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Eidophusikon

 
h1=. EIDOPHUSIKON

By Jack Masters

Copyright 2016 Jack Masters

Shakespir Edition

Cover design and illustration by Matt Smith; Chilling Like Didymus photograph by Diane Heaton; The Two Travelers illustration by

Andrew Hussie; De Vega’s Run illustration by Matt Smith

Table of Contents

Chilling Like Didymus

A myth…or a legend, or a rumor

Nothing but paper

A Chinese box

Enemies in high places

Back to normal

Into the pine forest

I’m no fundamentalist aesthete

Derelict

The bunker

Double quatrains

Chillin’ like Didymus

Nothing but blackness

An itch I just know you could scratch

I’m no fucking detective

Justin Bailey

To fly free, to fall, or to fight the Minotaur

The Bunker

The etiquette of reciprocity

Drivin’ nails in my coffin

A subtle psychological trick

Real-world problem-solving

Lazarus

It was all faked

The Two Travelers

Eve’s Various Children

The Bright Sun Brings It to Light

The Good Bargain

The Jew Among Thorns

Death’s Messengers

Going Traveling

The Youth Who Could Not Shiver and Shake

A Riddling Tale

The Old Man Made Young Again

The Two Travelers

The Three Brothers

The Duration of Life

The Flail from Heaven

The Blue Light

The Skilful Huntsman

The Spirit in the Bottle

The King of the Golden Mountain

De Vega’s Run

Danielle’s Run

The One-Eyed Man’s Run

Logan Lope de Vega’s Run (I)

Logan Lope de Vega’s Run (II)

Old Milenus and the End of Time

Chilling Like Didymus

A myth…or a legend, or a rumor

Hitler’s cock, I assume, went up in the bunker with the rest of Hitler…. I think he died in the bunker in ‘45. I’m sorry, I’m conservative about that issue. I agree with the majority of historians.

Bob Wilson, 8 November 1996

Well, there are various versions of that. The accepted version is that he gave up on cryonics and had his whole body cremated. But there’s a myth going around, or a legend, or a rumor that may be true, for all I know, that that was all put on to prevent the authorities from interfering with his plans to commit suicide when the cancer got too painful, and have his head preserved, and so actually it was only his body that was cremated. The head was preserved, secretly. I don’t know whether that’s true or not. As I say, it’s a rumor. There’s another rumor going about, that the Feds have seized his ashes because of a high quality of controlled substances in his ashes, and nobody knows what the street value might be.

Nothing but paper

I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore, Amen; and have the keys of hell and of death. Write the things which thou hast seen, and the things which are, and the things which shall be hereafter.

Revelation 1:18-19

I drove to the firm at about six-thirty in the morning. Alarm clock fucked up, like it always does, and I didn’t check the TV. The building didn’t open until seven, and I wasn’t supposed to be there until eight. I didn’t have a watch on, of course, so I stood outside freezing my ass off trying to open the door for fifteen minutes. I finally looked at the clocktower on the courthouse and realized I was too goddamn early. I went back to sit in the truck and fell asleep.

Somebody knocked on my window. I made a nasty face without opening my eyes. I was tired. Before I even looked to see who it was, I leaned towards the windshield and looked at the courthouse. I couldn’t see the clock. I glanced over to my left, and there was no one outside my window. I looked out around the truck, but the knock came from my window anyway. So there was no one out there either.

A fat lady was opening the front door of the firm, so I figured she was the one that woke me. I got out and staggered over to the building. God, was I tired. I looked up and it was seven fifty-five. I must have been asleep for just over an hour. Felt worse than not sleeping at all.

As I was looking at the clocktower, I tripped over an uneven block in the sidewalk. I fell on my knees and elbows, and it didn’t hurt too badly, but I figured I was probably bleeding somewhere. I raised my head and saw that the fat woman, who was holding the door for me, looked concerned. She must have thought I was drunk off my ass. I hadn’t bathed or brushed my teeth, and I probably did reek of booze. I must have looked and smelled like seven species of shit.

I crawled to my feet, slowly and clumsily, like a malnourished crackbaby learning to walk, and I could see blood coming through a hole in my pant leg. Another suit down the drain. I don’t have a whole lot of suits, but whenever I wear one I end up falling down or getting puked on or some goddamn thing. Another suit down the drain. I straightened my coat and sighed and moved toward the door. I gave the fat woman a suave look. For both our benefits, she pretended not to notice.

“Come up here,” she said, and motioned to a flight of steps before us. “I’ll show you where you need to be.” I wasn’t drunk, but I did have a hell of a hangover, and her voice was blasting like a Marine Corps trumpeter. I winced and nodded, tried to tell her, telepathically, to keep it down. She got the message. She took me by the arm and led me up the stairs. The next thing I knew, I was in the office. She motioned for me to sit down, so I did, in the one empty seat that was left. Fucking foldout chair. Two dozen padded leather seats in the room, and I get stuck in the foldout.

