored glances around the room, raised eyebrows coupled with slow nods, and cell phone play.
Just people being people, he guessed. Real conversation, it appeared, was no fun.
***
He ate his fries one at a time, each one bringing him a sliver of infinity closer to the present.
Gallery.
He was the one there who just had to have something interesting to say. There was a taker.
They were talking about art.
“It seems to me,” he said, “that artists these days are so cynical. They think everything’s already been done so they don’t try to push the boundaries. They don’t try to find new genres and new mediums to express themselves in.”
“Maybe,” the taker said, “they’re happy expressing themselves in the medium they’re working in. Maybe they don’t need to create new genres, new mediums and new classifications.”
“But, the audience needs it, don’t they?”
He didn’t get an answer. The conversation moved to film. The taker was caught up talking about his favorite scenes from Star Wars.
“… and then when he shoots Greedo …”
“… and then when …”
“… and then when …”
“oh man … that was awesome!”
It seemed he was missing the whole point.
“I know Henry Falconer.”
The conversation was put to bed, where it died, surrounded by loved ones, became one with infinity.
Otherwise it was mostly the same. A whole lot of dressed up people avoiding eye contact.
***
He started in on his burger.
A group of young men were making a big ruckus, laughing, goofing off, twisting off salt shaker caps, mixing condiment ingredients. They were giving the waitress a hard time about beer. They just wanted to keep their buzz going. People being people.
The pub was quieter than this.
The pub where people acted like people. It too, was a Godsend, but people were still obnoxious there too. Puking and cussing and spitting and punching, people dressed down but still on display.
The city was a zoo whose big attraction was people. Different dress codes, different style of speech, but all basically alike.
***
By the time he got to the metro station he realized it was eight in the morning. It was a new day, for most it was just beginning for Adam it was just ending. People shuffled into the underground station in waves of three, waiting to ride the river of steel, all it costs is a token.
There was a three headed attack outside the station doors, three people working, doing their job. Two of them were handing out newspapers, Adam walked right past them, the third, he handed Adam a pamphlet about the exciting new religious group called the Adamites.
Monday, September 22, 2008
35
One more round.
Adam left the gallery. He stood on the street cold and alone, waiting for a taxi to swing by so he could hail it. But in the meantime, none came.
He walked.
Walked and walked, watching squares of sidewalk slide under him, out of his field of vision. He imagined each square was quartered into four triangles and he wasn’t allowed to step on the connecting lines, only on the triangles themselves. When he passed things like sewer drains, those created two more lines that bisected and trisected the triangles into smaller triangles and pentagons. Cracked pavement threw his game for an interesting loop. It was all in his head. Lines and shapes, but no color, only the grey of the pavement, and no sound except the cars and taxis whooshing by. Occasionally he’d hear a distant siren.
Sirens. What eerie, captivating music they made when heard in the distance. Up close, the sound was unbearable and the reality of the situation hit him full in the mouth, rattling his skull.
In the hospital he had looked out the window, surveyed the cityscape and declared it his for the taking. Now, he saw it for what it was: lines and shapes, dull colors and distant sounds.
So he walked, avoiding lines, staring at the ground and before he knew it, he had wandered far, far away from the artsy fartsies. The dull orange of the streetlights gave way to the kaleidoscope of neons and he knew without looking, avoiding lines, that he was back downtown.
One more round.
He wandered off the busy downtown street. The street filled with raucous and unaffable young men and women, into a place he suspected might have put them there. An Irish style pub, winding down for the night.
Adam took a seat at the bar. Everybody wore regular people clothes, there was nothing to distinguish Adam from the rest of them, he wasn’t sure why that depressed him. But, it got him thinking.
It got him thinking about the way he was thinking. His newfound attention to petty detail, wrapped up in himself, not fully aware of his surroundings, sweating the small stuff, avoiding lines. A whole bunch of little things.
It was all a matter of perspective.
“Yeah,” a drunken frat boy hollered next to him, pint glass raised to the heavens, “to perspective!” He cheersed Adam, finished his last gulp of beer, wiped off his mouth with his shirt sleeve, and stumbled toward the door with his arms wrapped around his two friends’ shoulders.
“Well, looks like I’m talking to myself,” Adam said to himself.
“Last call!” yelled the bartender, ringing a bell.
Adam ordered two drinks.
“Hey,” another young man in regular people clothes said, “You’re not crazy if you talk to yourself.”
“Oh yeah,” Adam said.
“Naw, you’re only crazy if you answer yourself. Right Jamie? Right!” The young man, apparently named Jamie, laughed. Adam couldn’t help but chuckle.
Now here was a place where everybody talked to everybody. They were all regular people and had the clothes to prove it. He was finally witness to it. A strong community. He felt comfortable there.
Still, he couldn’t help feeling he was missing the big picture.
***
Adam walked and sat, walked and sat, and thought. He was still thinking about the little things, the little events. Not long ago he was conversing with infinity, now he couldn’t concentrate on anything larger than a moment.
All the little things.
He tried to synthesize the night’s events into a single package. A night’s feast of experiences that refused to be concentrated into a bite-sized morsel.
Man, Adam thought to himself, all the little things.
He walked and then sat, got up, walked a bit more, then sat some more.
Was it that he was suggestible? Did his environment rub off on him? He had always been the rubber, so to speak, up to this point, what had gotten into him?
All the little things.
After all the walking and sitting and thinking there were still some things he’d avoided thinking about, until now.
The sun was coming up.
Three little moments. Three slivers of infinity…
Adam left the gallery. He stood on the street cold and alone, waiting for a taxi to swing by so he could hail it. But in the meantime, none came.
He walked.
Walked and walked, watching squares of sidewalk slide under him, out of his field of vision. He imagined each square was quartered into four triangles and he wasn’t allowed to step on the connecting lines, only on the triangles themselves. When he passed things like sewer drains, those created two more lines that bisected and trisected the triangles into smaller triangles and pentagons. Cracked pavement threw his game for an interesting loop. It was all in his head. Lines and shapes, but no color, only the grey of the pavement, and no sound except the cars and taxis whooshing by. Occasionally he’d hear a distant siren.
Sirens. What eerie, captivating music they made when heard in the distance. Up close, the sound was unbearable and the reality of the situation hit him full in the mouth, rattling his skull.
In the hospital he had looked out the window, surveyed the cityscape and declared it his for the taking. Now, he saw it for what it was: lines and shapes, dull colors and distant sounds.
So he walked, avoiding lines, staring at the ground and before he knew it, he had wandered far, far away from the artsy fartsies. The dull orange of the streetlights gave way to the kaleidoscope of neons and he knew without looking, avoiding lines, that he was back downtown.
One more round.
He wandered off the busy downtown street. The street filled with raucous and unaffable young men and women, into a place he suspected might have put them there. An Irish style pub, winding down for the night.
Adam took a seat at the bar. Everybody wore regular people clothes, there was nothing to distinguish Adam from the rest of them, he wasn’t sure why that depressed him. But, it got him thinking.
It got him thinking about the way he was thinking. His newfound attention to petty detail, wrapped up in himself, not fully aware of his surroundings, sweating the small stuff, avoiding lines. A whole bunch of little things.
It was all a matter of perspective.
“Yeah,” a drunken frat boy hollered next to him, pint glass raised to the heavens, “to perspective!” He cheersed Adam, finished his last gulp of beer, wiped off his mouth with his shirt sleeve, and stumbled toward the door with his arms wrapped around his two friends’ shoulders.
“Well, looks like I’m talking to myself,” Adam said to himself.
“Last call!” yelled the bartender, ringing a bell.
Adam ordered two drinks.
“Hey,” another young man in regular people clothes said, “You’re not crazy if you talk to yourself.”
“Oh yeah,” Adam said.
“Naw, you’re only crazy if you answer yourself. Right Jamie? Right!” The young man, apparently named Jamie, laughed. Adam couldn’t help but chuckle.
Now here was a place where everybody talked to everybody. They were all regular people and had the clothes to prove it. He was finally witness to it. A strong community. He felt comfortable there.
Still, he couldn’t help feeling he was missing the big picture.
***
Adam walked and sat, walked and sat, and thought. He was still thinking about the little things, the little events. Not long ago he was conversing with infinity, now he couldn’t concentrate on anything larger than a moment.
All the little things.
He tried to synthesize the night’s events into a single package. A night’s feast of experiences that refused to be concentrated into a bite-sized morsel.
Man, Adam thought to himself, all the little things.
He walked and then sat, got up, walked a bit more, then sat some more.
Was it that he was suggestible? Did his environment rub off on him? He had always been the rubber, so to speak, up to this point, what had gotten into him?
All the little things.
After all the walking and sitting and thinking there were still some things he’d avoided thinking about, until now.
The sun was coming up.
Three little moments. Three slivers of infinity…
Saturday, September 20, 2008
34
On to the next scene!
A short metro ride across town, he entered the artsy fartsy district, where there was always a lot of interesting and one might say, zany, goings on to catch the eye and capture the imagination. Things in windows, things hanging off light posts, distracting things. Mailboxes and fire hydrants painted and stenciled with all sorts of colors and designs. Oh, nearly everything had been stenciled in the artsy fartsy district, and that which had not been stenciled had been stickered.
It had a more stimulating and inspiring atmosphere than the numbness of downtown with all the meatheads and preppies.
It didn’t take long to find an event, or what looked like an event. On the street, he found a nebulous swarm of skinny young men and women, smoking, some truly young, some young at heart, outside a narrow, featureless building. A gallery. They wore colorful, interesting clothes and scarves and hats, interesting pants and jackets that looked vintage but somehow fit just right. Bicycles were chained all over, anywhere something stuck out of the ground, there you’d find a bicycle chained up.
Adam strolled confidently into the gallery in his regular people clothes. A skinny androgyne stood by the door, collecting cover charges, stamping hands, bored out of his/her wits. Two other skinny androgynes served drinks from a large silver ice-filled bucket on a long white table, bored out of their wits. He grabbed a pair of drinks, paid eleven bucks, outrageous!
He stood there in his regular people clothes, double fisting. He figured he must be the most interesting looking person there, being the only one who looked any different. He figured and sipped.
The place was packed, and an excitement born of self-importance and fast, loud conversation cycloned through the humid, stuffy room. About ten framed photographs graced the limited wall space. He walked over and checked out each one in turn. Little handwritten notes with messages like -450 or -725 were pinned beside each photo, outrageous!
Yeah, yeah, yeah, a gallery.
If the downtown people presented themselves like peacocks the artists and scenesters in this place presented themselves like lions. All puffed-up with scarves or furry necked leather jackets or big puffed-up egos. But, Adam wasn’t saying, he was just saying, you know? Who was he to yeah, yeah, yeah, a judge.
Adam always had this thing at parties. He wasn’t necessarily the most talkative person in the world, but he became a seeker. His policy would be to look out for the most interesting looking guy or girl standing around not talking to anyone.
In high school Adam had had a policy. Sit next to the quiet kid. The kid with no friends. That kid always had something interesting to say, because they didn’t ever have anybody to talk to, just all the time in the world to study stuff, feel left out and think about everything. Besides, if that kid blew up and went on a shooting spree, who do you think that kid is going to leave off his list?
Of course, this Adam didn’t necessarily have any direct experience with such matters. He’d never been to a party before. He’d never gone to high school. He was a couple months old. But he retained the memories of someone with all the experience he--
“How’s it going?”
It appeared somebody else there played Adam’s game. There was a quick moment of ‘who me?’ then Adam replied:
“Not too bad.”
“So,” Adam’s new friend said, “what do you think?” and held his arms out expansively.
“It’s alright,” Adam took a sip from the drink in his left hand. He was getting better at holding things with his left hand, “that painting of the old guy sitting in front of the brick wall kind of stirs something in me. Er … I mean, photo.”
Laughter.
“The one where the old guy’s sitting with his cane,” the new friend said with a smile, “kind of looking off to the side? Stirs something up in you, huh?”
“Yeah,” Adam said, “I don’t know what, though.”
The guy laughed again, “I guess it doesn’t really matter what though, hey?”
The guy cheersed Adam and the two of them clanged drinks, and sipped.
The place really was hot and humid. He realized part of the excitement of a place like this was the sensation of getting warm in the ears and face, like when he used to get hyper as a kid. Er … when the old Adam got hyper as a kid. This Adam was kind of just like a baby.
Baby Adam turned to mention something about the warm/cool color contrasts of another photo but the guy had cheersed him and left.
He stood alone for about ten more minutes, sipping his two drinks, wondering if he would ever talk to anybody again. The tiny, sardine-packed world around him nattered away.
A short metro ride across town, he entered the artsy fartsy district, where there was always a lot of interesting and one might say, zany, goings on to catch the eye and capture the imagination. Things in windows, things hanging off light posts, distracting things. Mailboxes and fire hydrants painted and stenciled with all sorts of colors and designs. Oh, nearly everything had been stenciled in the artsy fartsy district, and that which had not been stenciled had been stickered.
It had a more stimulating and inspiring atmosphere than the numbness of downtown with all the meatheads and preppies.
It didn’t take long to find an event, or what looked like an event. On the street, he found a nebulous swarm of skinny young men and women, smoking, some truly young, some young at heart, outside a narrow, featureless building. A gallery. They wore colorful, interesting clothes and scarves and hats, interesting pants and jackets that looked vintage but somehow fit just right. Bicycles were chained all over, anywhere something stuck out of the ground, there you’d find a bicycle chained up.
Adam strolled confidently into the gallery in his regular people clothes. A skinny androgyne stood by the door, collecting cover charges, stamping hands, bored out of his/her wits. Two other skinny androgynes served drinks from a large silver ice-filled bucket on a long white table, bored out of their wits. He grabbed a pair of drinks, paid eleven bucks, outrageous!
He stood there in his regular people clothes, double fisting. He figured he must be the most interesting looking person there, being the only one who looked any different. He figured and sipped.
The place was packed, and an excitement born of self-importance and fast, loud conversation cycloned through the humid, stuffy room. About ten framed photographs graced the limited wall space. He walked over and checked out each one in turn. Little handwritten notes with messages like -450 or -725 were pinned beside each photo, outrageous!
Yeah, yeah, yeah, a gallery.
If the downtown people presented themselves like peacocks the artists and scenesters in this place presented themselves like lions. All puffed-up with scarves or furry necked leather jackets or big puffed-up egos. But, Adam wasn’t saying, he was just saying, you know? Who was he to yeah, yeah, yeah, a judge.
Adam always had this thing at parties. He wasn’t necessarily the most talkative person in the world, but he became a seeker. His policy would be to look out for the most interesting looking guy or girl standing around not talking to anyone.
In high school Adam had had a policy. Sit next to the quiet kid. The kid with no friends. That kid always had something interesting to say, because they didn’t ever have anybody to talk to, just all the time in the world to study stuff, feel left out and think about everything. Besides, if that kid blew up and went on a shooting spree, who do you think that kid is going to leave off his list?
Of course, this Adam didn’t necessarily have any direct experience with such matters. He’d never been to a party before. He’d never gone to high school. He was a couple months old. But he retained the memories of someone with all the experience he--
“How’s it going?”
It appeared somebody else there played Adam’s game. There was a quick moment of ‘who me?’ then Adam replied:
“Not too bad.”
“So,” Adam’s new friend said, “what do you think?” and held his arms out expansively.
“It’s alright,” Adam took a sip from the drink in his left hand. He was getting better at holding things with his left hand, “that painting of the old guy sitting in front of the brick wall kind of stirs something in me. Er … I mean, photo.”
Laughter.
“The one where the old guy’s sitting with his cane,” the new friend said with a smile, “kind of looking off to the side? Stirs something up in you, huh?”
“Yeah,” Adam said, “I don’t know what, though.”
The guy laughed again, “I guess it doesn’t really matter what though, hey?”
The guy cheersed Adam and the two of them clanged drinks, and sipped.
The place really was hot and humid. He realized part of the excitement of a place like this was the sensation of getting warm in the ears and face, like when he used to get hyper as a kid. Er … when the old Adam got hyper as a kid. This Adam was kind of just like a baby.
Baby Adam turned to mention something about the warm/cool color contrasts of another photo but the guy had cheersed him and left.
He stood alone for about ten more minutes, sipping his two drinks, wondering if he would ever talk to anybody again. The tiny, sardine-packed world around him nattered away.
Friday, September 19, 2008
33
Adam stood in line outside the nightclub. Blah, blah, blah thumping music. Blah, blah, blah, laughing immature women, blah, blah, blah, self-important men with short hair and dress shirts, blah, blah, blah, bored looking bald headed bouncer stood feet shoulder width apart, clasping wrist in front of him, white curlicue wire stretching to his ear. Blah, blah, blah, a nightclub.
Adam was uninspired but dedicated. Conspicuously decked out in regular people clothes, he was a pigeon in a row of peacocks. If it were a police line-up, he‘d be toast for sure. He felt he must be the only interesting looking person in the line, being the only one who appeared different. No one paid much attention though, they looked, smiled and clucked with the other peacocks. He wasn’t sure why that depressed him.
The line shuffled forward, before too long it was his time to meet the gatekeeper.
The bouncer didn’t want to betray his tough guy countenance but couldn’t suppress a raised eyebrow as he was looking Adam up and down. Maybe he gave everybody curious glances.
“ID.”
Adam showed his ID. The bouncer scanned it carefully, chewing gum.
“Step forward. Raise your arms.”
Adam stepped forward and raised his arms out to the side, a caricature of Christ for the bouncer to search for weapons. Adam felt his pride swell, he had no weapons, he was a weapon. A weapon for a new age of enlightenment. Then again, maybe not so much anymore.
The bouncer waved his white, metal-detecting wand over Adam’s left arm. A slight whine. Over Adam’s right arm. Slight whine. Chest and back, multiple whines, legs, double whines. The bouncer looked doubtfully at his wand, gave it a shake. Second pass, whined again.
