Stuff

Unrolling dental floss endlessly, wrapping it around my neck, decorating the christmas tree, letting the robins build a nest with it

lacing it through my fingers and toes

the Edward Burtinsky photography exhibit- row upon row of cement barriers manufactured to reinforce seawalls and i'm thinking, it all came from here, we haven't imported a thing

we made stuff from stuff- i'm ruined completely

just using the materials we have FROM earth and by earth it was all here and we are building the earth we deserve frankly

i can not stop with my dental floss and toilet paper and saran wrap

an infomercial for disposible cutting boards, ziplock bags, those little cotton circles i pour toner onto, the dollar store garbage bags, my confession

the body shop with 1% natural ingredients only, apparently, i want my childhood back, peppermint foot cream, little vials of single note perfume oils, "sunset red" henna, my god, it's permanent, tea rose eau de toilette

kissing coolers, clear chocolate lip gloss, sneaking orange/red lipstick to school, blue eyeliner

count chocula, fruity marshmallow krispies, viva puffs, half moons, jos louis, hostess cupcakes, wagon wheels, flakies, locked my keys in the car

du maurier special mild, du maurier menthol, rockaberry coolers, sea breezes

pulling out EXTRA soft kleenexes by the dozens and letting them rain down

bricks of orange cheese, catalina dressing, russian, french, ranch, creamy cucumber! Zesty-mother-fucking-Italian

canned spaghetti sauce, kraft single slices, kraft parmesan "cheese", kraft dinner, cheese whiz, gettin' the hungries good

chef-boyardee, flakes of ham, flakes of chicken, that spine in the center of a canned salmon

nail polish remover, rubbing alcohol, baby oil, hawaiian tropic, sun-in

spray sprunch, mousse, dippity do, FINAL net

drakkor noir, united colors of bennetton, grass by the gap, dream by the gap, byyyyy mennon

extra long life, miniwheats, my pet monster, my buddy, MY little pony

one roll of floss ends and another begins

 

The Lottery of Circumstance

A man named John C Curry is buying up property in Virginia City. He has also purchased the most profitable of the three mines and was rumored to be in talks to acquire the rest. There is speculation in the local drinking hole that he is a man of great wealth from the East and that one day, he would own most of the town and there wasn't a thing anybody could do about it. The mines around which the town were built were teeming with silver and a new vein had just been discovered which was cause for celebration in the saloon.

As the tavern patrons grew increasingly inebriated, talk of the mysterious John C Curry accelerated from innocent musings to downright salacious gossip.

"I hear he owns a French style castle on the Atlantic ocean."

"I hear there's a wing of the castle devoted to his harem."

"I hear he has never been married and is in fact in love with his horse."

"Well I heard that once he takes over the mine, he plans to kick us all out of here and build his very own commune for his harem and horses and use the silver mine to fund his sinful lifestyle."

"It makes ya deranged all them riches."

"Then why are you here?" inquires an unfamiliar voice from the back corner.

In unison, the drinkers turn to the direction of the speaker, who's pointed and contentious question has cut through the slanderous racket and silenced the room.

A tall and rough looking man called Ned stands up abruptly while at the same time pushing the table out from him, causing glasses to tip, soaking poker cards in mid play. A priggish little man named Benjamin is deeply annoyed, as he had a brilliant hand to play, but he doesn't dare make a peep.

"What do you mean, then why are we here? Stranger?" says Ned to the guest speaker, who is stepping out from his corner and smoothing down his fine wool pants. He has on an impeccable suit, crisp white shirt and perfectly formed black top hat. He is medium height and build and has softly curled hair that hangs down his neck. He is neither old nor young and could be called nice looking.

"I mean to say, and take no offence citizens of Virginia City, aren't we all here to make...riches?"

"Not sure what business of that is yours." fires back Ned, taking a step closer to the stranger. Another thuggish brute named Pickaxe Pete gets up in solidarity with Ned. The townsfolk didn't appreciate outsiders in their midst, especially one in expensive frippery.

"It is my business, actually...." Ned and Pickaxe Pete and now Filthy Frank take another threatening step towards the speaker "Let me explain fellas!" he cries as he holds up his hands in surrender.

"See, I bought your mine. I am Mr. Curry, and I bought your mine and quite a few of your important buildings. And I intend to use the mine and the property here to make myself an even richer man than I already am." He speaks matter-of-factly and in a tone that is at once deadly serious and jovial.

Outraged, the three men start towards the lone stranger who expresses not an iota of fear but stands his ground. He holds out his hands and pleads for the men to stop and listen. "I didn't come here to cause problems in your town! I promise that you will all have work in the mines. Some of you, if you play your cards right (he gestures to the cards on the table) will be rich men too. Not stinking rich like myself, I'm what you would call wealthy. The kind of wealth that is rare, circumstantial and entirely unfair. No, you will and can be financially secure and prosperous if you come along on my ride. I plan to make Virginia City the jewel of the West."