The bouncer patted Adam down thoroughly, getting rather personal in places.
“What,” the bouncer said, “you got piercing or surgical pins in you or something?”
“No.”
***
Inside, he screamed for two drinks. Double fisting, that was his policy. The trick was to drink both at once, so neither drink warmed to palm temperature.
The place was a dizzying array of loud light and bright noise.
People having fun.
People being people.
Dancing, flirting, laughing, yelling.
A lot of darkness followed by flashes and fast motion, blah, blah, blah, a nightclub.
He wanted so desperately to enjoy himself.
So blah, blah, blah, he talked, blah, blah, blah, and the women played with their cell phones fake distractedly, but not really, and gave him suspicious looks, blah, blah, blah, and no one had anything to say.
Blah, blah, blah, a nightclub.
The place was packed with emptiness. He’d been to clubs before. Plenty of times. When he was younger.
He had never been younger.
When the old Adam was younger. Anyway, he should have known. Should have remembered. Or reviewed the old Adam‘s memories. He would have known. This was the kind of scene that had got him off on his trip in the first place.
He ordered two more drinks. A Bud and a vodka and cranberry. Yeah it was a girly drink but who was he to judge? Girly drink or not, it was still a hard drink. A hard, watered-down drink, surrounded by hard, watered-down people. People who were hard like an eggshell.
He finished his drinks, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and left.
Adam was uninspired but dedicated. Conspicuously decked out in regular people clothes, he was a pigeon in a row of peacocks. If it were a police line-up, he‘d be toast for sure. He felt he must be the only interesting looking person in the line, being the only one who appeared different. No one paid much attention though, they looked, smiled and clucked with the other peacocks. He wasn’t sure why that depressed him.
The line shuffled forward, before too long it was his time to meet the gatekeeper.
The bouncer didn’t want to betray his tough guy countenance but couldn’t suppress a raised eyebrow as he was looking Adam up and down. Maybe he gave everybody curious glances.
“ID.”
Adam showed his ID. The bouncer scanned it carefully, chewing gum.
“Step forward. Raise your arms.”
Adam stepped forward and raised his arms out to the side, a caricature of Christ for the bouncer to search for weapons. Adam felt his pride swell, he had no weapons, he was a weapon. A weapon for a new age of enlightenment. Then again, maybe not so much anymore.
The bouncer waved his white, metal-detecting wand over Adam’s left arm. A slight whine. Over Adam’s right arm. Slight whine. Chest and back, multiple whines, legs, double whines. The bouncer looked doubtfully at his wand, gave it a shake. Second pass, whined again.
The bouncer patted Adam down thoroughly, getting rather personal in places.
“What,” the bouncer said, “you got piercing or surgical pins in you or something?”
“No.”
***
Inside, he screamed for two drinks. Double fisting, that was his policy. The trick was to drink both at once, so neither drink warmed to palm temperature.
The place was a dizzying array of loud light and bright noise.
People having fun.
People being people.
Dancing, flirting, laughing, yelling.
A lot of darkness followed by flashes and fast motion, blah, blah, blah, a nightclub.
He wanted so desperately to enjoy himself.
So blah, blah, blah, he talked, blah, blah, blah, and the women played with their cell phones fake distractedly, but not really, and gave him suspicious looks, blah, blah, blah, and no one had anything to say.
Blah, blah, blah, a nightclub.
The place was packed with emptiness. He’d been to clubs before. Plenty of times. When he was younger.
He had never been younger.
When the old Adam was younger. Anyway, he should have known. Should have remembered. Or reviewed the old Adam‘s memories. He would have known. This was the kind of scene that had got him off on his trip in the first place.
He ordered two more drinks. A Bud and a vodka and cranberry. Yeah it was a girly drink but who was he to judge? Girly drink or not, it was still a hard drink. A hard, watered-down drink, surrounded by hard, watered-down people. People who were hard like an eggshell.
He finished his drinks, wiped his mouth with his sleeve and left.
Monday, September 15, 2008
32
The white unmarked man rolled up the tinted passenger side window of the black unmarked car, then the whole black and white affair rolled away into the rainbow of traffic.
In Adam’s hand was an envelope. He was a kind of secret trust fund baby now, indentured to an absentee father he hated and never saw.
He had gotten away. From the madness of the group and the pressure being a kind of messiah. The group was an extension of himself, and he had gotten away from it. But he hadn’t gotten away from the men in black suits, the envelope money that was magically replenished the moment it ran out and the dreams. The dreams were hazy now, blurry. Kindergarten drawing dreams. Dreams about labs and examination tables, seen from inside a vat of unidentifiable liquid. Unformed things, colored outside the lines. Things with no hope of escape.
He tried anyway. The best place to escape and hide was in plain sight.
Escape is best made in a crowd.
Embrace it, he thought. Embrace the masses. He was sick of hating them by now. There was still a large part of him, that he had been trying very hard to bury, that felt like he could beat them, but he was losing his motivation. He probably could beat them, but he was tired so he decided to join them anyway.
Know all you can about an opponent before engaging them.
Somewhere in there, he knew that fighting was the wrong way to go about change.
Subvert the culture and values of an opponent from within.
He had his envelope money, and it was time to hit the town.
***
David hit Adam’s couch with a thud. David was his name, the man Justin had rescue from the back alley and brought home. Marsh and the twins were out shooting second unit stuff around the city, Fargas was at his own house and Thomas and Leah hadn’t been around much lately. David had Justin’s undivided attention.
“Do uh,” David began, “do you have a butter knife I can have? Something you don’t use much.”
“A buttaknife?” Justin said.
“Yeah. If I can find a plug, I can strip the wire and hook up the negative and positive electrodes to the butter knife and it’ll give off heat.”
Justin thought about it. He thought over everything carefully these days. He said, “Naw man, you don’t need no buttaknife ‘cause you be livin large wit us now.”
“Any piece of metal will do, really,” David continued. “Any piece of scrap metal will give off heat if you can find a plug. I usually try to stand under lights because they give off that little bit of radiant heat.”
Justin nodded thoughtfully and really listened to what the man had to say.
“Yeah,” David went on, “that’s pretty much my life. Find a source of heat. Find a warm place to sleep for the night. It gets pretty cold, nights.”
“Not no more,” Justin said. “It’s warm in here as shit,” he pointed at the couch, “might as well make yo’self comfortable.”
“Hn,” David said, “I don’t like couches. I don’t like the way they make my spine curve.”
“Well shit, muthafucka, don’t make no difference to me, you can sleep on the floor then, know what I‘m saying?”
In Adam’s hand was an envelope. He was a kind of secret trust fund baby now, indentured to an absentee father he hated and never saw.
He had gotten away. From the madness of the group and the pressure being a kind of messiah. The group was an extension of himself, and he had gotten away from it. But he hadn’t gotten away from the men in black suits, the envelope money that was magically replenished the moment it ran out and the dreams. The dreams were hazy now, blurry. Kindergarten drawing dreams. Dreams about labs and examination tables, seen from inside a vat of unidentifiable liquid. Unformed things, colored outside the lines. Things with no hope of escape.
He tried anyway. The best place to escape and hide was in plain sight.
Escape is best made in a crowd.
Embrace it, he thought. Embrace the masses. He was sick of hating them by now. There was still a large part of him, that he had been trying very hard to bury, that felt like he could beat them, but he was losing his motivation. He probably could beat them, but he was tired so he decided to join them anyway.
Know all you can about an opponent before engaging them.
Somewhere in there, he knew that fighting was the wrong way to go about change.
Subvert the culture and values of an opponent from within.
He had his envelope money, and it was time to hit the town.
***
David hit Adam’s couch with a thud. David was his name, the man Justin had rescue from the back alley and brought home. Marsh and the twins were out shooting second unit stuff around the city, Fargas was at his own house and Thomas and Leah hadn’t been around much lately. David had Justin’s undivided attention.
“Do uh,” David began, “do you have a butter knife I can have? Something you don’t use much.”
“A buttaknife?” Justin said.
“Yeah. If I can find a plug, I can strip the wire and hook up the negative and positive electrodes to the butter knife and it’ll give off heat.”
Justin thought about it. He thought over everything carefully these days. He said, “Naw man, you don’t need no buttaknife ‘cause you be livin large wit us now.”
“Any piece of metal will do, really,” David continued. “Any piece of scrap metal will give off heat if you can find a plug. I usually try to stand under lights because they give off that little bit of radiant heat.”
Justin nodded thoughtfully and really listened to what the man had to say.
“Yeah,” David went on, “that’s pretty much my life. Find a source of heat. Find a warm place to sleep for the night. It gets pretty cold, nights.”
“Not no more,” Justin said. “It’s warm in here as shit,” he pointed at the couch, “might as well make yo’self comfortable.”
“Hn,” David said, “I don’t like couches. I don’t like the way they make my spine curve.”
“Well shit, muthafucka, don’t make no difference to me, you can sleep on the floor then, know what I‘m saying?”
Friday, September 12, 2008
31
Peter chewed the inside of his cheeks raw. It was better than grinding his teeth, he didn’t have strong teeth, plus it was an obvious sign. He sat back on Adam’s couch with his feet spread way out, drinking glass after glass of tap water, trying to stop his hands shaking from anger released adrenaline.
“Really?” Eunice said, with gleeful fascination.
“Oh yeah,” said Fargas, “I’ve been all over. Everywhere I go it always happens.”
“Well, uh,” she said, quickly glancing up and down at him, “you ought to lock yourself up.”
“It ain’t me, babe,” Fargas said, smiling.
Peter chewed the inside of his lip.
“These things happen,” Fargas continued. “They always happen. It happens to everybody and it’ll happen to you.”
“Yeah, but not soon I hope.”
“Aren’t you curious what’s on the other side?”
“I’ve always been fascinated by death, but I never wanted to get too close up to it. Not until I’m a feeble old hag.”
“Me? I’m pretty eager to find out what’s waiting after death, even if it’s nothing, you know? To know! … but, uh, I’m not that eager.”
They laughed. Peter chewed, then sipped.
“So death follows you around, huh?” Eunice said.
“In a way. Seen a lot of it. I used to think if I got away from the big city, hid out in the small towns I could escape it. Or at least most of it. Nothing doing. You go to some small town in Iowa to get away from big city life, big city death and BANG! First murder in twenty years.”
She leaned in and put a hand on his chest, “are you a serial killer, Mr. Fargas?”
He laughed, uneasily, but only from the flirtatious placement of the hand, not the accusation.
“Maybe,” he said, “maybe I have a double life I don’t know about. Better not spend the night with me, I kill in my sleep.”
CLANG!
Eunice and Peter exchanged death-ray stares. “Sorry,” Peter said, “glass slipped.”
“Yeah,” Fargas continued, “ain’t never seen a dead body though. They’re just always off in the background.”
***
Justin knew where they had gone. He could pinpoint from years of experience the exact alley the video had been shot in. He knew downtown exceptionally well, better than most. He thought about it the whole way down on the metro bus. If the man was not there, in the alley, he could most likely determine the area and route the man would most likely be found.
It took knowledge. Knowledge would win the day again. This was the lesson he was continually learning. Knowledge of downtown.
The busiest corners in the general vicinity of the alley, the busiest corners with the highest ratio of younger people. This was useful because on average, young people, and especially teenagers, were more likely to give away loose change to a bum, than say, the stressed out looking woman with her hair in a too tight bun in a brand-new ‘power outfit.’ He didn’t need a university study to tell him this, he knew from experience. He had street smarts.
Which were the busiest corners on the way to New Brixton park, otherwise known as ‘Krakhed Sentral,’ as the graffiti on the park sign attested.
Which way did the streets slope up and down.
The only thing that would throw off his careful calculation was if the man had a bicycle. That would throw the whole thing off.
But since he had accounted for it, Life’s Little Ironies ignored that speck of chance. The man was sitting against a wall right where Justin’s friends had left him in the alley.
“Really?” Eunice said, with gleeful fascination.
“Oh yeah,” said Fargas, “I’ve been all over. Everywhere I go it always happens.”
“Well, uh,” she said, quickly glancing up and down at him, “you ought to lock yourself up.”
“It ain’t me, babe,” Fargas said, smiling.
Peter chewed the inside of his lip.
“These things happen,” Fargas continued. “They always happen. It happens to everybody and it’ll happen to you.”
“Yeah, but not soon I hope.”
“Aren’t you curious what’s on the other side?”
“I’ve always been fascinated by death, but I never wanted to get too close up to it. Not until I’m a feeble old hag.”
“Me? I’m pretty eager to find out what’s waiting after death, even if it’s nothing, you know? To know! … but, uh, I’m not that eager.”
They laughed. Peter chewed, then sipped.
“So death follows you around, huh?” Eunice said.
“In a way. Seen a lot of it. I used to think if I got away from the big city, hid out in the small towns I could escape it. Or at least most of it. Nothing doing. You go to some small town in Iowa to get away from big city life, big city death and BANG! First murder in twenty years.”
She leaned in and put a hand on his chest, “are you a serial killer, Mr. Fargas?”
He laughed, uneasily, but only from the flirtatious placement of the hand, not the accusation.
“Maybe,” he said, “maybe I have a double life I don’t know about. Better not spend the night with me, I kill in my sleep.”
CLANG!
Eunice and Peter exchanged death-ray stares. “Sorry,” Peter said, “glass slipped.”
“Yeah,” Fargas continued, “ain’t never seen a dead body though. They’re just always off in the background.”
***
Justin knew where they had gone. He could pinpoint from years of experience the exact alley the video had been shot in. He knew downtown exceptionally well, better than most. He thought about it the whole way down on the metro bus. If the man was not there, in the alley, he could most likely determine the area and route the man would most likely be found.
It took knowledge. Knowledge would win the day again. This was the lesson he was continually learning. Knowledge of downtown.
The busiest corners in the general vicinity of the alley, the busiest corners with the highest ratio of younger people. This was useful because on average, young people, and especially teenagers, were more likely to give away loose change to a bum, than say, the stressed out looking woman with her hair in a too tight bun in a brand-new ‘power outfit.’ He didn’t need a university study to tell him this, he knew from experience. He had street smarts.
Which were the busiest corners on the way to New Brixton park, otherwise known as ‘Krakhed Sentral,’ as the graffiti on the park sign attested.
Which way did the streets slope up and down.
The only thing that would throw off his careful calculation was if the man had a bicycle. That would throw the whole thing off.
But since he had accounted for it, Life’s Little Ironies ignored that speck of chance. The man was sitting against a wall right where Justin’s friends had left him in the alley.
30
Thomas crouched down behind the bushes outside the Slaters’ home. There was a light on in the basement. Miss Slater was doing laundry. He moved slowly up the front steps and brushed off his brand new black pants without making too much noise and fuss about it.
He rang the doorbell. It wasn’t something he liked to do usually, ringing the bell, he preferred to knock, but he supposed it would have to do, since Miss Slater was in the basement. He adjusted his new black tie and sports jacket.
“Hello,” she answered the door.
“Hi, Miss Slater?” Thomas said. “You’re the owner of 9331 Glenbrook Drive?”
“Yes I am,” she said, confused.
“Did the rent on the place go through okay?”
“Uh, yes it did.”
“And you’ve received payment for how many months, so far?”
“Just this month. Can I ask what this is about.”
“Sorry Miss Slater, they sent me down here just to confirm payment. No one else has contacted you about payment?”
“No, why would they?”
“Do you know when you’ll be receiving the next month’s payment?”
“No, the rent is all paid up until the end of July.”
Thomas made a mental note of that.
“Right,” Thomas said, thinking on his feet, “well, after that time, you can expect Mr. Falconer to contact you on the 31st of that month for further payment.”
“No one named Falconer contacted me.”
“I’m a representative of his.”
“Henry Falconer?” she was skeptical.
“Thomas Falconer actually, attorney at law. Adam‘s lawyer.”
“Thomas Falconer? Well, Adam’s father was the man who gave me the cheques, and he also gave me Adam’s notice on the place. He said it would be empty by August first.”
Thomas made another mental note.
“Adam’s father wrote the cheques you say?”
“That’s right. Adam’s been under the weather since his accident, that’s why he’s moving back home in August. You say, you were sent by a Mr. Thomas Falconer?” she reached for something inside the doorway.
“Thank you for your time,” Thomas quickly hop-stepped down the stairs.
“Hey,” Miss Slater called after him, “wait!” She was looking up a Thomas Falconer, attorney at law in the Yellow Pages, “come back here!”
Thomas ducked into the alley, three houses down the lane. He’d never realized how hard it was to run in a black suit with sunglasses and stop everything from flying out into the street.
***
“Hello?” Leah answered her phone.
“Hey, it’s Thomas.”
“Oh, hey.”
“Hey, listen, I’ve been doing some investigating and uh, I’ve got some pretty disturbing news about the place.”
“Adam‘s place, what about?”
“It’s about Falconer.”
“Falconer? I still can’t believe Adam knows him, the guy’s running for president.”
“I know, right? Anyway, I went down to Adam’s landlady’s place and its true, I pretty much confirmed Falconer’s paid his rent.”
“Yeah.”
“But, he’s only paid until the end of July, and he’s given notice on the place. Said it would be empty by August first.”
“What?”
“Yeah, that’s not all. The man who wrote the cheques claimed to be Adam’s dad.”
“Oh my God, Adam doesn’t have a dad.”
“I know, tell me about it.”
He rang the doorbell. It wasn’t something he liked to do usually, ringing the bell, he preferred to knock, but he supposed it would have to do, since Miss Slater was in the basement. He adjusted his new black tie and sports jacket.
“Hello,” she answered the door.
“Hi, Miss Slater?” Thomas said. “You’re the owner of 9331 Glenbrook Drive?”
“Yes I am,” she said, confused.
“Did the rent on the place go through okay?”
“Uh, yes it did.”
“And you’ve received payment for how many months, so far?”
“Just this month. Can I ask what this is about.”
“Sorry Miss Slater, they sent me down here just to confirm payment. No one else has contacted you about payment?”
“No, why would they?”
“Do you know when you’ll be receiving the next month’s payment?”
“No, the rent is all paid up until the end of July.”
Thomas made a mental note of that.
“Right,” Thomas said, thinking on his feet, “well, after that time, you can expect Mr. Falconer to contact you on the 31st of that month for further payment.”
“No one named Falconer contacted me.”
“I’m a representative of his.”
“Henry Falconer?” she was skeptical.
“Thomas Falconer actually, attorney at law. Adam‘s lawyer.”
“Thomas Falconer? Well, Adam’s father was the man who gave me the cheques, and he also gave me Adam’s notice on the place. He said it would be empty by August first.”
Thomas made another mental note.
“Adam’s father wrote the cheques you say?”
“That’s right. Adam’s been under the weather since his accident, that’s why he’s moving back home in August. You say, you were sent by a Mr. Thomas Falconer?” she reached for something inside the doorway.
“Thank you for your time,” Thomas quickly hop-stepped down the stairs.
“Hey,” Miss Slater called after him, “wait!” She was looking up a Thomas Falconer, attorney at law in the Yellow Pages, “come back here!”
Thomas ducked into the alley, three houses down the lane. He’d never realized how hard it was to run in a black suit with sunglasses and stop everything from flying out into the street.
***
“Hello?” Leah answered her phone.
“Hey, it’s Thomas.”
“Oh, hey.”
“Hey, listen, I’ve been doing some investigating and uh, I’ve got some pretty disturbing news about the place.”
“Adam‘s place, what about?”
“It’s about Falconer.”
“Falconer? I still can’t believe Adam knows him, the guy’s running for president.”
“I know, right? Anyway, I went down to Adam’s landlady’s place and its true, I pretty much confirmed Falconer’s paid his rent.”
“Yeah.”
“But, he’s only paid until the end of July, and he’s given notice on the place. Said it would be empty by August first.”
“What?”
“Yeah, that’s not all. The man who wrote the cheques claimed to be Adam’s dad.”
“Oh my God, Adam doesn’t have a dad.”
“I know, tell me about it.”
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
29
Justin was hanging out on the front porch.
Yo were u bin? Read the incoming text message.
Bin bizzy. He sent back.
Getin likked dogg. U in?
No I’s chillin.
He was hesitant to divulge the information of his wherabouts to all but his closest of friends. He knew they wouldn’t understand. Not yet. They weren’t ready. But they would have to be sooner or later, if his plans for the Adamites were to become a reality.
He still had the same simple philosophy he’d always had: you’re either with him or against him. It was Justin against the world. Same old Justin. Only now, the modes had changed. The basis of comparison for his basic existential axiom, ‘with him or against him,’ had changed. What was considered to be ‘against him’ was now quite a different thing. The attitudes and behaviors behind which it was meant to be ‘with him’ were now quite perceptively different.
His other basic tenet, ‘fuck the world,’ remained a constant in his thoughts only now … now it seemed a strange and foreign idea, but one he was still deeply attracted to. He saw that to ‘fuck the world’ could be a beautiful thing. An act of love as Leah might put it. To open up the world to him and to be one with his environment seemed to him a more rewarding pasttime than trying to tear it down in a bitter dust cloud of rage or apathy.
He wasn’t all ‘fruity and shit’ like Leah, but the world was now his to deflower. He still wanted to tear down, but now he was preoccupied in building back up and creating the world anew. A new way of life based on the model of he and his posse, the Adamites. One where people really thought about what they were doing and how they were interacting with other people.
He saw that people were essentially split up into three basic categories: the alpha doggs, the drones, and the high-minded muthafuckas.
He was ruminating on this idea when one of his friends sent him a video message:
Chek owt dis krakhed MF! LOLZ!
It was a video of a tired looking man with hard-etched features in disheveled used clothing dancing and singing in a worn-out grizzly voice. The toothless man clapped his hands above his head and danced a pathetic jig in some urine stained back alley with Justin’s friends crowded around, doubled-over, laughing, hands to mouths saying “oh shit, son.” When the man was finished, standing there panting, out of breath, one of them threw some small change callously in a dingy, cloudy puddle. The man went on his hands and knees, digging his dark stained fingers into the undetermined liquid to retrieve it. The last image on the video was the face of the friend who sent the video, close-up, laughing hysterically.
He was once like them. They were his crew. How many jigs had he made crack heads dance in back alleys over the years? How many songs had they sung? Now they all crowded around his conscience, knocking and banging around, looking not for loose change, but for empathy and surprisingly, getting it.
He saw in the video not a crackhead, but a man. A man who’d been sold a lie. A man who’d turned off and lost his mind in a vain effort to feed it. A man who he no longer saw as the enemy of society but the victim of it.
Yes, what it was to be against him had become a quite different thing indeed. And the truth was, he didn’t find that video very fucking funny at all.
Yo were u bin? Read the incoming text message.
Bin bizzy. He sent back.
Getin likked dogg. U in?
No I’s chillin.
He was hesitant to divulge the information of his wherabouts to all but his closest of friends. He knew they wouldn’t understand. Not yet. They weren’t ready. But they would have to be sooner or later, if his plans for the Adamites were to become a reality.
He still had the same simple philosophy he’d always had: you’re either with him or against him. It was Justin against the world. Same old Justin. Only now, the modes had changed. The basis of comparison for his basic existential axiom, ‘with him or against him,’ had changed. What was considered to be ‘against him’ was now quite a different thing. The attitudes and behaviors behind which it was meant to be ‘with him’ were now quite perceptively different.
His other basic tenet, ‘fuck the world,’ remained a constant in his thoughts only now … now it seemed a strange and foreign idea, but one he was still deeply attracted to. He saw that to ‘fuck the world’ could be a beautiful thing. An act of love as Leah might put it. To open up the world to him and to be one with his environment seemed to him a more rewarding pasttime than trying to tear it down in a bitter dust cloud of rage or apathy.
He wasn’t all ‘fruity and shit’ like Leah, but the world was now his to deflower. He still wanted to tear down, but now he was preoccupied in building back up and creating the world anew. A new way of life based on the model of he and his posse, the Adamites. One where people really thought about what they were doing and how they were interacting with other people.
He saw that people were essentially split up into three basic categories: the alpha doggs, the drones, and the high-minded muthafuckas.
He was ruminating on this idea when one of his friends sent him a video message:
Chek owt dis krakhed MF! LOLZ!
It was a video of a tired looking man with hard-etched features in disheveled used clothing dancing and singing in a worn-out grizzly voice. The toothless man clapped his hands above his head and danced a pathetic jig in some urine stained back alley with Justin’s friends crowded around, doubled-over, laughing, hands to mouths saying “oh shit, son.” When the man was finished, standing there panting, out of breath, one of them threw some small change callously in a dingy, cloudy puddle. The man went on his hands and knees, digging his dark stained fingers into the undetermined liquid to retrieve it. The last image on the video was the face of the friend who sent the video, close-up, laughing hysterically.
He was once like them. They were his crew. How many jigs had he made crack heads dance in back alleys over the years? How many songs had they sung? Now they all crowded around his conscience, knocking and banging around, looking not for loose change, but for empathy and surprisingly, getting it.
He saw in the video not a crackhead, but a man. A man who’d been sold a lie. A man who’d turned off and lost his mind in a vain effort to feed it. A man who he no longer saw as the enemy of society but the victim of it.
Yes, what it was to be against him had become a quite different thing indeed. And the truth was, he didn’t find that video very fucking funny at all.
Monday, September 8, 2008
28
“Oh, please.”
“--Zelda McNeil. Robert McNiven. Trudy Nilsson. Luis Rodriguez--”
“Would you stop?”
“--Estadio Salvadores. Nancy Simms--
“Would you let me finish please?”
“Well, the list goes on, General.”
“Yes. And I don’t doubt the veracity of these victims’ families claims, but the fact is the US military is not responsible for saving the lives of American citizens, only defending them.
“But, that’s completely ridiculous, General--”
“Now, now, let me finish. What I mean to say is this: of course we’re very sorry that people have had to lose their lives, but all these people died--”
“Lester Smalls. Dennis Smith”
“--from some kind of accident that had nothing to do with the military. Now, how in the world would you attribute these deaths to the US military? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Because, General. You now have the cure. You can save these people’s lives.”
“Listen, we’re not cloning people’s blood.”
“But you can. You have the technology to take lost blood, quickly generate replacement red blood cells that are an exact match to the host and redirect them back into the blood stream. Now why would you keep this technology from hospitals across the country, when you know it would save countless lives, General?”
“The military does not possess the technology you have described.”
“Well, I’d love to hear what a man named Adam would have to say about that.”
Marsh paused the video and said, “we’re gonna lead into this interview from the footage we got of protests at hospitals around the country, then cut right here and get Adam’s take on all this when he comes back.”
“I’m still not convinced he’s coming back,” Peter said, calmly.
“Well,” Marsh said, “we can sure find him easily enough.”
Peter nodded.
***
“And it’s not just our government,” Marsh boomed, “we have documented evidence, irrefutable proof that the US, Canadian, British and Swiss governments have been funding research in this area to the tune of sixty million -taxpayer- dollars per annum. Just Google it, ladies and gentlemen, type in ‘US gov genetic research funding’ and it comes back with over a quarter of a million hits from such sites as MSN and Reuters. This is main stream news, I’m not making this stuff up as I go along.”
Marsh was on fire.
“In fact,” he continued, “all the G8 countries have been pooling their resources and conducting tests - not on lab mice, not on stem cells - but, on human test subjects!” He paused for a dramatic second. “All the while, the taxpayers, that’s me and you, the people who are paying for this research have not reaped the benefits of these tests, they’ve been dying due to lack of blood in hospitals. Blood banks are closing in every region of the country at an unprecedented rate. You can go to Newyorktimes.com and check that out for yourself and you’ve got to ask the good lord why. What are they setting us up for? I believe it‘s another step towards their backroom policy of depopulation. Folks, the good lord in heaven told me in a dream last night that it is my duty as an honorable American citizen to inform each and every one of you listening out there to save your blood. Hoard your blood, because the next time you need to go to a hospital or a blood bank … there may not be any there for you.” Another dramatic pause. “We’ll be back, live on the Mike Marsh Show in fifteen minutes to explore this worrying question.”
The Mike Marsh fanfare blared from Marsh’s headphones as he set them down on Adam’s dinner table.
Leah crossed her arms and walked slowly out of the room. It was her turn to leave the house.
“--Zelda McNeil. Robert McNiven. Trudy Nilsson. Luis Rodriguez--”
“Would you stop?”
“--Estadio Salvadores. Nancy Simms--
“Would you let me finish please?”
“Well, the list goes on, General.”
“Yes. And I don’t doubt the veracity of these victims’ families claims, but the fact is the US military is not responsible for saving the lives of American citizens, only defending them.
“But, that’s completely ridiculous, General--”
“Now, now, let me finish. What I mean to say is this: of course we’re very sorry that people have had to lose their lives, but all these people died--”
“Lester Smalls. Dennis Smith”
“--from some kind of accident that had nothing to do with the military. Now, how in the world would you attribute these deaths to the US military? It doesn’t make sense.”
“Because, General. You now have the cure. You can save these people’s lives.”
“Listen, we’re not cloning people’s blood.”
“But you can. You have the technology to take lost blood, quickly generate replacement red blood cells that are an exact match to the host and redirect them back into the blood stream. Now why would you keep this technology from hospitals across the country, when you know it would save countless lives, General?”
“The military does not possess the technology you have described.”
“Well, I’d love to hear what a man named Adam would have to say about that.”
Marsh paused the video and said, “we’re gonna lead into this interview from the footage we got of protests at hospitals around the country, then cut right here and get Adam’s take on all this when he comes back.”
“I’m still not convinced he’s coming back,” Peter said, calmly.
“Well,” Marsh said, “we can sure find him easily enough.”
Peter nodded.
***
“And it’s not just our government,” Marsh boomed, “we have documented evidence, irrefutable proof that the US, Canadian, British and Swiss governments have been funding research in this area to the tune of sixty million -taxpayer- dollars per annum. Just Google it, ladies and gentlemen, type in ‘US gov genetic research funding’ and it comes back with over a quarter of a million hits from such sites as MSN and Reuters. This is main stream news, I’m not making this stuff up as I go along.”
Marsh was on fire.
“In fact,” he continued, “all the G8 countries have been pooling their resources and conducting tests - not on lab mice, not on stem cells - but, on human test subjects!” He paused for a dramatic second. “All the while, the taxpayers, that’s me and you, the people who are paying for this research have not reaped the benefits of these tests, they’ve been dying due to lack of blood in hospitals. Blood banks are closing in every region of the country at an unprecedented rate. You can go to Newyorktimes.com and check that out for yourself and you’ve got to ask the good lord why. What are they setting us up for? I believe it‘s another step towards their backroom policy of depopulation. Folks, the good lord in heaven told me in a dream last night that it is my duty as an honorable American citizen to inform each and every one of you listening out there to save your blood. Hoard your blood, because the next time you need to go to a hospital or a blood bank … there may not be any there for you.” Another dramatic pause. “We’ll be back, live on the Mike Marsh Show in fifteen minutes to explore this worrying question.”
The Mike Marsh fanfare blared from Marsh’s headphones as he set them down on Adam’s dinner table.
Leah crossed her arms and walked slowly out of the room. It was her turn to leave the house.
Friday, September 5, 2008
27
“That was the police,” Thomas said, flipping his phone closed, “I guess he called them and said they should stop looking for him, ‘cause he’s fine.”
“What,” Leah said.
She had thought something was seriously wrong. She had reached out, Justin too, into universal mind, universal time and space, extra dimensions of extra colors they never knew existed or could exist. Colors that reacted to light and shadow likes musical notes, some sweet, some sour. He wasn’t there. He was gone.
“Where is he,” she asked.
Thomas’ lips twisted as he bit the inside corner of his mouth, and shrugged.
Thomas stood in silence, Leah sat. she glanced over at Marsh who frowned in ignorance. Justin stood up.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, “I gets that shit, yo. The wise motherfucker seeks enlightenment in solitude and shit. He’s like those bearded motherfuckers who go off into a cave in the mountains, right? Then comes back with some mindboggling shit. ‘I’ve seen God,’ and shit.”
***
Leah didn’t really know anymore. Why didn’t she know him? They kept telling her that people often go through many different kinds of personality changes after a near death experience. But it was more than that. Something physical. She knew, Adam was different. He wasn’t the same.
If she were to take a step back and look at this thing from a wider angle, she’d see that the whole thing was crazy. Everybody around was caught up in a frenzy of hype. Adam was gone, and had left the group rudderless, without purpose. It was anarchy.
But Leah had a few ideas of her own.
***
“It’s time to talk about something really important,” Leah said, “love.”
Each of those assembled shifted uncomfortably, one by one they fell to the need to fidget. Leah had spoiled the mood, like when parents decide to bust in and give their children ‘the talk.’ Fargas glanced over at Eunice, trying not to get caught, but hoping he would be. Leah pressed on.
“I mean, what is the purpose of this group? Why are we still together? Because Adam might come back? We all like what he has to say, but we have to be strong on our own.”
“But,” Eunice said, “with no Adam, there’s no film.”
“The film’s not important,” Leah said.
“Not to you,” Eunice shot back.
“Okay, fine,” Leah said, “the film is important. But, what’s it about? Adam, or his legacy. This group is --”
“Adamites,” Justin interrupted, correcting her.”
“The ‘Adamites’ are part of his story now, and we’ve got to get a message out just like him.”
“But,” Fargas said, “what is this message of his? Love thy neighbor?”
“Why not,” Leah continued, “love your neighbor, love your enemy. Love everything and everybody. Love the good and the bad, because we’re all just tiny specks of infinity.”
“Meh,” Justin said, “that shit’s been done, yo. Them fucking hippies said all that shit way back in the sixties and it didn’t work. They just ended up with addictions and STDs and babies and shit.”
“Love isn’t about getting laid or doing drugs,” Leah said, “it’s about knowledge. Knowing yourself so that you can love others and make the world a better place.”
“I gotta agree with Justin here,” Marsh piped up, “it’s a weak message. It’s outdated, and no one’s going to buy into it. People need to feel like they can move up in the world. What you’re suggesting sounds too much like it leads to communism. Everybody loves each other, so everybody respects each other and makes the world a better place, so we all become equals. That’s communism and it’s not going to fly here in America.”
“I’m not talking about communism,” Leah said, slightly flustered.
“But that’s where it leads to,” Marsh continued, “that’s the end result.”
“Besides, it’s going to be a slow process. Get people involved here and there. Get out, get to know people. Spread the message.”
“We tried that already,” Marsh said.
“Yeah, and look,” Leah pointed to Fargas, “we don’t want to preach to people. We want to have sit down discussions with everyone who’s into it. Everybody who will listen. See that we’re real people with real minds.”
“Naw,” Justin said, “that shit is wack, yo. I ain’t sitting down with e’ry mothafucka in America. Mosta them dumb shits ain’t worthy anyway, like 75 percent of them. I want to tear it all down, all this shit. Start over.”
“You see,” Marsh said, nodding, “they don’t want a better world. They want a world that they’re better off in.”
“What,” Leah said.
She had thought something was seriously wrong. She had reached out, Justin too, into universal mind, universal time and space, extra dimensions of extra colors they never knew existed or could exist. Colors that reacted to light and shadow likes musical notes, some sweet, some sour. He wasn’t there. He was gone.
“Where is he,” she asked.
Thomas’ lips twisted as he bit the inside corner of his mouth, and shrugged.
Thomas stood in silence, Leah sat. she glanced over at Marsh who frowned in ignorance. Justin stood up.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said, “I gets that shit, yo. The wise motherfucker seeks enlightenment in solitude and shit. He’s like those bearded motherfuckers who go off into a cave in the mountains, right? Then comes back with some mindboggling shit. ‘I’ve seen God,’ and shit.”