The three men, and most of the saloon visibly relax and appear to be receptive to Mr. Curry's speech.

"So you want to keep us as your slaves along with your harem so we toil away in a dangerous mine while you never lift a damn one of your soft pink little fingers!" shouts an unconvinced voice.

"It is true," replies John, "Not the harem bit."
With that, gentle laughter erupts in the room.
"But I will not be working in the mine. I have other important things to do to insure that the mine runs perfectly and the town runs perfectly and then all of you will in turn be happy with the town and your lives. You are not slaves but free men."

"So let me get this straight," pipes in Pickaxe Pete, a man so named for his mining prowess, "You will be sitting in yer heavens-high white cloud, and we'll be down in the dust haulin' the riches out of the earth, risking our lives to have a somewhat bearable existence, and all the while you'll be piling up money on your...money pile. And we're supposed to be pleased about it? We're supposed to thank our lucky stars that you came along with your organizin' and your ideas?"

"Well, yes. That's it." says John, deadpan. "I mean, what is the alternative? I'm all ears." He cups his hand around his right ear and leans in toward the irritated audience.

Furtive glances shoot around the saloon as each man is hoping the other has a well thought out and reasoned plan to present. The fact was that they had never really questioned their lots in life before. All they had ever known was the hard work part- the sweaty, exhausting, mind crushing, SOUL crushing side. The one where the man in a top-end three piece suit anonymously and expertly worked out the nuts and bolts. The man who had risked his fortune, be it earned or inherited, on the enterprise. The man who had gambled and won.

And now here he was in the flesh, touchable and real. They needed him as surely as he needed them and therein lay the trouble. If they refused to work unless better provided for, they would be fired and replaced immediately by others who were more desperate.

It was in this moment that the absurdity of life and the lottery of circumstance hit the men of Virginia City over their heads.
It wasn't so much a slap but a dull thud across the temple. 

Ned falls back into his seat, laces his fingers together and rests them on his knees. In his thoughts he is running out of the room, moving on to the next town over, following the goldrush. Maybe staking out his own claim. Panning for flecks, digging holes and striking it big. He could find a woman to settle down with and maybe even love. He would build an ornate wooden house with a wraparound porch and fill it with children. His success would be deserved and he would die fat and happy. Or maybe it would all come to nothing and he would starve and turn to a life of petty crime or begging. To choose adventure would risk his very life. To dream was danger. He rolls those dreams into a little corner of his mind and comes back to the room.

"We were just hopin' that we would get a pay raise every year." Ned says without emotion.

The men cheer loudly in agreement. "Of course!" says Mr. Curry.

"And that, we get a lunch break every day and go home at dusk!" says Pickaxe Pete to more cheers.

"Also," begins a young man with a boyish face, "We have Christmas day off...and..and..a free whole Christmas chicken for all!"

Audible gasps are heard as each man sucks in air nervously at the very audacity of the demand.

Mr. Curry stands quietly with an unreadable expression for what feels like minutes. Then a wide grin breaks out across his face and he cries "Of course! Christmas Day and New Years Day! And not a chicken, a turkey for all!"

The piano starts playing and the men clink their glasses together. Rounds of whiskey are ordered to each table at the behest of Mr. Curry, who waits for the party to reach a fever pitch before quietly slipping out the door.

It is all going to be alright.

Gobekli Tepe

Picture a place lost in time.
A place so conflicted and hellbent on concealment, it was literally buried over with earth on multiple occasions with the unintentional effect of preserving it.
Imagine a circle of stone pillars built on top of circles of stone pillars covered over with layers of ground until a hill is formed.
If you stood on top of the hill you could look out over vast and formerly fertile plains and contemplate what the heck the hill builders and stone carvers were thinking.
Was it two separate groups? Did the carvers become the buriers or were the buriers simply agents of destruction- mortified at their own inadequacies by the crowning achievement of Gobekli Tepe- perhaps the world's oldest temple (predating Stonehenge by 6000 years).

The site predates the wheel, predates agriculture, predates writing. The construction of which took significant effort and was a masterclass in project management. But all they had was time, like Easter Island time.
And the thing was overlooked as a no-big-deal Medieval grave until carbon dating placed it to neolithic- the period when humans were about to get it together to stop roaming around and farm and be sedentary.
This time is labelled as PPNA- Pre-Pottery Neolithic A, denoting an absence of ceramics.
It is a monument to flagrant ancientness and in-your-face ingenuity.
By virtue of the subjects of the anthropomorphic pillars- fearsome beasts, half-human entities and insects,we know that the designers were motivated by fear.
Whereas later societies relied on farming and fertility for time-killing and inspiration, these stone carvers revered birds of prey like any sane mortal.
The street cleaner of your carcass- a vulture; the symbol of a veritable cult of death.
'Vulture Culture' if you will.