***
Leah didn’t really know anymore. Why didn’t she know him? They kept telling her that people often go through many different kinds of personality changes after a near death experience. But it was more than that. Something physical. She knew, Adam was different. He wasn’t the same.
If she were to take a step back and look at this thing from a wider angle, she’d see that the whole thing was crazy. Everybody around was caught up in a frenzy of hype. Adam was gone, and had left the group rudderless, without purpose. It was anarchy.
But Leah had a few ideas of her own.
***
“It’s time to talk about something really important,” Leah said, “love.”
Each of those assembled shifted uncomfortably, one by one they fell to the need to fidget. Leah had spoiled the mood, like when parents decide to bust in and give their children ‘the talk.’ Fargas glanced over at Eunice, trying not to get caught, but hoping he would be. Leah pressed on.
“I mean, what is the purpose of this group? Why are we still together? Because Adam might come back? We all like what he has to say, but we have to be strong on our own.”
“But,” Eunice said, “with no Adam, there’s no film.”
“The film’s not important,” Leah said.
“Not to you,” Eunice shot back.
“Okay, fine,” Leah said, “the film is important. But, what’s it about? Adam, or his legacy. This group is --”
“Adamites,” Justin interrupted, correcting her.”
“The ‘Adamites’ are part of his story now, and we’ve got to get a message out just like him.”
“But,” Fargas said, “what is this message of his? Love thy neighbor?”
“Why not,” Leah continued, “love your neighbor, love your enemy. Love everything and everybody. Love the good and the bad, because we’re all just tiny specks of infinity.”
“Meh,” Justin said, “that shit’s been done, yo. Them fucking hippies said all that shit way back in the sixties and it didn’t work. They just ended up with addictions and STDs and babies and shit.”
“Love isn’t about getting laid or doing drugs,” Leah said, “it’s about knowledge. Knowing yourself so that you can love others and make the world a better place.”
“I gotta agree with Justin here,” Marsh piped up, “it’s a weak message. It’s outdated, and no one’s going to buy into it. People need to feel like they can move up in the world. What you’re suggesting sounds too much like it leads to communism. Everybody loves each other, so everybody respects each other and makes the world a better place, so we all become equals. That’s communism and it’s not going to fly here in America.”
“I’m not talking about communism,” Leah said, slightly flustered.
“But that’s where it leads to,” Marsh continued, “that’s the end result.”
“Besides, it’s going to be a slow process. Get people involved here and there. Get out, get to know people. Spread the message.”
“We tried that already,” Marsh said.
“Yeah, and look,” Leah pointed to Fargas, “we don’t want to preach to people. We want to have sit down discussions with everyone who’s into it. Everybody who will listen. See that we’re real people with real minds.”
“Naw,” Justin said, “that shit is wack, yo. I ain’t sitting down with e’ry mothafucka in America. Mosta them dumb shits ain’t worthy anyway, like 75 percent of them. I want to tear it all down, all this shit. Start over.”
“You see,” Marsh said, nodding, “they don’t want a better world. They want a world that they’re better off in.”
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
26
He didn’t get very far, maybe half a block, before a black unmarked newer model car pulled up beside him. A man in a black jacket and tie and white shirt who looked just like every other healthy white male in his early thirties leaned out the passenger side window. He handed Adam an unsealed envelope.
He waited there, rooted to the spot, watching the car pull away and blend in with every other car on the road, before he lifted the cover to peek inside.
Money. Quite a bit of it. A healthy stack of twenties.
How was he supposed to clear his head? He was the center of a universe gone apeshit.
A little more digging revealed a yellow post-it note, rendered nearly invisible against the yellow envelope. The note was simple enough and easy to read.
It read, ‘Grocery money.’
Was this some kind of code, clue, or slang word he wasn‘t familiar with? He supposed it didn’t matter, since he wasn’t going to be sticking around much longer, anyhow.
***
“When’s the next train leave,” Adam asked.
He anticipated her next question.
“Going anywhere, I don‘t care,” he said.
The woman behind the counter stared bitchy daggers at him and just sat there chewing her gum.
“Listen,” he said, “I’m not fucking with you.” He shoulder checked to make sure no one was watching, then flashed the wad of cash in the envelope.
It still wasn’t enough to impress her and she went right on chewing her gum. He could tell by the rhythm of her chewing that she was passive aggressively telling him off.
One chew, da-Douche.
Next chew, da-Bag.
In rapid fire procession, da-douche, da-bag, da-douche, da-bag. And it didn’t take extra-sensory perception to figure it out, either.
“Five minutes,” she said, “to--”
“No, no, no,” he interrupted her, “Don’t tell me, I want it to be a surprise.”
“I’m going to need to see some ID,” she said, rolling her eyes. He showed it to her. Finally she perked up, and said, “you’re going to have to give me a minute,” before storming away.
“But I only got five,” he called after her, she pretended not to hear as she talked to her manager.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the manager said, “your travel benefits have been restricted.”
“My travel … what the fuck are you talking about? Just give me a ticket. Look at this stack of money!”
“I’m sorry, sir. Your name is on our terrorist list.”
“WHAT?!”
She glanced out of the corner of her eye. Adam could guess what she was glancing at. Without seeing for himself, Adam turned and ran. He could hear the clean black shoes chasing him, leaving black scuff marks on the clean, shiny tile floor.
He wasn’t a kid anymore, spraying graffiti outside the train station. Why, after thirty years of age, was he still running from train station security?
He didn’t bother checking the airport for the next available flight out of town.
***
But, Adam knew he never really was a teenager. Not for very long, physiologically, anyway. The memories were there, but they were borrowed, like his DNA. Sooooo last year.
Eternity had spoken to him in dreams and pictures and colors and waves of sound, and it had told him so. Eternity had told him that he was grown in a test tube. A Test Tube Man. A New Man. An Extra Man with an extra soul.
But, somehow, it just didn‘t seem all that important. He just didn’t really care anymore.
He waited there, rooted to the spot, watching the car pull away and blend in with every other car on the road, before he lifted the cover to peek inside.
Money. Quite a bit of it. A healthy stack of twenties.
How was he supposed to clear his head? He was the center of a universe gone apeshit.
A little more digging revealed a yellow post-it note, rendered nearly invisible against the yellow envelope. The note was simple enough and easy to read.
It read, ‘Grocery money.’
Was this some kind of code, clue, or slang word he wasn‘t familiar with? He supposed it didn’t matter, since he wasn’t going to be sticking around much longer, anyhow.
***
“When’s the next train leave,” Adam asked.
He anticipated her next question.
“Going anywhere, I don‘t care,” he said.
The woman behind the counter stared bitchy daggers at him and just sat there chewing her gum.
“Listen,” he said, “I’m not fucking with you.” He shoulder checked to make sure no one was watching, then flashed the wad of cash in the envelope.
It still wasn’t enough to impress her and she went right on chewing her gum. He could tell by the rhythm of her chewing that she was passive aggressively telling him off.
One chew, da-Douche.
Next chew, da-Bag.
In rapid fire procession, da-douche, da-bag, da-douche, da-bag. And it didn’t take extra-sensory perception to figure it out, either.
“Five minutes,” she said, “to--”
“No, no, no,” he interrupted her, “Don’t tell me, I want it to be a surprise.”
“I’m going to need to see some ID,” she said, rolling her eyes. He showed it to her. Finally she perked up, and said, “you’re going to have to give me a minute,” before storming away.
“But I only got five,” he called after her, she pretended not to hear as she talked to her manager.
“I’m sorry, sir,” the manager said, “your travel benefits have been restricted.”
“My travel … what the fuck are you talking about? Just give me a ticket. Look at this stack of money!”
“I’m sorry, sir. Your name is on our terrorist list.”
“WHAT?!”
She glanced out of the corner of her eye. Adam could guess what she was glancing at. Without seeing for himself, Adam turned and ran. He could hear the clean black shoes chasing him, leaving black scuff marks on the clean, shiny tile floor.
He wasn’t a kid anymore, spraying graffiti outside the train station. Why, after thirty years of age, was he still running from train station security?
He didn’t bother checking the airport for the next available flight out of town.
***
But, Adam knew he never really was a teenager. Not for very long, physiologically, anyway. The memories were there, but they were borrowed, like his DNA. Sooooo last year.
Eternity had spoken to him in dreams and pictures and colors and waves of sound, and it had told him so. Eternity had told him that he was grown in a test tube. A Test Tube Man. A New Man. An Extra Man with an extra soul.
But, somehow, it just didn‘t seem all that important. He just didn’t really care anymore.
Monday, September 1, 2008
25
The pamphlet was nearly ready.
“I need one more anecdote, yo,” Justin said, pencil in hand. He held a sheet of ruled paper, the kind you’d find in an elementary school classroom. On it, was a list of nine key proverbs, all from the mouth of Adam.
Questions are more useful than answers.
The five senses are five devils through which the world enters and the spirit escapes
Advertising sells not a product but one’s soul.
Opposition is a force made not by two, but within one.
Spiritual enlightenment does not occur when one builds up one’s mind, like a bodybuilder.
Do not seek the elevated consciousness, but seek the subconscious. Because therein lies truth about self.
One can only help oneself. Then by consequence of experience can one help others.
The establishment of strong community identity is essential to survival.
Nine out of ten spiritual leaders agree, desire is the leading cause of suffering.
There was also a symbol sketched out on the page. Justin held it up for Adam to see.
“What you think, yo?”
“I think it’s a triangle,” Adam responded.
“Word,” Justin replied, “it’s sideways. That shit’s gonna be our symbol. It represents body, mind and spirit, motherfucker.”
Justin pointed with his finger to each point on the triangle, starting with the bottom and ending at the top, which he tapped for emphasis.
“Body. Mind. And Spirit.”
“What,” Adam asked redundantly, “you got a symbol now?”
“Word.”
“And what are you calling yourselves?”
“Adamites.”
It had gone too far.
“So, like,” Justin continued, “we need one more catchphrase. You got one?”
“Yeah,” Adam said, grabbing his jacket in a hurry, “don’t follow leaders, and watch the parking meter.”
Justin stood blank faced for a second, then a smile crept over his face, “word!”
Adam stood in the doorway and said, “it’s from Bob Dylan.”
“Oh yeah,” Justin said, “no, I gets that shit. It’s going in.”
Adam rushed out the door so that he could breathe again.
“I need one more anecdote, yo,” Justin said, pencil in hand. He held a sheet of ruled paper, the kind you’d find in an elementary school classroom. On it, was a list of nine key proverbs, all from the mouth of Adam.
Questions are more useful than answers.
The five senses are five devils through which the world enters and the spirit escapes
Advertising sells not a product but one’s soul.
Opposition is a force made not by two, but within one.
Spiritual enlightenment does not occur when one builds up one’s mind, like a bodybuilder.
Do not seek the elevated consciousness, but seek the subconscious. Because therein lies truth about self.
One can only help oneself. Then by consequence of experience can one help others.
The establishment of strong community identity is essential to survival.
Nine out of ten spiritual leaders agree, desire is the leading cause of suffering.
There was also a symbol sketched out on the page. Justin held it up for Adam to see.
“What you think, yo?”
“I think it’s a triangle,” Adam responded.
“Word,” Justin replied, “it’s sideways. That shit’s gonna be our symbol. It represents body, mind and spirit, motherfucker.”
Justin pointed with his finger to each point on the triangle, starting with the bottom and ending at the top, which he tapped for emphasis.
“Body. Mind. And Spirit.”
“What,” Adam asked redundantly, “you got a symbol now?”
“Word.”
“And what are you calling yourselves?”
“Adamites.”
It had gone too far.
“So, like,” Justin continued, “we need one more catchphrase. You got one?”
“Yeah,” Adam said, grabbing his jacket in a hurry, “don’t follow leaders, and watch the parking meter.”
Justin stood blank faced for a second, then a smile crept over his face, “word!”
Adam stood in the doorway and said, “it’s from Bob Dylan.”
“Oh yeah,” Justin said, “no, I gets that shit. It’s going in.”
Adam rushed out the door so that he could breathe again.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
24
The coffee shop.
“So,” Adam said, “what did you dig up?”
“It’s a gentlemen’s club,” Thomas answered.
“In the woods,” Adam stated.
“Basically,” Thomas continued, “it’s a place where old farts, like CEOs and politicians and such go to let their hair down and tell dick jokes.”
“Yeah, that’s just what Marsh said.”
“And there’s entertainment. Female impersonators, drag karaoke, spin the bottle. Richard Nixon called it … what were his exact words? … ‘the faggiest goddamn thing he’d ever seen.’ Women weren’t allowed on the grounds, because, according to the club charter, ‘their presence taints the sacred earth on which the club stands.’ Although that’s been lifted recently to allow female employees in limited roles. You know, to avoid litigation and scandal. A lot of oil tycoons, and bigwigs from the entertainment industry are regular guests. And did you know,” Thomas voice grew to a confidential tone, as he leaned in, “nearly every president to be elected in the last sixty or seventy years has been to the bonfire of conscience ceremony on the eve of his election. Apparently to be schooled up by the old guard. So, still thinking about going?”
“Yes,” Adam answered, without hesitation, “I don’t know why or even how, but he’s behind it. All of it. The accident. The chip we know for sure was his work. I have to find out what it’s all about.”
“I still can’t believe you know Henry Falconer personally.”
Thomas’ last remark brought with it a few glances from the neighboring tables, and with the glances, stares, nods and elbow nudges.
“Me neither. I wish I didn’t. He gives me the creeps. Must be the way he’s always smiling and moving his head, looking one way, looking the other way, always smiling and giggling. Like he knows something. Everything.”
“Probably does.”
“Right. He probably does know everything. Gives me the creeps.”
“Guy probably knows who hit you.”
“Guy like that probably knows who killed Kennedy.”
“Come on, everybody knows. It was George Bush Sr., right?”
Adam shook his head, looking out the window.
“Oh,” Thomas continued, “but he was only in charge of the shooters.”
“I mean,” Adam said, “could he have orchestrated the whole thing?”
“Maybe in the beginning. Everything up until you left the hospital.”
Adam bit his thumb nail, thoughtfully.
“Why,” Thomas asked, “right? Why you?”
Adam breezed a glance at Thomas with his thumb nail still locked between his teeth. It was a question he couldn’t face up to.
***
“This,” Marsh said, from the computer chair, “is the annual bonfire of conscience ceremony.”
Marsh maximized the youtube video and it went to full screen. The picture was dark, shot at night. The resolution was terrible. It was obviously shot from some kind of small, handheld digital camera, most likely one found on a cell phone. After a moment the picture settled down and Adam and his houseguests were able to clearly make out what they were looking at.
From across a small man-made lake or pond, six dark robed figures chanted, carrying a wooden effigy.
“You see,” Marsh said, turning in his chair to face everyone, “the effigy represents the conscience of the men in the ceremony.”
On the screen the effigy was marched to a bonfire and set down in front of it. A seventh dark robed man stood at a podium and began conducting the ceremony. A deep, almost God-like voice boomed from an unseen sound system, rumbling the small computer speakers.
“These men,” Marsh continued, “I could tell you who each of them are, but I’ve got no proof so I won’t even bother. But, I’ll just say that I’m sure everybody in this room is very familiar with each of them. The man at the podium is someone who you might recognize from the evening news. Anyway, these are leaders and future leaders of this country in this satanic ritual, prancing around in their satanic robes. They feel, it is their duty, as leaders, to burn the effigy of conscience so that they can go about their business blamelessly for the rest of the year. It’s like a satanic businessman’s way of going to confession.”
Leah leaned into Adam’s line of sight and pointed with her thumb to the still-playing video and said, “This? You‘re doing this?”
On the computer monitor the six robed figures carefully laid the effigy of conscience onto the flaming pyre. Within seconds, the thin, wooden man was consumed, illuminating a rocky twenty foot tall moss-covered statue of an owl in the background.
“So,” Adam said, “what did you dig up?”
“It’s a gentlemen’s club,” Thomas answered.
“In the woods,” Adam stated.
“Basically,” Thomas continued, “it’s a place where old farts, like CEOs and politicians and such go to let their hair down and tell dick jokes.”
“Yeah, that’s just what Marsh said.”
“And there’s entertainment. Female impersonators, drag karaoke, spin the bottle. Richard Nixon called it … what were his exact words? … ‘the faggiest goddamn thing he’d ever seen.’ Women weren’t allowed on the grounds, because, according to the club charter, ‘their presence taints the sacred earth on which the club stands.’ Although that’s been lifted recently to allow female employees in limited roles. You know, to avoid litigation and scandal. A lot of oil tycoons, and bigwigs from the entertainment industry are regular guests. And did you know,” Thomas voice grew to a confidential tone, as he leaned in, “nearly every president to be elected in the last sixty or seventy years has been to the bonfire of conscience ceremony on the eve of his election. Apparently to be schooled up by the old guard. So, still thinking about going?”
“Yes,” Adam answered, without hesitation, “I don’t know why or even how, but he’s behind it. All of it. The accident. The chip we know for sure was his work. I have to find out what it’s all about.”
“I still can’t believe you know Henry Falconer personally.”
Thomas’ last remark brought with it a few glances from the neighboring tables, and with the glances, stares, nods and elbow nudges.
“Me neither. I wish I didn’t. He gives me the creeps. Must be the way he’s always smiling and moving his head, looking one way, looking the other way, always smiling and giggling. Like he knows something. Everything.”
“Probably does.”
“Right. He probably does know everything. Gives me the creeps.”
“Guy probably knows who hit you.”
“Guy like that probably knows who killed Kennedy.”
“Come on, everybody knows. It was George Bush Sr., right?”
Adam shook his head, looking out the window.
“Oh,” Thomas continued, “but he was only in charge of the shooters.”
“I mean,” Adam said, “could he have orchestrated the whole thing?”
“Maybe in the beginning. Everything up until you left the hospital.”
Adam bit his thumb nail, thoughtfully.
“Why,” Thomas asked, “right? Why you?”
Adam breezed a glance at Thomas with his thumb nail still locked between his teeth. It was a question he couldn’t face up to.
***
“This,” Marsh said, from the computer chair, “is the annual bonfire of conscience ceremony.”
Marsh maximized the youtube video and it went to full screen. The picture was dark, shot at night. The resolution was terrible. It was obviously shot from some kind of small, handheld digital camera, most likely one found on a cell phone. After a moment the picture settled down and Adam and his houseguests were able to clearly make out what they were looking at.
From across a small man-made lake or pond, six dark robed figures chanted, carrying a wooden effigy.
“You see,” Marsh said, turning in his chair to face everyone, “the effigy represents the conscience of the men in the ceremony.”
On the screen the effigy was marched to a bonfire and set down in front of it. A seventh dark robed man stood at a podium and began conducting the ceremony. A deep, almost God-like voice boomed from an unseen sound system, rumbling the small computer speakers.
“These men,” Marsh continued, “I could tell you who each of them are, but I’ve got no proof so I won’t even bother. But, I’ll just say that I’m sure everybody in this room is very familiar with each of them. The man at the podium is someone who you might recognize from the evening news. Anyway, these are leaders and future leaders of this country in this satanic ritual, prancing around in their satanic robes. They feel, it is their duty, as leaders, to burn the effigy of conscience so that they can go about their business blamelessly for the rest of the year. It’s like a satanic businessman’s way of going to confession.”
Leah leaned into Adam’s line of sight and pointed with her thumb to the still-playing video and said, “This? You‘re doing this?”
On the computer monitor the six robed figures carefully laid the effigy of conscience onto the flaming pyre. Within seconds, the thin, wooden man was consumed, illuminating a rocky twenty foot tall moss-covered statue of an owl in the background.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
23
PART 2
Adam sat cross-legged, watching the sunrise. The lightest brushstroke of contentment painted his face. Orange and purple never blended so well.
Time passed, passes and flows onward, only … which way. Adam couldn’t decide. Was time a river which ran backwards, and man the stagnant vessel through which it was viewed, something eternal and essential without which time itself couldn‘t exist? Or did time flow forward, with man riding atop it like a wave, caught up in it, flipping end over end, with no control?
For the time being, neither view suited him perfectly.
“I’ve lost my innocence,” he said, “I’m confused by opposing views. I can’t decide which door to walk through.”
“You are a man apart,” Leah said, eyes half open. Or half closed, Adam couldn’t decide. “You can do things, and see things no one else can. You must be lonely.”
“No,” he said, “not anymore. I’ve lost it. I’ve been cut off from eternity.”
He no longer communicated with the infinite. He was a man possessed of basic senses. Five devils through which the world entered and his spirit escaped. He knew that the world had gotten inside of him, like a disease and rioted. He was no longer whole, pure.
“You never used to talk like that,” she said, “what’s gotten into you?”
He got up from the damp, grassy hill, slowly, wiped the dew from his butt, and said,
“Devils.”
***
He turned the invitation in his hand, end over end and read it once again.
Your presence has been requested by Henry Falconer, to attend the bonfire of conscience at Philistinian Forest Resort and Vacation Retreat for the final weekend of July, this year. Please RSVP ASAP.
He studied it, viewed it from every angle, and placed it down gently on the table. He couldn’t make up his mind about going. His first instinct was to ignore it and not attend, but curiosity tugged violently at him. Curiosity and the slight buzzy nag of obligation. Falconer had paid his rent for the month, with the promise of continued financial assistance for the foreseeable future. Why didn’t seem as important as how. How the arrangement could have been made with his landlord without his knowing about it, or sensing it, but it was done. Strangely, Adam hadn’t seen this development coming.
Still, why seemed a good question, too.
But, he if couldn’t answer either of those, what was a question he could have answered.
He had his top what man on the job.
Adam sat cross-legged, watching the sunrise. The lightest brushstroke of contentment painted his face. Orange and purple never blended so well.
Time passed, passes and flows onward, only … which way. Adam couldn’t decide. Was time a river which ran backwards, and man the stagnant vessel through which it was viewed, something eternal and essential without which time itself couldn‘t exist? Or did time flow forward, with man riding atop it like a wave, caught up in it, flipping end over end, with no control?
For the time being, neither view suited him perfectly.
“I’ve lost my innocence,” he said, “I’m confused by opposing views. I can’t decide which door to walk through.”
“You are a man apart,” Leah said, eyes half open. Or half closed, Adam couldn’t decide. “You can do things, and see things no one else can. You must be lonely.”
“No,” he said, “not anymore. I’ve lost it. I’ve been cut off from eternity.”
He no longer communicated with the infinite. He was a man possessed of basic senses. Five devils through which the world entered and his spirit escaped. He knew that the world had gotten inside of him, like a disease and rioted. He was no longer whole, pure.
“You never used to talk like that,” she said, “what’s gotten into you?”
He got up from the damp, grassy hill, slowly, wiped the dew from his butt, and said,
“Devils.”
***
He turned the invitation in his hand, end over end and read it once again.
Your presence has been requested by Henry Falconer, to attend the bonfire of conscience at Philistinian Forest Resort and Vacation Retreat for the final weekend of July, this year. Please RSVP ASAP.
He studied it, viewed it from every angle, and placed it down gently on the table. He couldn’t make up his mind about going. His first instinct was to ignore it and not attend, but curiosity tugged violently at him. Curiosity and the slight buzzy nag of obligation. Falconer had paid his rent for the month, with the promise of continued financial assistance for the foreseeable future. Why didn’t seem as important as how. How the arrangement could have been made with his landlord without his knowing about it, or sensing it, but it was done. Strangely, Adam hadn’t seen this development coming.
Still, why seemed a good question, too.
But, he if couldn’t answer either of those, what was a question he could have answered.
He had his top what man on the job.
Monday, August 25, 2008
22
“Hello.”
“Hi.”
There was a pause, then Adam said:
“Can I help you?”
“My name’s Harley Fargas, I’m your neighbor from down the street.”
Adam perked up. He said, “Oh, then you’re quite welcome here, neighbor,” and gestured grandly with his hand for Fargas to enter.
Fragas wiped his feet on the doormat and, once inside, made himself at home.
***
“I’m your basic outsider,” Fargas said, as he sat on the floor, cross-legged. The group in Adam’s home had formed a loose semi-circle, from the layout of the couches in Adam’s living room. He had meant to get rid of those couches.
Attachment to material objects was an open door to suffering.
“I haven’t been around this community too long,” Fargas continued, “longer than you have,” he said to Adam. “But, they’re not going to open their doors and welcome in a stranger, even if he does only live a few houses down.”
“The establishment of strong community identity is essential to survival,” Adam blurted out, almost robotically.
The establishment of strong community identity is essential to survival.
He was collecting phrases and statements to print in a pamphlet or easily digestible book that he could show to people, or hand out in the street (but people never seem to pay attention to fliers in the street, do they?). He’d have to remember the phrase.
The establishment of strong community identity is essential to survival.
The establishment …
“You were missing,” Fargas went on, “for the block party, weren’t you. Yeah, you were still laid up in the hospital, I’ll bet. They probably didn’t even put a flier in your mail slot, did they? Yeah, don’t feel too left out, I didn’t get one either.”
Nine out of ten spiritual leaders agree, Desire is the leading cause of suffering.
“You see, I’ve been all over,” Fargas said, “and all over, people are pretty much the same. They won’t talk to you unless they know you, which is a dilemma, you see?”
“How do you get to know them,” Adam said.
“No, no, no, kid,” Fargas said, “you’re missing the point. You’re missing my main point, here. The thing is, in their minds, it’s how are they going to get to know you? Which, to them, is your responsibility. Understand?”
Adam nodded his head, “yes, I understand,” he said, and turned to Marsh and the twins, “we’ve got to finish this film as fast as we can.”
“I’m glad you’re so eager,” Marsh spoke up.
“I can think of a dilemma, here though,” Eunice said, slightly condescending, “it’s a documentary, it’ll finish when it’s finished. We don’t know when it’ll finish.”
When she was finished, Peter, who sat beside her always, patted her knee, shook his head and whispered something into her ear.
“Then,” Adam said, “we have to get out on your show, get out there on other shows. Spread the message, make the world familiar with me. With us.
“Thank you,” Adam said to Fargas, sincerely, “you have given me something to think about.”
“So,” Fargas said, “what are you, some kind of freaky guru or something?”
“Hi.”
There was a pause, then Adam said:
“Can I help you?”
“My name’s Harley Fargas, I’m your neighbor from down the street.”
Adam perked up. He said, “Oh, then you’re quite welcome here, neighbor,” and gestured grandly with his hand for Fargas to enter.
Fragas wiped his feet on the doormat and, once inside, made himself at home.
***
“I’m your basic outsider,” Fargas said, as he sat on the floor, cross-legged. The group in Adam’s home had formed a loose semi-circle, from the layout of the couches in Adam’s living room. He had meant to get rid of those couches.
Attachment to material objects was an open door to suffering.
“I haven’t been around this community too long,” Fargas continued, “longer than you have,” he said to Adam. “But, they’re not going to open their doors and welcome in a stranger, even if he does only live a few houses down.”
“The establishment of strong community identity is essential to survival,” Adam blurted out, almost robotically.
The establishment of strong community identity is essential to survival.
He was collecting phrases and statements to print in a pamphlet or easily digestible book that he could show to people, or hand out in the street (but people never seem to pay attention to fliers in the street, do they?). He’d have to remember the phrase.
The establishment of strong community identity is essential to survival.
The establishment …
“You were missing,” Fargas went on, “for the block party, weren’t you. Yeah, you were still laid up in the hospital, I’ll bet. They probably didn’t even put a flier in your mail slot, did they? Yeah, don’t feel too left out, I didn’t get one either.”
Nine out of ten spiritual leaders agree, Desire is the leading cause of suffering.
“You see, I’ve been all over,” Fargas said, “and all over, people are pretty much the same. They won’t talk to you unless they know you, which is a dilemma, you see?”
“How do you get to know them,” Adam said.
“No, no, no, kid,” Fargas said, “you’re missing the point. You’re missing my main point, here. The thing is, in their minds, it’s how are they going to get to know you? Which, to them, is your responsibility. Understand?”
Adam nodded his head, “yes, I understand,” he said, and turned to Marsh and the twins, “we’ve got to finish this film as fast as we can.”
“I’m glad you’re so eager,” Marsh spoke up.
“I can think of a dilemma, here though,” Eunice said, slightly condescending, “it’s a documentary, it’ll finish when it’s finished. We don’t know when it’ll finish.”
When she was finished, Peter, who sat beside her always, patted her knee, shook his head and whispered something into her ear.
“Then,” Adam said, “we have to get out on your show, get out there on other shows. Spread the message, make the world familiar with me. With us.
“Thank you,” Adam said to Fargas, sincerely, “you have given me something to think about.”
“So,” Fargas said, “what are you, some kind of freaky guru or something?”
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
21
The black thing? Adam could say, ‘you’re not black, you know.’ But then, Adam would look stupid and ignorant, you can‘t act a color, right. You can try to imitate phrases you hear on rap songs, but... Justin could be any way he wanted to be, even if it’s a caricature. Who knows, maybe it was all a brilliant ruse, maybe he was an undercover government agent.
Adam made a mental note to himself, maybe Justin is an undercover government agent.
He finally settled on, “you’re not a rebel. You think you are, but you’re not.”
Justin opened his mouth to say something, but in the end couldn’t much think of what to say. Instead, he just laughed.
“Mouthing off to authority figures,” Adam said, “does not make you a rebel.”
“What,” Justin said, “you think you’re an authority figure?” and laughed again.
“No,” Adam said, “but you do.”
Everybody in the room, with the exception of Marsh, shifted uncomfortably, fidgeted or looked away.
“You carry around that toy gun,” Adam continued, “yet you show up to work everyday on time. You speed and drink and drive, but you do your taxes every year before the deadline. You claim to be your own man, but you follow me around like a lost puppy.”
“Yeah,” Justin said, nodding exaggeratedly, “you a big man with a big smart mouth, now, huh?”
“You follow me,” Adam said, ignoring him, “because you know spiritual enlightenment is the key to salvation from this world. But, if I told you to go off into the woods and live off the land for a year, to get it, you wouldn’t be able to do it. Not for a lack of survival skills, but because you’re afraid. You’re afraid of your own shadow so you put on a tough act.”
Justin laughed at this, more heartily than ever. Laughing and glaring with murderous eyes.
“You’re afraid of the big, dark woods, so you try to make yourself into the meanest, toughest thing in the forest, and everyone can see through it.”
Adam paused, no one made a sound or moved a muscle.
“It’s image. It’s an illusion.”
“Than tell me,” Justin said, chin thrust out, “tell me, oh great Mothafuckin’ Messiah? How do I become a real rebel like you?”
“No,” Adam said, “I don’t want rebels. Rebels will tear society apart.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“No, that’s not the point at all.”
There was a knock at the front door.
Adam turned toward the door, then turned back to Justin and said, “you better ask yourself why you want people to think you’re a rebel.”
“You’re so cosmic,” Justin said, “you tell me.”
“No,” Adam said again, “you have to answer to yourself.”
Adam turned his attention to everyone in the room and said, “I can only give you questions, not answers. Questions are better than answers.”
Then he turned to answer the door.
Adam made a mental note to himself, maybe Justin is an undercover government agent.
He finally settled on, “you’re not a rebel. You think you are, but you’re not.”
Justin opened his mouth to say something, but in the end couldn’t much think of what to say. Instead, he just laughed.
“Mouthing off to authority figures,” Adam said, “does not make you a rebel.”
“What,” Justin said, “you think you’re an authority figure?” and laughed again.
“No,” Adam said, “but you do.”
Everybody in the room, with the exception of Marsh, shifted uncomfortably, fidgeted or looked away.
“You carry around that toy gun,” Adam continued, “yet you show up to work everyday on time. You speed and drink and drive, but you do your taxes every year before the deadline. You claim to be your own man, but you follow me around like a lost puppy.”
“Yeah,” Justin said, nodding exaggeratedly, “you a big man with a big smart mouth, now, huh?”
“You follow me,” Adam said, ignoring him, “because you know spiritual enlightenment is the key to salvation from this world. But, if I told you to go off into the woods and live off the land for a year, to get it, you wouldn’t be able to do it. Not for a lack of survival skills, but because you’re afraid. You’re afraid of your own shadow so you put on a tough act.”
Justin laughed at this, more heartily than ever. Laughing and glaring with murderous eyes.
“You’re afraid of the big, dark woods, so you try to make yourself into the meanest, toughest thing in the forest, and everyone can see through it.”
Adam paused, no one made a sound or moved a muscle.
“It’s image. It’s an illusion.”
“Than tell me,” Justin said, chin thrust out, “tell me, oh great Mothafuckin’ Messiah? How do I become a real rebel like you?”
“No,” Adam said, “I don’t want rebels. Rebels will tear society apart.”
“I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“No, that’s not the point at all.”
There was a knock at the front door.
Adam turned toward the door, then turned back to Justin and said, “you better ask yourself why you want people to think you’re a rebel.”
“You’re so cosmic,” Justin said, “you tell me.”
“No,” Adam said again, “you have to answer to yourself.”
Adam turned his attention to everyone in the room and said, “I can only give you questions, not answers. Questions are better than answers.”
Then he turned to answer the door.
Monday, August 11, 2008
20
“Hi neighbor,” Adam said.
“Hello,” the neighbor said, uncertainly, “do I know you?”
“Well, that’s just what I wanted to talk to you about. We’re neighbors, see, and I think it’s time we got to know each other.”
The neighbor wracked his brain, searching to the last neuron for any possible way to get out of this without looking like a jerk. But there was no way, and he slammed the door in Adam’s face.
Adam took the walk of shame back up to the sidewalk where Marsh was waiting.
“This is ridiculous, that’s door number six, slammed in my face,” Adam said, “I think these guys are scaring people off,” he said referring to the camera crew who shadowed him everywhere he went.
“Well,” Marsh said, “it could be that, or it could be the fact that you’re up against a power as old as … as … well, you’re up against a very old power. One that’s had its grips on the community since the idea of community began. That is … mistrust.
Adam thought about it a minute and it seemed almost too obvious, obvious enough to make him suspicious.
Marsh turned to the twins, “are we rolling?”
They gave him the thumbs up, each in their own inimitable way.
“You see,” Marsh began, staring down the barrel of the lens, “it’s a tactic they’ve used since the dawn of time-a! Used by Sataaaaaan himself-a! Children … we call it diviiiiiiiiide and conquer-a. When the devil sows the seeds of mistrust, neighbor will shut out neighbor and communities are leeched of powaaaah! The one true Powaaaaah! The Power of the Lord-a! Only a strong community can reject Satan and those he would place in the seats of government-a!”
There was a slight crashing and scraping sound, from down the street. A little girl had jumped off her bike and run inside her house, after about five seconds a crack in the blinds appeared in the front window.
“Did we pick up that bike crashing,” Marsh asked Peter.
“Yeah,” he said, “ruined the take.”
“Okay, let’s try it again,” Marsh said.
The next three houses were either unoccupied or refused to answer the door. Maybe the word had got out, Adam thought, about the crazy people going door to door and yelling in the street, scaring children half to death. Maybe the phones were ringing off the hook, maybe this was a strong community, but he just wasn’t really a part of it.
They headed back to Adam’s house. It was a major setback, even without the shame involved, it was probably time to move out of the neighborhood.
Justin was ready to abuse the crew the minute they came through the door, after all, he was the one who thought getting to know the neighbors was a bad idea. It was the first time he had left Adam’s shadow since they met.