Gobekli Tepe may be the first human built religious site. It may be the first temple. It may be the first pub (evidence of beer brewing and feasting).
It may be the first all year rave.
Attributing firsts here feels arbitrary. People have always been people- through and through.
As if an alien 10,000 years from now found an iphone and decided it was an artifact of spirituality.
I write here for any future archaeologists: THIS MEANS NOTHING.
Not symbolically charged or meaningful just doing same same human stuff.

The discovery of Gobekli Tepe was a watershed moment for projection bros- the time when "we" went from carefree wanderers to lazy homesteaders. Pre-pottery partyers to wheat planters.
The desire to form religions and drive them into a singular location facilitates the coordination and control of populations.
I think about all their junk- knives, spears, carving tools. I mentally organize them into boxes- KEEP/DONATE/GARBAGE.
I bury my personal effects in the ground and build an earth pile over top. I wait approximately ten thousand years for doctor so and so to speculate about what I thought.

National Geographic notes that the people of Gobekli Tepe grew steadily worse at temple building.
The earliest rings were the biggest and most sophisticated, both artistically and technically.
Over time the carvings and pillars became more and more rudimentary until they plum gave up altogether.
My secular religion of anxiety covered in mud with the intention forgotten (thank god).
They'll marvel about how I thought without feelings they understand, how I dreamed without the right words. Why I even bothered.
Trying to unravel the meaning of Gobekli Tepe is an exercise in futility.
The gulf between them and us is too great. We might as well just bury it back over with dirt and stop wondering.