“Well, look who it is,” Justin said, “it’s the welcome wagon.”
“Shut up, Justin,” Adam said.
“What’s, uh,” Just continued, ignoring Adam’s request, “what’s the problem there, homes? Didn’t make any new friends? Don’t worry, son, your Momma will always love you.”
“Why don’t you just shut your mouth,” Eunice said to Justin.
“Ooohh, what you gonna do, bitch, give me a make-over?”
Eunice dropped her camera heavily (to Marsh’s dismay and a cry of “easy!”) and went charging toward Justin but was met halfway by Peter as she always was. She was always starting fires and he was always putting them out.
“Justin,” Adam said, “we need to talk.”
Adam motioned for Justin to follow him into the privacy of the kitchen.
“No,” Justin said, “Anything we have to say to each other, we can say in front of everybody.”
“Fine,” Adam said, and thought of how best to humiliate him.
“Hello,” the neighbor said, uncertainly, “do I know you?”
“Well, that’s just what I wanted to talk to you about. We’re neighbors, see, and I think it’s time we got to know each other.”
The neighbor wracked his brain, searching to the last neuron for any possible way to get out of this without looking like a jerk. But there was no way, and he slammed the door in Adam’s face.
Adam took the walk of shame back up to the sidewalk where Marsh was waiting.
“This is ridiculous, that’s door number six, slammed in my face,” Adam said, “I think these guys are scaring people off,” he said referring to the camera crew who shadowed him everywhere he went.
“Well,” Marsh said, “it could be that, or it could be the fact that you’re up against a power as old as … as … well, you’re up against a very old power. One that’s had its grips on the community since the idea of community began. That is … mistrust.
Adam thought about it a minute and it seemed almost too obvious, obvious enough to make him suspicious.
Marsh turned to the twins, “are we rolling?”
They gave him the thumbs up, each in their own inimitable way.
“You see,” Marsh began, staring down the barrel of the lens, “it’s a tactic they’ve used since the dawn of time-a! Used by Sataaaaaan himself-a! Children … we call it diviiiiiiiiide and conquer-a. When the devil sows the seeds of mistrust, neighbor will shut out neighbor and communities are leeched of powaaaah! The one true Powaaaaah! The Power of the Lord-a! Only a strong community can reject Satan and those he would place in the seats of government-a!”
There was a slight crashing and scraping sound, from down the street. A little girl had jumped off her bike and run inside her house, after about five seconds a crack in the blinds appeared in the front window.
“Did we pick up that bike crashing,” Marsh asked Peter.
“Yeah,” he said, “ruined the take.”
“Okay, let’s try it again,” Marsh said.
The next three houses were either unoccupied or refused to answer the door. Maybe the word had got out, Adam thought, about the crazy people going door to door and yelling in the street, scaring children half to death. Maybe the phones were ringing off the hook, maybe this was a strong community, but he just wasn’t really a part of it.
They headed back to Adam’s house. It was a major setback, even without the shame involved, it was probably time to move out of the neighborhood.
Justin was ready to abuse the crew the minute they came through the door, after all, he was the one who thought getting to know the neighbors was a bad idea. It was the first time he had left Adam’s shadow since they met.
“Well, look who it is,” Justin said, “it’s the welcome wagon.”
“Shut up, Justin,” Adam said.
“What’s, uh,” Just continued, ignoring Adam’s request, “what’s the problem there, homes? Didn’t make any new friends? Don’t worry, son, your Momma will always love you.”
“Why don’t you just shut your mouth,” Eunice said to Justin.
“Ooohh, what you gonna do, bitch, give me a make-over?”
Eunice dropped her camera heavily (to Marsh’s dismay and a cry of “easy!”) and went charging toward Justin but was met halfway by Peter as she always was. She was always starting fires and he was always putting them out.
“Justin,” Adam said, “we need to talk.”
Adam motioned for Justin to follow him into the privacy of the kitchen.
“No,” Justin said, “Anything we have to say to each other, we can say in front of everybody.”
“Fine,” Adam said, and thought of how best to humiliate him.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
19
The RFID chip rolled a semi-circle on the hard wood surface of a work bench in the garage.
“Do it now, son,” Marsh said.
Adam watched it roll back, then forth again, finally coming to a dead stop. He looked up, anticipating excitement on the faces of his friends and filmmakers but instead finding only passive interest. The excitement, he knew, would be in the footage, not in the moment. His life had become a film, and his environment a film set. Behind the camera were slightly bored people wanting to get on with it and wrap up for the day.
Marsh nodded encouragingly.
He brought the hammer up, one-handed, well over his head … and down, dead center! The chip remained perfectly intact save for a white smudge on its glassy half.
He brought up the hammer, and slammed it back down again, this time leaving only a mangy white and red powder and a mangled and flattened circuit.
***
Asleep again, are you? Dreaming, yes? A warm and comfortable private world to crawl into when you close your eyes. But what if the world of your dreams was not so private, hm? Would it still be as cozy for you? Would you still fly and rape willing female dream puffs or would you watch yourself? Disguise your inner desires?
More to the point, would you eventually give way to moral decency and recognize the rights of others if you couldn’t wake up? Would you live a rational existence in a dream reality or would you plunge into an id soaked horror of depravity?
Would you wake up and become your fantasy, knowing there was an easy escape into a private world when you close your eyes? Few have gone so far, I know.
But you could.
You could do it all because God does not recognize you as one of his own.
You could preside over a heaven of your own. Or a hell. It’s your choice, clearly.
You will not go to God’s heaven, and you will not go to God’s hell. You must create your own kingdom of heaven, here on earth. Or a kingdom of hell. You have the power.
The world is waiting, but it grows impatient.
***
Leah was already awake, lying on her side, looking at him.
He blinked his eyes open and said, “there is no God. We must love them, now, while we still can. Love our neighbors.”
“Do it now, son,” Marsh said.
Adam watched it roll back, then forth again, finally coming to a dead stop. He looked up, anticipating excitement on the faces of his friends and filmmakers but instead finding only passive interest. The excitement, he knew, would be in the footage, not in the moment. His life had become a film, and his environment a film set. Behind the camera were slightly bored people wanting to get on with it and wrap up for the day.
Marsh nodded encouragingly.
He brought the hammer up, one-handed, well over his head … and down, dead center! The chip remained perfectly intact save for a white smudge on its glassy half.
He brought up the hammer, and slammed it back down again, this time leaving only a mangy white and red powder and a mangled and flattened circuit.
***
Asleep again, are you? Dreaming, yes? A warm and comfortable private world to crawl into when you close your eyes. But what if the world of your dreams was not so private, hm? Would it still be as cozy for you? Would you still fly and rape willing female dream puffs or would you watch yourself? Disguise your inner desires?
More to the point, would you eventually give way to moral decency and recognize the rights of others if you couldn’t wake up? Would you live a rational existence in a dream reality or would you plunge into an id soaked horror of depravity?
Would you wake up and become your fantasy, knowing there was an easy escape into a private world when you close your eyes? Few have gone so far, I know.
But you could.
You could do it all because God does not recognize you as one of his own.
You could preside over a heaven of your own. Or a hell. It’s your choice, clearly.
You will not go to God’s heaven, and you will not go to God’s hell. You must create your own kingdom of heaven, here on earth. Or a kingdom of hell. You have the power.
The world is waiting, but it grows impatient.
***
Leah was already awake, lying on her side, looking at him.
He blinked his eyes open and said, “there is no God. We must love them, now, while we still can. Love our neighbors.”
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
18
Marsh arrived in an unmarked van with two young people, a camera girl and a sound guy. They were fraternal twins, yet oddly enough didn’t share the same birth day, they were both born around midnight, one on either side.
Marsh had told Adam they were coming, over the phone, “Okay, so,” he said, “here’s what I want to do: I want to film you. I want to film a documentary film about you and what you’ve been through. To get the message out there to the people.”
“Yes,” Adam had said, pounding his fist into his thigh, “Yes! I will bring the message to the people!”
So Adam, Justin, Leah, Thomas, Marsh and the twins, Peter and Eunice, set up at Adam’s place, and got filming right away.
“This is the perfect situation,” Adam had told Leah, before anybody had arrived but Justin, who hadn’t left Adam’s side. “The theatre is the new temple, and the TV is the household shrine and Hollywood is the Vatican. Film is the new religion.”
Leah had her doubts. She didn’t trust Marsh and wasn’t sure about all this, besides.
“The theatre is the temple and the man on screen is the preacher. I will be the man on screen.”
Adam took the chip out of his pocket, as he always carried with him everywhere he went, almost instinctively, and showed it to Marsh and the camera.
“How did you know about this?” Adam asked.
“It fits with the M.O. I’ve been talking about these things since my show began. Let me see that.”
Marsh studied the chip carefully, reverently.
“Soon,” he said, “everybody will be chipped, if we don’t stand up to them.”
“Who?” Adam said, “who, exactly is them?”
“The New World Order. Nearly every world leader is a part of it, and if they’re not, they’re a rogue state, a terrorist state, get it? Their plan is to set up a one world government, and once that’s in place, they’ll use these things to keep us in line.”
“How,” Adam said, “tell me how.”
“Well, right now it’s just used as a tracking device, and it’ll continue to be used that way, but soon, if we’re not careful, the NWO proposed one world government will go to a single world currency, a moneyless system. All transactions will be tallied in credits. Credits that are kept entirely on these chips. And if people like you and me want to step up and protest what they’re doing, they’ll just turn off your chip so you can’t buy food or anything.”
“Yeah,” Thomas piped up, “I’ve heard of that.”
Adam thought about it a moment and said, “what if your family or neighbors just fed you. I mean, sure, you’d be a burden on the community, but--”
“They’d just turn off their chips, too,” Marsh answered.
“Well,” Adam continued, “what if everybody got together and didn’t want to feel threatened anymore and said, ’you can’t turn off all our chips,’ because if they did they’d be powerless.”
“Never happen,” Thomas said.
“If the people don’t accept it the chips will have no power, the government will have no power,” Adam said, “the power always resides with the people.”
“You’re right,” Marsh said, “the power lies with the people. But if you look in a law dictionary, the definition of people is very different from what you think it is. We are not the people, by law definition. By law definition the people are the executive, the judicial and the legislative. And by the time their one world government is voted into power, we really will be powerless.”
“What do you mean, voted in?” Adam said.
“Right now,” Marsh said, “we do have some power. That’s why they don’t just set up their system of government now, it would be too messy. It’s an experiment, to see if they can carry out their plans without having to kill off all the rabble. Consider it a fair rule of engagement. They will give us fair warning. They will tell us their plans and package them in a way that the voters won’t just accept their plans, they’ll demand them, just to prove they can get away with it. To prove that we are cattle and they are smarter and better than us. It’s a sick game.
“And once their plans are voted into place, if we were to revolt, they could just kill us all, anyway.”
“But we can fight back,” Adam said.
“We’ve got guns, they’ve got bombs and tanks.”
Adam smiled, “they’ve got the bombs, but we’ve got the … Justin, take it away…”
“Minds,” Justin said, “we got the minds, yo.”
It was all there on film.
Marsh had told Adam they were coming, over the phone, “Okay, so,” he said, “here’s what I want to do: I want to film you. I want to film a documentary film about you and what you’ve been through. To get the message out there to the people.”
“Yes,” Adam had said, pounding his fist into his thigh, “Yes! I will bring the message to the people!”
So Adam, Justin, Leah, Thomas, Marsh and the twins, Peter and Eunice, set up at Adam’s place, and got filming right away.
“This is the perfect situation,” Adam had told Leah, before anybody had arrived but Justin, who hadn’t left Adam’s side. “The theatre is the new temple, and the TV is the household shrine and Hollywood is the Vatican. Film is the new religion.”
Leah had her doubts. She didn’t trust Marsh and wasn’t sure about all this, besides.
“The theatre is the temple and the man on screen is the preacher. I will be the man on screen.”
Adam took the chip out of his pocket, as he always carried with him everywhere he went, almost instinctively, and showed it to Marsh and the camera.
“How did you know about this?” Adam asked.
“It fits with the M.O. I’ve been talking about these things since my show began. Let me see that.”
Marsh studied the chip carefully, reverently.
“Soon,” he said, “everybody will be chipped, if we don’t stand up to them.”
“Who?” Adam said, “who, exactly is them?”
“The New World Order. Nearly every world leader is a part of it, and if they’re not, they’re a rogue state, a terrorist state, get it? Their plan is to set up a one world government, and once that’s in place, they’ll use these things to keep us in line.”
“How,” Adam said, “tell me how.”
“Well, right now it’s just used as a tracking device, and it’ll continue to be used that way, but soon, if we’re not careful, the NWO proposed one world government will go to a single world currency, a moneyless system. All transactions will be tallied in credits. Credits that are kept entirely on these chips. And if people like you and me want to step up and protest what they’re doing, they’ll just turn off your chip so you can’t buy food or anything.”
“Yeah,” Thomas piped up, “I’ve heard of that.”
Adam thought about it a moment and said, “what if your family or neighbors just fed you. I mean, sure, you’d be a burden on the community, but--”
“They’d just turn off their chips, too,” Marsh answered.
“Well,” Adam continued, “what if everybody got together and didn’t want to feel threatened anymore and said, ’you can’t turn off all our chips,’ because if they did they’d be powerless.”
“Never happen,” Thomas said.
“If the people don’t accept it the chips will have no power, the government will have no power,” Adam said, “the power always resides with the people.”
“You’re right,” Marsh said, “the power lies with the people. But if you look in a law dictionary, the definition of people is very different from what you think it is. We are not the people, by law definition. By law definition the people are the executive, the judicial and the legislative. And by the time their one world government is voted into power, we really will be powerless.”
“What do you mean, voted in?” Adam said.
“Right now,” Marsh said, “we do have some power. That’s why they don’t just set up their system of government now, it would be too messy. It’s an experiment, to see if they can carry out their plans without having to kill off all the rabble. Consider it a fair rule of engagement. They will give us fair warning. They will tell us their plans and package them in a way that the voters won’t just accept their plans, they’ll demand them, just to prove they can get away with it. To prove that we are cattle and they are smarter and better than us. It’s a sick game.
“And once their plans are voted into place, if we were to revolt, they could just kill us all, anyway.”
“But we can fight back,” Adam said.
“We’ve got guns, they’ve got bombs and tanks.”
Adam smiled, “they’ve got the bombs, but we’ve got the … Justin, take it away…”
“Minds,” Justin said, “we got the minds, yo.”
It was all there on film.
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Chapter IV, pt. IV
Why doesn’t she know me? The thought played over and over in his head like a chorus.
“Something’s bugging you,” she said, “you’ve been staring into your cup of tea for five minutes.”
“Nothing,” he said, “nothing’s bugging me.”
She scoffed and said, “I know when something’s wrong. Your mother should know.”
He took a sip of his tea, it was cold now.
“You still need time to get over the accident, that’s all.”
He laughed and shook his head, “that’s not what’s bugging me.”
“Is it that weird guy, sitting on the couch?,” she said, making sure to keep her voice low.
“Who, him?,” he glanced over his shoulder, in the direction of the living room behind him, “he’s alright.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, he’s fine.”
She got up and poured the last sip of her coffee down the drain, running the water, making sure the stainless steel sink didn’t stain.
“You know, Ma,” he began, “I look around here, and you got a lotta junk.”
She shut the water off and turned to face him, her hand on her hip accusatorily, “excuse me?”
“No, I’m just saying, Ma, it’s just you here, right?”
“For your information, I have a lot of nice things, I don’t have junk.”
“That’s not what I’m saying--”
“Yes it is! You just said it.”
“No. No. It’s just…” he thought carefully about the right words, “you got a lotta stuff you don’t need.”
“That’s what you think,” she said, aloofly.
Adam looked around and catalogued the items he found one doesn’t need. Little trinkets and hummels; salt and pepper shakers shaped like African fertility sculptures; fridge magnets and matching clock shaped like an owl; the vibrating leather couches in the living room with the padded arm rests that folded out to reveal cup holders. Instead of just, a couch.
“I happen to like nice things,” she said, “my house reflects my personality.”
“You can’t order personality over the phone,” he said.
“I’m not on the phone that much. I talk to my sister in Pasadena and that’s about it.”
Adam grunted in frustration, he remembered that she never understood him, “I’m saying, you can’t buy personality.”
“Well, this is my house, if you don’t like it, well … you know where the door is, honey.”
“I just don’t think a person needs all this useless stuff to get by.”
“I’m through with just trying to get by, and who are you to tell me what I can and can’t have. This is the way I want my house. Why can’t I have what I want? What’s your point anyway?"
“My point ..?” he thought about it for a long moment, a far away look fell across his features, and a slow smile spilled over.
He called Justin into the kitchen and said, “I guess my point is, we’ve all got to learn something in this life. I was put here to learn something, and you were put here to learn something, and you were. The thing we’ve got to learn is different for everybody. That’s the point here. It's destiny. We’ve got to learn something so that we don’t have to keep coming back in an endless cycle of life and death. You see, all this stuff you keep around, the trinkets and decoration, it’s an illusion. That can’t be what you’ve come here to learn: to love the illusion. All this stuff you want, it’s gonna tie you here to earth and you’ll never get back to the kingdom of heaven if you don’t let go, because there will always be something else that you want, and you’ll keep coming back and wanting more stuff, then one day, when the sun goes nova, and the earth is destroyed, there’ll be no place to go back to and there will be no salvation and you will taste death and you will be denied eternal life.”
A new vigor possessed him, he had a nugget, he had a point. Soon he would be on TV and the radio and the internet and downtown jumbo trons across the globe, spreading the message. 60 minutes, Larry King, The Late Show, Coast to Coast, The Mike Marsh Show, he would make everybody sick, there’d be no escape from him. The world was waiting for him to make a statement and now he’d found one. He would say it louder than anyone who’d come before him. And he would find other things to say as well, important things! He would go on until every man, woman and child in the remotest cave on earth would hear his word. He was ready to speak!
His mother calmly said, “get out of here. Just go.”
“Well, I can't,” Adam said, “I need to use the phone.”
“Something’s bugging you,” she said, “you’ve been staring into your cup of tea for five minutes.”
“Nothing,” he said, “nothing’s bugging me.”
She scoffed and said, “I know when something’s wrong. Your mother should know.”
He took a sip of his tea, it was cold now.
“You still need time to get over the accident, that’s all.”
He laughed and shook his head, “that’s not what’s bugging me.”
“Is it that weird guy, sitting on the couch?,” she said, making sure to keep her voice low.
“Who, him?,” he glanced over his shoulder, in the direction of the living room behind him, “he’s alright.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, he’s fine.”
She got up and poured the last sip of her coffee down the drain, running the water, making sure the stainless steel sink didn’t stain.
“You know, Ma,” he began, “I look around here, and you got a lotta junk.”
She shut the water off and turned to face him, her hand on her hip accusatorily, “excuse me?”
“No, I’m just saying, Ma, it’s just you here, right?”
“For your information, I have a lot of nice things, I don’t have junk.”
“That’s not what I’m saying--”
“Yes it is! You just said it.”
“No. No. It’s just…” he thought carefully about the right words, “you got a lotta stuff you don’t need.”
“That’s what you think,” she said, aloofly.
Adam looked around and catalogued the items he found one doesn’t need. Little trinkets and hummels; salt and pepper shakers shaped like African fertility sculptures; fridge magnets and matching clock shaped like an owl; the vibrating leather couches in the living room with the padded arm rests that folded out to reveal cup holders. Instead of just, a couch.
“I happen to like nice things,” she said, “my house reflects my personality.”
“You can’t order personality over the phone,” he said.
“I’m not on the phone that much. I talk to my sister in Pasadena and that’s about it.”
Adam grunted in frustration, he remembered that she never understood him, “I’m saying, you can’t buy personality.”
“Well, this is my house, if you don’t like it, well … you know where the door is, honey.”
“I just don’t think a person needs all this useless stuff to get by.”
“I’m through with just trying to get by, and who are you to tell me what I can and can’t have. This is the way I want my house. Why can’t I have what I want? What’s your point anyway?"
“My point ..?” he thought about it for a long moment, a far away look fell across his features, and a slow smile spilled over.
He called Justin into the kitchen and said, “I guess my point is, we’ve all got to learn something in this life. I was put here to learn something, and you were put here to learn something, and you were. The thing we’ve got to learn is different for everybody. That’s the point here. It's destiny. We’ve got to learn something so that we don’t have to keep coming back in an endless cycle of life and death. You see, all this stuff you keep around, the trinkets and decoration, it’s an illusion. That can’t be what you’ve come here to learn: to love the illusion. All this stuff you want, it’s gonna tie you here to earth and you’ll never get back to the kingdom of heaven if you don’t let go, because there will always be something else that you want, and you’ll keep coming back and wanting more stuff, then one day, when the sun goes nova, and the earth is destroyed, there’ll be no place to go back to and there will be no salvation and you will taste death and you will be denied eternal life.”
A new vigor possessed him, he had a nugget, he had a point. Soon he would be on TV and the radio and the internet and downtown jumbo trons across the globe, spreading the message. 60 minutes, Larry King, The Late Show, Coast to Coast, The Mike Marsh Show, he would make everybody sick, there’d be no escape from him. The world was waiting for him to make a statement and now he’d found one. He would say it louder than anyone who’d come before him. And he would find other things to say as well, important things! He would go on until every man, woman and child in the remotest cave on earth would hear his word. He was ready to speak!
His mother calmly said, “get out of here. Just go.”
“Well, I can't,” Adam said, “I need to use the phone.”
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Chapter IV, pt. III
Justin sat on Adam’s mother’s couch, staring at the finite space between his feet.
“Yo, G,” he said to Adam, rushing by, “I can’t get my mind right, you know what I’m saying?”
“Who is that man?,” Adam’s mother said to Adam, referring to Justin.
Adam had come straight through his mother’s door with pensive Justin faithfully in tow and went straight to the bathroom and had come out and rushed straight into the kitchen, past Justin, locked in a cosmic struggle of mind and body, and past his mother who asked, “Adam, who is that man?”
He grabbed her telephone and dialed franticly, mumbling, “can’t talk now, Ma.”
The phone rang.
“This is Mike Marsh,” the phone said.
“Marsh, this is Adam.”
“Adam,” Marsh sounded surprised, “that's so weird, I was just thinking about you. So,you got my message.”
Obviously, he had. Adam’s mother was pacing around the house, tidying things up a bit, you know, for her unexpected guests, “I wish you would have told me you were coming,” she said, pulling her coffee maker out of the corner, “and bringing company. I would have cooked something.” She checked her cupboards, “let’s see…”
“Adam, look,” Marsh said, “I saw you at the ballgame with Falconer.”
“You saw us there?”
“It was everywhere. The sports highlights, CNN, youtube. The play by play guys were going on and on about it, non-stop.”
Adam’s mother wandered into the living room and asked Justin if she could get him something to drink, she was making coffee, she also had Coke, orange juice, tea or water.
“I’m not thirsty, Mam,” Justin said, “been getting crunk, all the time, off the elixir of life, know what I’m saying?”
“Oh,” Adam’s mom replied, “okay.”
“Now,” Marsh continued, “I’m going to need to ask you to do something for me, in good faith.”
“I’m listening,” Adam said.
“Adam,” his mother low-talked, so her strange guest in the living room wouldn’t hear, “Adam, who is that guy?”
Adam dismissed her with an attempted polite wave and turned his back.
“That guy, Falconer,” Marsh continued, “he’s a prick. I need you to stay away from him.”
“I know he’s a prick.”
“Then what are you doing going to ballgames with him? How did you even get mixed up with a guy like that?”
“He contacted me.”
“G,” Justin called from the living room, “Geeeee!”
Adam’s mother raced over to the living room, wondering what all the fuss was about, as her coffee maker gurgled to life.
“Don’t you find it odd,” Marsh said, “that a guy running for President of the United States of America, the future so-called leader of the free world wants to take precious hours and minutes out of his busy schedule to spend quality time with you, and be makes sure to be seen in public doing so?”
“Well,” Adam said, “now that you mention it, I did find the whole experience rather puzzling, yes.”
Justin sauntered into the kitchen, “G,” he said, “determinism ain’t the thing, yo. It can‘t be.”
Adam turned his back again.
“Listen,” Marsh said, “Falconer is just another New World Order asshole, and they know, like I know, that the world is waiting for you to make a statement.”
“What you think,” Justin said, “if God predetermines all our actions,” he trailed off for a minute, “yo, you listening, G?”
“That’s why,” Marsh went on, “they’re trying to get to you first.”
“Like,” Justin continued, “then we ain’t responsible for our own actions, know what I’m saying? Cause we ain’t even in control of our own motherfucking actions.”
“Come to think of it,” Adam was now talking with a finger in his free ear, “he did seem to be trying to recruit me. He said I had a future in politics.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Marsh said.
“So, how come we’re still answerable to God, right? I mean, if that Motherfucker with the white beard up in the clouds is pulling all the strings, how can he blame us for the shit we do, right?. Holla at me on that, G”
“Listen, I’m leaving Dallas right away to come see you. Stay where you are, I'll call you as soon as I get there.”
“Coffee’s ready.”
“Um, fine, good. Now may not be the best time to talk, anyway.”
“Yo, G,” he said to Adam, rushing by, “I can’t get my mind right, you know what I’m saying?”
“Who is that man?,” Adam’s mother said to Adam, referring to Justin.
Adam had come straight through his mother’s door with pensive Justin faithfully in tow and went straight to the bathroom and had come out and rushed straight into the kitchen, past Justin, locked in a cosmic struggle of mind and body, and past his mother who asked, “Adam, who is that man?”
He grabbed her telephone and dialed franticly, mumbling, “can’t talk now, Ma.”
The phone rang.
“This is Mike Marsh,” the phone said.
“Marsh, this is Adam.”
“Adam,” Marsh sounded surprised, “that's so weird, I was just thinking about you. So,you got my message.”
Obviously, he had. Adam’s mother was pacing around the house, tidying things up a bit, you know, for her unexpected guests, “I wish you would have told me you were coming,” she said, pulling her coffee maker out of the corner, “and bringing company. I would have cooked something.” She checked her cupboards, “let’s see…”
“Adam, look,” Marsh said, “I saw you at the ballgame with Falconer.”
“You saw us there?”
“It was everywhere. The sports highlights, CNN, youtube. The play by play guys were going on and on about it, non-stop.”
Adam’s mother wandered into the living room and asked Justin if she could get him something to drink, she was making coffee, she also had Coke, orange juice, tea or water.
“I’m not thirsty, Mam,” Justin said, “been getting crunk, all the time, off the elixir of life, know what I’m saying?”
“Oh,” Adam’s mom replied, “okay.”
“Now,” Marsh continued, “I’m going to need to ask you to do something for me, in good faith.”
“I’m listening,” Adam said.
“Adam,” his mother low-talked, so her strange guest in the living room wouldn’t hear, “Adam, who is that guy?”
Adam dismissed her with an attempted polite wave and turned his back.
“That guy, Falconer,” Marsh continued, “he’s a prick. I need you to stay away from him.”
“I know he’s a prick.”
“Then what are you doing going to ballgames with him? How did you even get mixed up with a guy like that?”
“He contacted me.”
“G,” Justin called from the living room, “Geeeee!”
Adam’s mother raced over to the living room, wondering what all the fuss was about, as her coffee maker gurgled to life.
“Don’t you find it odd,” Marsh said, “that a guy running for President of the United States of America, the future so-called leader of the free world wants to take precious hours and minutes out of his busy schedule to spend quality time with you, and be makes sure to be seen in public doing so?”
“Well,” Adam said, “now that you mention it, I did find the whole experience rather puzzling, yes.”
Justin sauntered into the kitchen, “G,” he said, “determinism ain’t the thing, yo. It can‘t be.”
Adam turned his back again.
“Listen,” Marsh said, “Falconer is just another New World Order asshole, and they know, like I know, that the world is waiting for you to make a statement.”
“What you think,” Justin said, “if God predetermines all our actions,” he trailed off for a minute, “yo, you listening, G?”
“That’s why,” Marsh went on, “they’re trying to get to you first.”
“Like,” Justin continued, “then we ain’t responsible for our own actions, know what I’m saying? Cause we ain’t even in control of our own motherfucking actions.”
“Come to think of it,” Adam was now talking with a finger in his free ear, “he did seem to be trying to recruit me. He said I had a future in politics.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Marsh said.
“So, how come we’re still answerable to God, right? I mean, if that Motherfucker with the white beard up in the clouds is pulling all the strings, how can he blame us for the shit we do, right?. Holla at me on that, G”
“Listen, I’m leaving Dallas right away to come see you. Stay where you are, I'll call you as soon as I get there.”
“Coffee’s ready.”
“Um, fine, good. Now may not be the best time to talk, anyway.”
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Chapter IV, pt. II
The secret service agents were at his door.
“Mr. Falconer’s waiting,” the one of the left said.
Justin leaped off the couch, uncertain, leaning forward with two clenched fists, sleepy eyes forced wide. Adam held out his hand and silently ordered him to halt.
“These are my friends,” Adam said to Justin, then turned to the agents, “right?”
They each nodded once, in unison.
Justin warily sank back down onto the couch, tense at first, then slowly relaxing. He laid back and put his hands on his forehead, getting back to the mysteries of the universe which swam about in his head like a child’s mobile.
There was a limousine waiting outside. Adam followed the agents toward it. One of them opened the door for him. He glanced at both agents standing on either side of him as they patted him down, then hopped in. Henry Falconer greeted him with a wink. The two agents got into a car parked behind the limo and the party drove off.
“I hear you weren’t too surprised that we found you,” Falconer said, “when and where we did.”
Adam was strangely uncertain. He was losing his edge. He said nothing and dug around in his pocket, never breaking eye contact with Falconer. He brought his hand up for Falconer to see, cradled in his palm was the tiny tic tac-like RFID chip.
Falconer smiled, “where on earth did you get that thing?”
Adam lifted his shirt to reveal a stomach encrusted with still healing scabs and gashes, red around the edges.
Falconer couldn’t suppress an easy laugh, “now, that takes motivation.”
Adam put the chip back in his pocket. They sat in silence. Falconer stared at him, fascinated, then he laughed again and shook his head.
“How are you feeling, Adam, okay? Since the accident, I mean.”
Adam nodded. Falconer leaned back, resting his arms on the seatback, smiling, gazing out the window.
“You went downtown the other day,” Falconer said, “I understand you’ve got a lot to say.”
Adam said nothing.
“Hey,” Falconer leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, “relax. You’re not in trouble.”
“I made a new friend, downtown,” Adam finally said.
“Good,” Falconer said, truly pleased.
“Isn’t it?” Adam said, smiling.
“It strikes me that,” Falconer said, “you’ve got passion. I mean, one look at that stomach of yours confirms it. You have a message for the world don’t you?”
“Maybe,” Adam said.
“What is it?” Falconer asked.
Adam shrugged, “it’s different for everyone.”
Falconer nodded and looked out the window, then said, “ever think about getting into politics?”
“Oh,” Adam said, “I leave that for more worthy men than myself.”
Falconer noted the sarcasm, and said, “I think you could have a future in politics. In one form or another. We could re-make you into a preacher, or get you started in congress. You’re hot property, did you know that?”
Adam put the back of his hand against his forehead, “no, I hadn’t realized.”
“You’ve kept a low profile, but they still talk about you every day on TV and radio. Speaking of which, I heard you on the Mike Marsh show. You don’t buy into his conspiracy theories, do you, Adam?”
“I’m open to anything these days.”
Falconer smiled.
“I think Marsh tries to educate the people,” Adam continued.
“He’s an evangelist, and a phony,” Falconer said, finally doffing his air of cordiality, “he’s only in it for the money.”
“Well,” Adam said, thoughtfully, “I’m in it to educate the people, and I think Marsh’s audience is curious about the truth.”
“You can’t teach the people to be smarter than they are,” Falconer said, “They won’t listen. They’ll fight you. They’ve been got to already, and don’t forget who got to them first. If you’re really out to change the world you’re going to find that most people can’t run their own lives. People crave structure. They crave leaders. They need leaders, because most of them are not capable of leadership or responsibility.”
Adam fought to keep his blood down. He felt his face grow warm and his fists clench.
“Do you know where we are going, Adam,” Falconer said, no longer smiling.
Adam looked from side to side out the windows, “my guess is, we’re going to the baseball stadium.”
“That’s right,” Falconer said, smiling, “very good. Do you like baseball?”
Adam mimed hitting a ball with a bat, then smiled at Falconer and said, “no.”
“Come on, drinks, popcorn, ball park franks, big pretzels, anything you want, it’s on me! The great American past time, what do you say?”
“Well,” Adam said with finality, “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
“Mr. Falconer’s waiting,” the one of the left said.
Justin leaped off the couch, uncertain, leaning forward with two clenched fists, sleepy eyes forced wide. Adam held out his hand and silently ordered him to halt.
“These are my friends,” Adam said to Justin, then turned to the agents, “right?”
They each nodded once, in unison.
Justin warily sank back down onto the couch, tense at first, then slowly relaxing. He laid back and put his hands on his forehead, getting back to the mysteries of the universe which swam about in his head like a child’s mobile.
There was a limousine waiting outside. Adam followed the agents toward it. One of them opened the door for him. He glanced at both agents standing on either side of him as they patted him down, then hopped in. Henry Falconer greeted him with a wink. The two agents got into a car parked behind the limo and the party drove off.
“I hear you weren’t too surprised that we found you,” Falconer said, “when and where we did.”
Adam was strangely uncertain. He was losing his edge. He said nothing and dug around in his pocket, never breaking eye contact with Falconer. He brought his hand up for Falconer to see, cradled in his palm was the tiny tic tac-like RFID chip.
Falconer smiled, “where on earth did you get that thing?”
Adam lifted his shirt to reveal a stomach encrusted with still healing scabs and gashes, red around the edges.
Falconer couldn’t suppress an easy laugh, “now, that takes motivation.”
Adam put the chip back in his pocket. They sat in silence. Falconer stared at him, fascinated, then he laughed again and shook his head.
“How are you feeling, Adam, okay? Since the accident, I mean.”
Adam nodded. Falconer leaned back, resting his arms on the seatback, smiling, gazing out the window.
“You went downtown the other day,” Falconer said, “I understand you’ve got a lot to say.”
Adam said nothing.
“Hey,” Falconer leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, “relax. You’re not in trouble.”
“I made a new friend, downtown,” Adam finally said.
“Good,” Falconer said, truly pleased.
“Isn’t it?” Adam said, smiling.
“It strikes me that,” Falconer said, “you’ve got passion. I mean, one look at that stomach of yours confirms it. You have a message for the world don’t you?”
“Maybe,” Adam said.
“What is it?” Falconer asked.
Adam shrugged, “it’s different for everyone.”
Falconer nodded and looked out the window, then said, “ever think about getting into politics?”
“Oh,” Adam said, “I leave that for more worthy men than myself.”
Falconer noted the sarcasm, and said, “I think you could have a future in politics. In one form or another. We could re-make you into a preacher, or get you started in congress. You’re hot property, did you know that?”
Adam put the back of his hand against his forehead, “no, I hadn’t realized.”
“You’ve kept a low profile, but they still talk about you every day on TV and radio. Speaking of which, I heard you on the Mike Marsh show. You don’t buy into his conspiracy theories, do you, Adam?”
“I’m open to anything these days.”
Falconer smiled.
“I think Marsh tries to educate the people,” Adam continued.