run dewdrop, run

Dewdrop would run all day until she couldn't run anymore. She had run so far that her shoes had worn off her feet. Her shirt had caught on so many jagged sticks and rocks it was hanging from her skinny bones. She would run unless the forest was too thick and she had to walk or crawl and sometimes it was so impossible it was like a wall and she'd have to go back and find a different way. All day long as she ran the forest was trying to get into her one way or another and if she rested even for a moment the little things would find her. It wasn't the big scary ones she was afraid of- no those were invisible and followed her from a distance. It was the million tiny living bad dreams that wore her down and ate her up slowly. Stingless bees each the size of a grain of rice would swarm her hands and feet searching for salt and they would cover her skin like squirming black gloves and socks. Fleas would dig into her toes if she stood still and she would try to scrape them out with sticks but more would find her and dig and grow and lay little eggs. She could feel the worms crawling under the surface of her skin but no amount of scratching could make them go away. There were leeches and snakes and walking sticks and mad little frogs and every step was its own universe of life and it was so unfair because she left everything alone and didn't kill a thing only picked the strange fruits to eat and sipped from the streams she followed. She would wrap her legs and arms in leaves and try to sleep- not the sleep in her bedroom with her cozy quilt and ceiling stars but a squiggly wiggly sweaty and scratchy kind of sleep. Dewdrop was always more tired when she opened her eyes and picked out the blood sucking creatures from all over and shook off the hundred little bees and flies and wondered how such an alive place could be so lonely.
Weeks ago back in the desert, the little drones would follow her along and they were her only friends. She walked for days without food and water and collapsed when she saw the edge of the forest and thought she'd have time to rest and fruits to pick but she hadn't imagined that a place could try to eat her whole.
Every night, Dewdrop would find the softest spot and wrap herself and wait for the biting things and remember that nobody would come to save her and there was nothing in the dark that wanted to give her safety or hope.
The bigger nightmares followed beside her always just out of view as she crunched through the hot and suffocating forest.
Monkeys swung in the canopy overhead laughing and swishing together.
There's lots of you but no more Dewdrops in the world and she was beginning each day to believe that was okay as she left more and more pieces of skin and scraps of clothing behind. One time she was sick like a fever and laid all night without minding the bees and bugs and thought to herself she might not wake up and that's also okay.
If the bees and the monkeys and worms are alright and they're not scared at night what use is a scared little Dewdrop to anything? Mommy and daddy told her one time that as frightened as she can get and as much as she can hurt and that even if there is nothing left worth living for that one night she will close her eyes and they will all be together again back in the little cottage with the snuggly blankets and the stars would be visible again like it was when they were safe.
And that's the thing, her hope had gone and left her and she never really thought about anything at all. She felt like a blank page inside most of the time now and maybe that was a good thing. What if she wanted to lie down in the cool wet soil and let the forest smother her and take her away to a still place but something kept her legs moving forward.
There was no end or clearing or hill on which to stop ever just an endless tunnel of itchy wet plants and a living ceiling of darkness.
A heaven to the monkeys and birds- a hell to Dewdrop.
Not like home with its wide open spaces where she could see the stars when she wanted to and not when she didn't.
Then one day when she was running in the forest, she came upon the littlest of clearings and sat down for a rest and she could see a slice of blue sky and she sat there remembering the sky back home and how there was not a thing to obstruct her view of it.
She tried to remember how it was they came to this trees filled adventure land after the bad thing happened and they were supposed to be safe here and it was the home of man.
That man was born here and walked out into the rest of the world after they got tired or hot or sick of the leeches and the little bees.
So they walked out and found coldness and sadness but other stuff.
Tools to take over different places so that everything could be tamed unlike this forest which could never be tamed even after the earth was burned and the sky could never open up again. Daddy said not even for another hundred years.
Dewdrop was starting to think that this forest and all of its little horrors and wonders was all that was left of life and there was no need for the sky because the sun never touched this place.
Suddenly she sensed she was not entirely alone in the clearing and not not alone like the way the beetles and the leeches and the flies were her constant company but something new.
As she spun around searching into the forest she saw pairs of eyes staring back and little Dewdrop's heart started beating but she wasn't afraid because she wasn't afraid to die anymore and that was the worst thing to be.
Worse than being alone and unloved and forgotten. She might die here in the middle of the forest without mommy or daddy but she had to cross a special bridge to get to them.
The pairs of eyes moved slowly forward towards her in a tightening circle.
They were giant orbs the size of baseballs and black- black like ones she had seen before and they were sunken into round hairless heads. The skin of the creatures was colourless and transparent.
They looked like baby birds she had seen once on the shores of the beach near home.
Two little baby birds with pitch black eyes and see-through skin rocking back and forth with each wave.
Except these were not dead eyes- they were looking right at her and she was looking back.
The creatures were tall and bony like skeletons wrapped in wet tents and they were standing on hind legs now and moving closer.
They picked up sticks and rocks to throw and they were screaming so she curled up into a tiny lump and thought this is it I must cross the bridge now.
But the noises stopped and she heard steps going back and when she opened her eyes the creatures had moved into the bush.
They were slightly hidden but still fixated on her with their big eyes.
They seemed frightened maybe more frightened of her now but they were also curious like she was curious of them.
Then she blinked her eyes and they were instantly not there and she knew that she was alone again and the deepest sadness came on so she started to run but didn't take care where she stepped. She ran right over the broken twigs and snake tails and prickly plants.
Dewdrop ran until it was dark again and then out of nowhere she was confronted with an open space.
A wide wide open space.
A big pond with reeds sticking out and she screamed and went straight into the cool cool water and cried for she had missed wide open spaces.
The moon was full and lit up the whole clearing and she could see all around the edges of the forest and the stillness of the pond.
She bathed her stinging red arms and legs that were criss-crossed with cuts and sores and ooze.
The reeds blew gently in the wind and her body was starting to ache again like last time.
Her stomach felt sick but that was okay she was too tired.
She scooped her hand into the water to drink but she felt a wriggle in her palm. There was a creature there and she almost threw it away because everything in the forest was trying to take pieces from her but something let her keep it.
It was a clear frog-like thing with arms like little human arms and a tail instead of legs. It had big black eyes like the ones she had seen in the clearing and when she stroked her finger along its back it was sticky and smooth. It stopped wriggling and pressed up on its tiny arms and looked into her eyes and she knew it understood everything that she understood.
As she dipped her hand back into the water to set it free, she could see others like it swirling all over the pond.
It was like a mirror to the sky- a million dancing stars.
She needed to go find a spot to lie down maybe forever this time and it was okay.
There was no place left for Dewdrop to run to anyway.

I've just finished reading a leaflet from the laundromat entitled:
Forty-Eight Hours in Hell
I found it in a display box in the seating area along with a few other religious-themed pamphlets. The ones about Heaven are total snoozers and belong in the recycling bin.

Here is a summary:
A notorious horse thief named George Lennox is serving his prison time working in a coal mine. He is buried alive one day when the roof of the mine collapses and is trapped in the rubble for approximately two hours.
Rescuers eventually locate his body and he is taken to the prison physician where he is pronounced dead.
The body is prepared for internment and as it is being carried to the coffin, the workers accidentally drop it and its head strikes the floor. To the shock of all persons present, the "corpse" emits a guttural groan. Its eyes begin to open and signs of life manifest. The physician pronounces him "alive" and he is given back his prison clothes and sent to convalesce in the hospital.