“He’s an evangelist, and a phony,” Falconer said, finally doffing his air of cordiality, “he’s only in it for the money.”
“Well,” Adam said, thoughtfully, “I’m in it to educate the people, and I think Marsh’s audience is curious about the truth.”
“You can’t teach the people to be smarter than they are,” Falconer said, “They won’t listen. They’ll fight you. They’ve been got to already, and don’t forget who got to them first. If you’re really out to change the world you’re going to find that most people can’t run their own lives. People crave structure. They crave leaders. They need leaders, because most of them are not capable of leadership or responsibility.”
Adam fought to keep his blood down. He felt his face grow warm and his fists clench.
“Do you know where we are going, Adam,” Falconer said, no longer smiling.
Adam looked from side to side out the windows, “my guess is, we’re going to the baseball stadium.”
“That’s right,” Falconer said, smiling, “very good. Do you like baseball?”
Adam mimed hitting a ball with a bat, then smiled at Falconer and said, “no.”
“Come on, drinks, popcorn, ball park franks, big pretzels, anything you want, it’s on me! The great American past time, what do you say?”
“Well,” Adam said with finality, “I don’t have much of a choice, do I?”
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Appendix - Leah
For the most part, she watched quietly. He spoke of his views and she watched him recklessly put them into practice. The way he went about things, he'd be killed sooner or later, and, if he wasn't careful, she would be too. She couldn't say why, people were just that way. They reacted funny to would-be messiahs. She knew he was genuine enough, she knew it for a fact because once, she'd tasted his mind, savored his thoughts, sampled his ideas. She just didn't know when she'd understand where it was going and what it was about. Wheels of revolution spun around him and he was dazzled, dizzy. A new universal church of truth, a new state of anarchy. Leaderless, without form, a vision of primordial society. This was his vision for the world.
He was just one man but he could do it.
He was the player, everybody else were just pieces on a chess board. He experimented with them, opened their eyes, blew their minds, changed their lives on a whim. He knew how to move the pawns. Phase one was complete, phase two was a mystery.
The best things to do when the wheels were put into motion would be to stay close to him, though the wheels might crush her. She didn't trust him. What kind of insane thing was he planning? He went for a drive one night and came back three days later a very strange man. A stranger, ever since the accident...
He was just one man but he could do it.
He was the player, everybody else were just pieces on a chess board. He experimented with them, opened their eyes, blew their minds, changed their lives on a whim. He knew how to move the pawns. Phase one was complete, phase two was a mystery.
The best things to do when the wheels were put into motion would be to stay close to him, though the wheels might crush her. She didn't trust him. What kind of insane thing was he planning? He went for a drive one night and came back three days later a very strange man. A stranger, ever since the accident...
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Chapter IV
Downtown. Adam cared enough about his friends to make himself presentable. He didn’t want to embarrass Leah and Thomas so he threw on his housecoat before he left. He didn’t want to look crazy by just traipsing around town in his socks and underwear.
People stared, though. Or they looked away, but he knew what they were thinking. Every last one of them.
“Yeah,” he said to the people passing by, “I’m the one that’s crazy.”
They thought he needed to get out of the house, be around other people. Leah didn’t want him to get bedsores, Thomas didn’t want him to wind up like Howard Hughes. He still saw Adam as post-traumatic but Leah knew better. She couldn’t tell Thomas, of course.
“Look at this,” Thomas said, about a newspaper box, “’Man’s throat slashed, reveals tumor.’” He dropped a couple quarters in the slot and pulled out a paper. The trap door slammed shut real loud, drawing eyes.
“What,” Adam yelled, sensing their thoughts, “you want I should go around naked?”
Leah and Thomas exchanged glances, maybe this wasn’t the best idea.
“Sure it is,” Adam said to either of them. “You wanted to bring me downtown, I wanted to show you this.”
He pointed up to the stories-high jumbo tron, its insect like multi-faceted, multifarious pixilated eye trained on the unsuspecting masses, teeming below. It ran, day and night, hour after hour an endlessly repetitive stream of commercials and advertisements. All the time. He looked across the street and saw two girls snap a picture of the thing.
He pointed up at it once again and began to speak to his friends and everyone else.
“You can’t get away from it, there’s no place to escape from it because it’s the plague. It’s everywhere, on the streets, in books … everywhere. A living, dreaming plague of dangerous and irresponsible ideas. Every time you turn a corner there’s another shit and smut peddler trying to sell you a bad idea. The price is right, the price is so low you’d have to be crazy not to buy into it, because the price is you willingness to be accepted.”
By now he had a wide berth around him, no one stopped to listen. Leah and Thomas receded along the wall.
“I want you to question your sanity. I need you to go stark raving mad. You’ve got to run through the streets screaming, ‘I am fucking sick of this shit.’
“Look. Look at this. No one cares. We don’t care about our mental health or the state of things. Only status. A newer car, bigger tits, that’s what we really need, right? I’m not saying those aren’t nice things in the shop windows, I’m just suggesting that maybe we can get by without them.
“Not everyone can have an important car or a nice big fat set of tits to get you into places. And those are the things that are important, right?
“This is what we’re told over and over and it’s pounded into our brains and we start to believe it mind body and soul but there is no soul anymore because we believe and pretty soon there is no mind left at all and then all we’re left with is a body. A body to parade around and buy clothes with even more advertisements on them and then all of a sudden the images you see up there on the screen and in your home on TV or on the internet become real. They become a physical reality because it’s self-reinforcing propaganda doesn’t anyone see that? Anyone? No?
“It’s what’s inside that counts.”
“Don’t you care?”
Everyone walked by, trying as hard as they could not to meet the gaze of the madman. And it was a perfectly reasonable thing to do for perfectly reasonable people. Of course, not everybody was perfectly reasonable.
Across the street, a trio of young men watched the whole seen, grinning. They just had to get a closer look at this guy.
Adam turned back around to face his friends who hid their faces along the wall.
“I’m sorry you guys,” he said, “I try to tell the truth and no one cares, no one wants to hear it. They don’t care about the lies and the falseness. I can’t live like that. It’s time someone paid a visit to the Wizard of Oz.”
“Yo, Wizard,” one of the young men said, “you a wizard?”
“No, I’m not the wizard,” Adam said, “I’m Dorothy.”
The young men burst out laughing.
“I know who I am,” Adam said, “who are you?”
“Me,” the young man said, “I’m a thug.” He took a big swill from a bottle concealed by a brown paper bag. “They just let you out or something?” he said, indicating Adam’s housecoat with a slap across the shoulder.
“No,” Adam said, “but you wouldn’t really know anything about that. Sure, you’ve spent a night or two in the drunk tank, but you’ve never been to prison. You’re not hard. And you’re not smart either, the most hardcore thing you ever did was sell some pot in high school and it got confiscated by two undercover cops once and you were so shook you never thought about doing it again. Isn’t that right, Justin?”
Justin was confused. He glanced back at his two buddies, scared, then he flashed the gun tucked into his waistband.
“I know you won’t use that, cause it’s a replica.”
At that moment, everything went white for Justin …
People stared, though. Or they looked away, but he knew what they were thinking. Every last one of them.
“Yeah,” he said to the people passing by, “I’m the one that’s crazy.”
They thought he needed to get out of the house, be around other people. Leah didn’t want him to get bedsores, Thomas didn’t want him to wind up like Howard Hughes. He still saw Adam as post-traumatic but Leah knew better. She couldn’t tell Thomas, of course.
“Look at this,” Thomas said, about a newspaper box, “’Man’s throat slashed, reveals tumor.’” He dropped a couple quarters in the slot and pulled out a paper. The trap door slammed shut real loud, drawing eyes.
“What,” Adam yelled, sensing their thoughts, “you want I should go around naked?”
Leah and Thomas exchanged glances, maybe this wasn’t the best idea.
“Sure it is,” Adam said to either of them. “You wanted to bring me downtown, I wanted to show you this.”
He pointed up to the stories-high jumbo tron, its insect like multi-faceted, multifarious pixilated eye trained on the unsuspecting masses, teeming below. It ran, day and night, hour after hour an endlessly repetitive stream of commercials and advertisements. All the time. He looked across the street and saw two girls snap a picture of the thing.
He pointed up at it once again and began to speak to his friends and everyone else.
“You can’t get away from it, there’s no place to escape from it because it’s the plague. It’s everywhere, on the streets, in books … everywhere. A living, dreaming plague of dangerous and irresponsible ideas. Every time you turn a corner there’s another shit and smut peddler trying to sell you a bad idea. The price is right, the price is so low you’d have to be crazy not to buy into it, because the price is you willingness to be accepted.”
By now he had a wide berth around him, no one stopped to listen. Leah and Thomas receded along the wall.
“I want you to question your sanity. I need you to go stark raving mad. You’ve got to run through the streets screaming, ‘I am fucking sick of this shit.’
“Look. Look at this. No one cares. We don’t care about our mental health or the state of things. Only status. A newer car, bigger tits, that’s what we really need, right? I’m not saying those aren’t nice things in the shop windows, I’m just suggesting that maybe we can get by without them.
“Not everyone can have an important car or a nice big fat set of tits to get you into places. And those are the things that are important, right?
“This is what we’re told over and over and it’s pounded into our brains and we start to believe it mind body and soul but there is no soul anymore because we believe and pretty soon there is no mind left at all and then all we’re left with is a body. A body to parade around and buy clothes with even more advertisements on them and then all of a sudden the images you see up there on the screen and in your home on TV or on the internet become real. They become a physical reality because it’s self-reinforcing propaganda doesn’t anyone see that? Anyone? No?
“It’s what’s inside that counts.”
“Don’t you care?”
Everyone walked by, trying as hard as they could not to meet the gaze of the madman. And it was a perfectly reasonable thing to do for perfectly reasonable people. Of course, not everybody was perfectly reasonable.
Across the street, a trio of young men watched the whole seen, grinning. They just had to get a closer look at this guy.
Adam turned back around to face his friends who hid their faces along the wall.
“I’m sorry you guys,” he said, “I try to tell the truth and no one cares, no one wants to hear it. They don’t care about the lies and the falseness. I can’t live like that. It’s time someone paid a visit to the Wizard of Oz.”
“Yo, Wizard,” one of the young men said, “you a wizard?”
“No, I’m not the wizard,” Adam said, “I’m Dorothy.”
The young men burst out laughing.
“I know who I am,” Adam said, “who are you?”
“Me,” the young man said, “I’m a thug.” He took a big swill from a bottle concealed by a brown paper bag. “They just let you out or something?” he said, indicating Adam’s housecoat with a slap across the shoulder.
“No,” Adam said, “but you wouldn’t really know anything about that. Sure, you’ve spent a night or two in the drunk tank, but you’ve never been to prison. You’re not hard. And you’re not smart either, the most hardcore thing you ever did was sell some pot in high school and it got confiscated by two undercover cops once and you were so shook you never thought about doing it again. Isn’t that right, Justin?”
Justin was confused. He glanced back at his two buddies, scared, then he flashed the gun tucked into his waistband.
“I know you won’t use that, cause it’s a replica.”
At that moment, everything went white for Justin …
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Interlude II
Hard to concentrate, but not impossible. Can’t shut the voices out, the millions of people planning, looking to the future. The millions recalling the past. Millions of songs in millions of heads. The trick was to make them into one voice, one song, one drone, om. Get back to the white noise, the static. With effort, he could pick his own voice out from the billions.
With effort.
A giant cerfuffle about an earthquake when he went to use the john.
Effort.
Outrage mingled with joy over the outcome of some international sporting event.
Make them one voice, then raise your own above them.
Do not concentrate.
Streamline the noise into a single sound.
Om.
He heard his own voice above the din.
I want cereal.
Okay.
He would get cereal. And milk. Even though time was a strange and funny thing to him these days and he already knew where the cereal and the milk was going to end up, it didn’t matter because he had spoken up, he had mastered the billions and by hook or by crook he was going to Get Cereal! … and milk. And he still knew what was coming to him once he did, but eff it, he was hungry.
Falconer was busy on the campaign trail, but not too busy for his pet project. It’s good to have hobbies, he thought to himself, even for future presidents.
The campaign trail was a long and grueling one. An endless montage of flights and hotels, and speeches and debates, but that was the easy part. Ever since the accident, he’d had to watch himself. He couldn’t score dope or get laid. He couldn‘t be seen without the wife at his side. He traveled the country like a rock star but he couldn’t get laid. Well he could, but he was advised not to.
“Okay, so,” Chan the advisor said, “After the meet and greet in Topeka we got a couple doubleheaders in Missouri, then we’re looking at a big fat nothing. Day off. I’m thinking … Good Morning America, by satellite. I can get them on the phone in thirty seconds.”
“No,” Falconer said.
“Well, you gotta do something.”
“I’m gonna check up on Adam,” he widened his eyes as he spoke the name.
His aides shifted uncomfortably, almost in unison.
“Better leave it,” Chan said, “let him die down a little. Besides, we can’t go a day without cameras and microphones, we’re hot.”
“That’s just the thing,” Falconer said, reclining, “I got a feeling he’s not gonna let himself die down. I got a funny little feeling he’s gonna make a real big stink and that radio show from Dallas was just the beginning. Who knows, maybe I can talk some sense into him.”
“Mmm,” Chan said, thinking, “I don’t know, the guy’s absolutely smothered in controversy.” He paused for a minute, thinking, rubbing his chin, “On the other hand, he’s hot too. That Marsh clip’s got a quarter million hits on Youtube.”
“I got two words for you friends,” Falconer said, smiling, “Photo Op.”
His aides relaxed visibly, almost in unison.
Falconer brushed a hand through his perfectly sculpted hair and said, “Why don’t we grab that tracker and find him right now?”
Adam didn’t like to be around people. That is, large groups of people or even small ones. Proximity had something to do with his telepathy. He especially didn’t like to be around the supermarket crowd. It was a singles bar, and all the singles pretended that it wasn’t but he knew. He could smell the hope and feel the anxiety in the air. The nerves.
If he just kept his head down and walked real fast, he at least wouldn’t have to see the worried looks on their faces while their hormones thumped in his chest and their biological clocks ticked down in his ears.
He zipped down the cereal aisle, dodging shopping carts unaided by his eyes or ears, he navigated by thought alone. He knew what was coming.
He grabbed a box of Lucky Charms off the shelf as the ‘Suit’ bee-lined it toward Adam, checking a GPS locator, just as he had foreseen it. The Suit approached him as he mentally ran the maze on the back of the cereal box. The suit was about to speak.
“Sure,” Adam said, without looking up, “tell Falconer, I’ll be there on time.”
The puzzled Suit watched Adam head for the check out counter, still running the cereal box maze.
With effort.
A giant cerfuffle about an earthquake when he went to use the john.
Effort.
Outrage mingled with joy over the outcome of some international sporting event.
Make them one voice, then raise your own above them.
Do not concentrate.
Streamline the noise into a single sound.
Om.
He heard his own voice above the din.
I want cereal.
Okay.
He would get cereal. And milk. Even though time was a strange and funny thing to him these days and he already knew where the cereal and the milk was going to end up, it didn’t matter because he had spoken up, he had mastered the billions and by hook or by crook he was going to Get Cereal! … and milk. And he still knew what was coming to him once he did, but eff it, he was hungry.
Falconer was busy on the campaign trail, but not too busy for his pet project. It’s good to have hobbies, he thought to himself, even for future presidents.
The campaign trail was a long and grueling one. An endless montage of flights and hotels, and speeches and debates, but that was the easy part. Ever since the accident, he’d had to watch himself. He couldn’t score dope or get laid. He couldn‘t be seen without the wife at his side. He traveled the country like a rock star but he couldn’t get laid. Well he could, but he was advised not to.
“Okay, so,” Chan the advisor said, “After the meet and greet in Topeka we got a couple doubleheaders in Missouri, then we’re looking at a big fat nothing. Day off. I’m thinking … Good Morning America, by satellite. I can get them on the phone in thirty seconds.”
“No,” Falconer said.
“Well, you gotta do something.”
“I’m gonna check up on Adam,” he widened his eyes as he spoke the name.
His aides shifted uncomfortably, almost in unison.
“Better leave it,” Chan said, “let him die down a little. Besides, we can’t go a day without cameras and microphones, we’re hot.”
“That’s just the thing,” Falconer said, reclining, “I got a feeling he’s not gonna let himself die down. I got a funny little feeling he’s gonna make a real big stink and that radio show from Dallas was just the beginning. Who knows, maybe I can talk some sense into him.”
“Mmm,” Chan said, thinking, “I don’t know, the guy’s absolutely smothered in controversy.” He paused for a minute, thinking, rubbing his chin, “On the other hand, he’s hot too. That Marsh clip’s got a quarter million hits on Youtube.”
“I got two words for you friends,” Falconer said, smiling, “Photo Op.”
His aides relaxed visibly, almost in unison.
Falconer brushed a hand through his perfectly sculpted hair and said, “Why don’t we grab that tracker and find him right now?”
Adam didn’t like to be around people. That is, large groups of people or even small ones. Proximity had something to do with his telepathy. He especially didn’t like to be around the supermarket crowd. It was a singles bar, and all the singles pretended that it wasn’t but he knew. He could smell the hope and feel the anxiety in the air. The nerves.
If he just kept his head down and walked real fast, he at least wouldn’t have to see the worried looks on their faces while their hormones thumped in his chest and their biological clocks ticked down in his ears.
He zipped down the cereal aisle, dodging shopping carts unaided by his eyes or ears, he navigated by thought alone. He knew what was coming.
He grabbed a box of Lucky Charms off the shelf as the ‘Suit’ bee-lined it toward Adam, checking a GPS locator, just as he had foreseen it. The Suit approached him as he mentally ran the maze on the back of the cereal box. The suit was about to speak.
“Sure,” Adam said, without looking up, “tell Falconer, I’ll be there on time.”
The puzzled Suit watched Adam head for the check out counter, still running the cereal box maze.
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