George Lennox had a story to tell about his near death experience and his description is thus:

He has a feeling all morning that something terrible is going to happen. He complains to the prison guard that he is worried about the conditions in the mine shaft but is sent back to work nonetheless.
After digging for what feels like an hour, it suddenly grows very dark in the shaft. He is confused and frightened by the enveloping blackness. Out of nowhere, a great iron door swings open in front of him and he is compelled to pass through it. He enters a strange and silent outdoor place.  In his confusion, he walks aimlessly for some time until he arrives at the banks of a wide river. Soon, he hears the sound of oars in the water as a boat approaches. He gets in the vessel and is ferried across the river. No words are spoken by the boatman and he himself feels as though his tongue is frozen.

On the opposing riverbank, he is confronted with two paths which lead through an expansive and dark valley. One path is wide and appears well travelled and the other is narrow and leads in the opposite direction. He instinctively chooses the well-beaten trail.
As he walks, it gets darker and darker- his way only ever lit by flashes of light in the distance.
Suddenly he is met by a being that he finds hard to describe.
It somewhat resembles a man but is very tall- about ten feet. It is nude and has coal-black skin and great wings on its back. Its eyes shine like balls of fire. Its teeth are long, sharp and white as pearls. Its nose is broad and flat. Its hair is heavy and hangs around its shoulders. It is holding a menacing fifteen foot spear. The creature speaks in a tremendous voice that resembles "the growls of a menagerie of lions." It asks George to follow him.

They continue for some time until they reach a flat-faced mountain. Carved into the rock surface is the inscription:
"THIS IS HELL."
The demon raps three times on the wall with his spear. A massive door opens into a dark passage through the mountain. George follows the sound of his guide's footsteps. He hears agonising moans all around from within the darkness. Once they pass through the mountain, they are faced with a broad plain. The guide leaves him and he is set to wander in the plain alone until another similar being approaches him and explains his true fate.

'Thou art in hell,' it says; 'for thee all hope is fled. As thou passed through the mountain on thy way hither, thou didst hear the groans and shrieks of the lost as they called for water to cool their parched tongues. Along that passage there is a door that opens into the lake of fire. This is soon to be thy doom. Before thou art conducted to this place of torment never more to emerge - for there is no hope for those who enter there - thou shalt be permitted to remain in this open plain, where it is granted to all the lost to behold what they might have enjoyed instead of what they must suffer.'

He is left alone in the field where he is violently taken over by a deep and paralysing depression. Half asleep, half awake, he dreams. Before him is the wondrous city of the Holy Book. He sees the beautiful architecture and hears the sweetest music and singing. In the distance, there are valleys covered in flowers, a river of life and a sea of glass. He sees his mother who died a few years before of a broken heart over his wickedness. She beckons him towards her but he cannot move. The fragrance of flowers and the melody of angelic voices put him into a state of bliss and he longs to be part of this happy world. He is then abruptly awoken back into the wretched limbo. Shattered and in the deepest despair, he is met by a third being and led to his ultimate destination-a literal lake of fire and brimstone as far as the eye can see.  He watches helplessly as the souls of the doomed rise and fall on the crests of the burning waves, crying out for redemption and cursing their merciless God.
Suddenly, the earth gives way beneath him and he spirals toward the molten lake. As George screams in agony and terror, he wakes up back in the hospital. Back into life.

..................

I am stuck on his description of heaven and its uncanny likeness to the Earth I know:
Fields of flowers, green valleys and music. The sea, a beach. The texture of sand. Screaming joy into the ocean. Waking up beside a stream; holding blueberries in my hand like a bowl. Observing the night sky and contemplating infinity. The time I saw a dozen shooting stars at once.  A clearing in the forest carpeted with moss; a deer in the wild. The way another city in another country smells and feels. My feet padding up a terracotta staircase- my fingertips grazing a broken stem.
Love and all of its complications. Forgiving things I shouldn't have. The sanctity of an ancient friend and never having to start over. Relentless sorrow and reprieve- it's all right here.
I want these things and I want to be good also.
I won't steal a horse, I won't break my mother's heart.

ideas.....

a text sent to my brother:
"why is there so much truth out there
why must we reveal ourselves
endlessly"



-a multi level marketing party in the future

-a business idea that i'm not proud of

-a time traveler from the past gets roped into a multilevel marketing event

-a time traveler from the future rents an apartment in the overinflated Toronto housing market (it feels like a deal)

-an easter gathering replete with casual racism and talk of goat sex



it's lindsay calling you


life is not a dry run
life is NOT a dress rehearsal
dreams are not the opposite of being awake
abandon all....nope
memorize the internet - it will be your greatest asset in the tomorrow
life is not merrily four square walls
every problem can be solved with a dollop of



MEXICO

listen so and so
just so you know, i'm not just a big fat pile of denim.
i've soaked in the sea of truth and cured my hurts one siesta at a time
i've stroked the knub of the divine curly one
and held you in the soft red glow
you're mine now buddy, and i will spend every last waking breath
i will turn over every last shell
every grain of sand


-a multilevel marketing party has a sinister end

a trip to the east coast
a trip to sicily
a trip to paris
a trip to japan
a trip to india
a trip to saturn


 science fiction snippets from hell:

Sophelia draws an iridescent line straight down the middle of her forehead, onto the bridge of her nose, through her lips and straight down to the bottom of her chin.
"The Barely There Look," she exclaims. Her little sister Lohenia looks on from the bed, mesmerized.
 "Going out like this," she continues, "is a statement to the world. I do not comply with your standards of modern beauty. I do not adhere to your safety precautions."

"B-but..." Lohenia stutters. "won't you fry your face off? It's supposed to be really hot today. Hotter than normal. Dad says 62 degrees."
Sophelia picks up a tube of silver sun grease (drugstore brand) and frowns. 
"I'm sick of hiding behind this crap Lo. I want to feel the wind in my pores. I want to be...free."


I haven't thought of you since the 2nd of November 2049. It's committed right there in the cloud. I, Bernard Griffin, let Shelby Maxwell know that she "owns my soul completely and eternally" for as long as eternity, well........continues. Of course who could make promises about the future then?
I'm 156 years old an I've never known a person who died. Not one.
I stopped loving you a long time ago....somewhere between your third and fourth head transplant.

A poem my niece wrote..........

Snowflakes are unique:
Snowflakes are falling
down to the ground
this one is unique
we can agree all around
this one has dresses
for designers to design
this one has flowers for spring
that one is fine
mine is unique
i love it so
with all my heart
i want it to snow


<3

///////////////

Club 4000

Cuckoo, Malagron and Ruby 3 are deliciously late for the party at Club 4000.

"I've gorged myself on kelp cakes and creamed jellyfish all day in preparation for this event," says Ruby 3, rearranging her iridescent toga in the glare of the Pod Lift window.

"I've already purged twice today!"  exclaims Cuckoo with a wink, "Gag reflex ready to go!"

Malagron quietly rolls her eyes in the direction of the stars.

At the destination, a hidden metal door on a silent, impenetrable wall whooshes open to reveal a glamorous and lively affair. A sea of lithe, toga swathed bodies gather at endless buffets of every imaginable delicacy under the Seven Suns. Pale and elegant arms reach out for handfuls of exotic meats and cheeses, sumptuous confections and champagne overflowing from marble fountains.

The party winds around a cavernous, conical hole that cascades to an unknowable depth.

"Look! How beautiful the Emesisian Portal is! It is as smooth as the surface of Raspix. Oh my, I bet my insides will look so graceful pouring into the Pitch!" squeals Cuckoo.

Ever the Queen of Purge, Malagron thinks sarcastically.

Ruby 3 was looking around wildly for Lil Wayne, too distracted to behold the E-Portal and the tray of bio-engineered zebra sliders floating by.

She gently pats the hollow skin under her eyes with the tips of her middle fingers and disappears into the melee.

Cuckoo pulls Malagron swiftly from station to station, taking mouthfuls of this and swigs of that.

Cuts of beasts they've never seen in the flesh are accompanied by educational holograms to better appreciate the exclusivity of the thing. Whole tables done in a singular color - reds, purples, yellows, black and white.

Some like to be creative in their purge, expelling monochromatic bile or infusions with metallic matter.

Malagron cares not for art and so mixes her red wines with white; lavender tropical oxen cheese with fire-spice curly fries.  Down the hatch then down the hatch, as the saying goes.

They meet Ruby 3 at the edge of the Portal, dejected looking and taking no pleasure in her expulsions.  

"Lil Wayne is here with someone else, see?"  
She points to an amorous pair across the cavern. They hold hands, then purge, then kiss.

"And look how immense she is!  You can't even see bone."

Malagron, feeling a tinge of empathy says, "You're too good for him, Rube. I mean look at that Earth Cow....  I bet she still has her first set of teeth!"

"Yeah, you're right, ha."  Ruby 3 wipes away a mixture of sad and vomitous tears. "I need to move on."

Cuckoo pulls a silver purging implement from her purse and heaves spectacularly into the Great Portal.

Thick red waves of undigested excess swirl down into the dark. She lifts her head with pride and dabs at the dribble on her smiling lips.

"Now, who's ready for round two?"

A Soft Shower of Existence 

I saw a Memory Wave once of a place I couldn’t fully comprehend.

Imagine a large institutional building, bustling with important looking people in plain white uniforms.

Others are laying in beds connected to tubes and machines.

It sounds threatening but although the people in the beds are unwell, they are being cared for, treated.

They receive visitors who often bring flowers - a sort of reward for their weakness, I suppose.

The white uniforms are there to help and it is clear they are motivated by an altruistic sense of duty.

If the bed people expire, they do so peacefully, surrounded by loved ones.

The compassion is real, I feel it with all my heart ...

The monotonous voice of the woman speaking stops and she opens her eyes. Tears are streaming down her face onto her white silk blouse. Each drop a little circle of clear through the diaphanous fabric.

"Blip goes the Wave. Fuzzed out cold, just like the idea of compassion," she says stirring from hypnosis.

"Dr. Reyes, do you ever feel like you don't want to go on in this world?"

She uncrosses her stockinged legs and thrusts her glass forward. The doctor obliges her, pouring out amber liquid from an opaque decanter.

"I sometimes don't like the world, Ms. Oppenheimer. But I am not ready to leave it just yet."

"Gerard thinks just like you. So positive, almost happy to be alive. I feel like I simply endure."

She shivers and pulls her heavy wool coat tightly around her neck. Outside, large and ominous shadows move in the night sky. They are miles above the earth. There is no safety anywhere.

"You should take inspiration from Gerard perhaps. Live while you still have your health. Life is so tenuous, let him love you. There is nothing else really … "

Dr. Reyes trails off, shuttering the window to block the shadows from view. The shrill sound of the Death Sirens penetrate through the glass.

"I'm trading Inhibitor Drips for cliches I see," says Ms. Oppenheimer, laughing for the first time in days.

"I hope you are saving enough for yourself - the Vultures have been circling heavy since the start of the outbreak. The Sick is spreading from the Surface up," says Reyes.

"I appreciate your concern Doctor," she says absentmindedly as she rummages through her purse. She pulls out an elegant silver tube and twists it to reveal a red-tinted pink lipstick. "But I am perfectly fine. I have lived 38 years on this garbage heap of a planet and have not even had so much as a sneeze. A privilege being born into A Class, I'm the picture of health."

She glides the lipstick expertly over her mouth without the aid of a mirror and smiles widely.

"Do you like it? It's called Pink Mist."

"It's the color that coats the world, Ms. Oppenheimer. I find that a little sadistic. But what do I know about fashion?" says Dr. Reyes, attempting to play along.

"Tomorrow calls for rain - heavy rain. It will wash the reality down the sewers and we can forget about death for one moment," says Ms. Oppenheimer sensing the doctor's discomfort.

"I should go. I'm meeting Gerard for drinks at some wild new place down below. The danger will be palpable I'm sure," she says dryly, setting down the empty glass.

"Next time, we will discuss your penchant for self-destruction," Dr. Reyes says half joking.

They both stand and Ms. Oppenheimer reaches out to touch the sides of the doctor's face.

"You look very handsome with your new glasses. Oh, I'm sorry, that's inappropriate of me."

Doctor Reyes guides her gently by the shoulders to the door and says playfully, "I'm quite used to your precocious manner I'm afraid. Be careful down there, please."

"See you in a week’s time, Doctor. Stay Well."

Her eyes glass over as she disappears into the elevator.

"Stay Well," he responds.

The Doctor reopens the shutters and watches hopelessly as the cull birds weave through the darkness.

………………………………..

The Vultures, black and metallic - created by a secret and nefarious organization. Vicious death machines with profound sensory systems delicate enough to perceive the slightest vulnerability; violent enough to dispose of a human life in seconds. A delicate red spray, a body (flesh, bones, muscle, blood) reduced to a soft shower of existence. An explosion that radiates center outward by an unseen mechanism. They could penetrate a wall without a trace of destruction.

They just got in. It didn't matter how. There was no mercy in their operations and it was understood by all that their presence was necessary for the continuation of the human race. Survival of the fittest, the good of the many. There was no room for imperfection ...

………………………………....

Ms. Oppenheimer stops the elevator halfway down. She takes the moment to sob uncontrollably in seclusion.

After a few minutes, she soaks up the tears with her sleeve and attempts to compose herself while setting the lift in motion.

What if those things up there can sense the sickness in my soul?

"Then there would be no one left," she says out loud, eyes fixed in a blank stare at her reflection in the glass.

The elevator stops quietly and the door whisks open to the chaos of The Surface.

The alarm sounds and Ms. Oppenheimer instinctively opens a large plastic parasol.

She walks off into the night as a soft pink mist falls gently all around her.

Medieval Galaxy 6

Timothy is sitting squarely in the center of the floral print sofa in the living room. They never used this room much so it felt formal and uncomfortable but Cassandra was in the middle of one of her stupid lectures. When she's done, he thought, I can go back down to the den and finish Medieval Galaxy 6 once and for all. Yes, just one more level to complete.

He suddenly zones back in ".......and you believe whoever is speaking at the moment. It's a terrible affliction. You can't think for yourself and you haven't any opinions of your own. You're like one of those sea cucumbers that can change their skin color to hide in plain sight. You absorb your surroundings and adapt the mindset of others because you yourself possess no original thoughts. You are unaware of your own desires even. You are a hollow tube, a blank slate upon which anybody can write! Do you not care? Do you not have a shred of self respect?"

"I suppose I don't," says Timothy, looking dejected. "Then why do you love me?"

Cassandra juts out her lower lip and forcefully exhales air causing her wispy blonde bangs to flutter. "You can't help who you love. It's not about whys and logic. There's no science, you just do or you don't and all the analyzing in the world can't unravel it, okay?"

"I do really love you Cassandra. And that's my own opinion! I feel it in here." He points to his chest.

Cassandra, who had been standing the whole time, sits down on the ottoman with a thud. She places a thumb and an index finger on the inside ends of her eyebrows and slowly rubs outward.

"Of course you love me, nobody is disputing that here Timothy. It's just that when the Stevensons come over for euchre night, I don't know, would it kill you to have something intelligent to say?"

"I have intelligent thoughts, I guess I just don't know how to express them," Timothy mumbles, fiddling with the tassel on a decorative pillow.

"Read a book- a real book not one of your comics, go to the museum, get some new friends. I don't know Timothy. Just please come up to my level, I'm dying for somebody to talk to," says Cassandra, without any sense of delicacy.

"And maybe quit it with that Middle Ages Galaxy thing or whatever.....it's likely furthering the decay of your brain. Video games are for children and addicts."

"It's Medieval Galaxy," says Timothy, his eyes narrowing, "Medieval Galaxy 6."

"That's beside the point really....I just....I........my GOD! Timothy!"

His name came out in a frightened shriek as Cassandra fell backward off of the ottoman.

Timothy was up and now towering over her with a menacing expression she had never seen before. Strangely, he appeared to be growing taller- taller and wider.

The room was quickly becoming dark and the furniture was disappearing to an enveloping black mist. He was well past ceiling height now and there was a loud snap as the spectacles popped off his inflating head. Cassandra dropped to the carpet in shock, it was all happening so fast.

The mist started to swirl violently around her now paralyzed body on the floor.

"TIMOTHY!" She tried to scream but no sound came out.  

Timothy can't hear you anymore, whispered the sinister fog now permeating through her skin with an agonizing burning sensation.

The living room was gone, the floral sofa, the perfectly arranged pillows, the photographs of happier times- all gone. In their place was a vast and black netherworld.  

Timothy and his plaid button-down shirts, casual khaki slacks and sensible footwear, had morphed into a demonic and terrific monster. He was three times his size now and sporting powerful muscles pulsating with a networks of veins. His skin was grey and wet looking and his hands were shaped into dangerous four-pronged black claws. He held them up eye level, really taking them in before throwing back his horned head and laughing maniacally.

"Cassandra," said the beast the way one does when making a proclamation, "I sentence you to ONE minute in the Dark Underworld. Just so you know, one minute will feel like 1000 years to you, and you will never for a moment be at rest and the pain and suffering will be relentless. You will feel tired without sleep, hunger without satiation, fear without comfort. I’m going easy on you Cassandra, I could have done two minutes but you don't deserve that. So, you will roast in the hottest pit of fire for a millennia- I mean, you will experience all the pain of burning but your body will not die. Imagine the sensation of a million little worms eating you from the inside out because I'll throw that in too! You will never know love, you will never remember what it is like to not be alone. The only feelings you will have there are remorse, guilt, despair, anger, shame! Just when you think your descent is over, another layer of suffering will open up to you, now go! Demogorgon, the Decider of Fates shall be your guide through The Seven Circles of Hell!"

A fiery cavern opens up to swallow Cassandra as Demon Timothy laughs even more maniacally then before.

The second hand completes a full revolution on the clock in the kitchen.

The black fog slowly dissipates and the living room becomes a living room again. The crumpled body of Cassandra stirs. She opens her eyes cautiously to the brightness of the afternoon sun streaming in through the sheers. The surroundings are familiar- the sofa, the pillows and the photographs are just as they were. Cassandra, however, is quite different.

Timothy is downstairs in the den, on Level 8, with 3 lives left. It’s going to be a good day.