It looked sort of like an old Masonic lodge in there. This guy, Danielle’s lawyer, I assume, was sitting on this throne, I mean a throne for Christ’s sake, on top of a rainbow-patterned rug. There was this sparkly, prismatic desk in front of him, with all these burning lamps on it. I mean there was no electric lighting in the room, just these lamps. He had his jacket off, and he was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, and a black tie, like one of those door-to-door religion salesmen. I couldn’t read his name tag from where I was sitting, but I’d guess it said “Elder”-something.

And these goons sitting in there, Jesus, you’ve never seen animals like these. Four genuine monsters, beastly bastards. They were lined up against the wall, behind the desk, standing at attention like the legions of Lucifer. I don’t know why they were there. Make sure no one got out of line, I suppose, though I’m not aware that these things often break out into riots. Maybe it was the lighting, or just the hangover, but those guys scared the piss out of me.

The one on my far left, he was this ugly, hairy bastard. I mean, he had a fucking mane. And he must have been going for the Wildman-of-Borneo look, because he got a yellow suit to match his savage hair and beard. Yellow jacket, yellow pants, yellow socks; and it was a dark, dirty yellow. He looked like a giant, naked lion. I could barely see one of his hands, because they were bent behind his back, but I noticed his nails were long and sharpened, and his knuckles were furry as rats.

The beast next to him, he was the fat one. Bedridden, front page, tabloid fat. Fat enough that while I didn’t want to be superficial or rude, I was in fact disgusted, and my face must have shown it. I wondered where he got his suit made, and how he was standing, and Jesus, how they even got him through the door. And however ridiculous it sounds in the abstract, a guy that big is frightening to behold. That fat beast must have weighed a thousand pounds, and that means there was a Hercules hiding under all that blubber. Fat guys, or women for that matter, don’t always look tough, but they are. Least ways, if they’re up and walking around, they’ve got some muscle under the bubbles. You have to be intimidated by that kind of size and power. You sure ought to be.

The third one looked almost normal, somehow, except that she was about eight feet tall and had hands like soft rakes. She was a grotesque caricature of a human being, with heavy accents on our simian features. Bone-thin arms and legs, long fingers, and a big, cartoon face. Her chest was huge and round, like a gorilla’s. She could have shut the door behind me without taking a step. It should have hit me sooner, with the fat one, but she made me think of the old story, The Six Soldiers of Fortune. She looked human, though, at least. Almost extra-human, or super-human, if you get my meaning. She didn’t look like Aslan or a giant slug.

And the last guy, well, I don’t know why he scared me, but he did. The guy was wearing a Boy Scout outfit. I don’t know, Boy Scout, Eagle Scout, Cub Scout; I don’t know anything about that. But he was decked out like a man possessed. Badges, medals, ribbons, all over his torso. He looked like a ten-year-old. In that respect, anyway. He was tough-looking, though. Muscular, and broad. He looked like he could do some damage. Any of the beasts could have ripped me in half, you could tell just by glancing at them. But of all those beasts, he frightened me the most. I can’t say why. I’m not really sure why I thought of him as a beast at all.

“Please join us in prayer,” the lawyer said. Everyone, even the beasts, bowed their heads. Except me. I don’t mean to disrespect anybody’s crackpot religion, but I don’t intend to bow my head every time someone tells a fairytale either.

“Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, which was, and is, and is to come,” they chanted in unison. “We give glory and honor and thanks to you who sits on the throne, who liveth for ever and ever. Thou art worthy, O Lord, to receive glory and honor and power, for thou hast created all things, and for thy pleasure they are and were created.”

I don’t know if I missed a meeting or the program or something, but I didn’t know where they were getting the words. I’m no Christian, you understand. If that’s some typical Christian chant, or whatever, I don’t know it.

And Danielle wasn’t a Christian either, as far as I know, so I don’t know what all that shit was about. I don’t really know if that guy was a lawyer or some kind of priest. I don’t even know who any of those other twenty-three people were. It seemed like I didn’t know a damn thing about my sister.

“Amen,” everyone else said, and then they all raised their heads. The lawyer lifted a briefcase from the floor and set it on the desk. There were half a dozen or more locks on the side of the thing, and the lawyer fumbled with them confusedly for a few minutes before asking for assistance. It was one of those times when impatience and discomfort stretched minutes into hours, and I felt as though I had grown old and died several times before he admitted he couldn’t open the briefcase.

“Who can open this thing?” he asked, like it was a purely rhetorical question. “Somebody know all the combinations? I, ah, forgot, ah.” Everyone started mumbling amongst themselves, and shrugging and sighing. All kinds of bullshit. That lasted a few seconds, and then people started to look really distressed, and they were moaning and crying out, and the beasts started to get a little uneasy. It was getting pretty damn heavy in there, and I could hear those trumpets blasting inside my head again.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” I said. The briefcase had a bunch of impressive-looking locks on it, but it was a real piece-of-shit case. I yanked it away from the lawyer and sat down with it. I used my keys to wedge it open a bit, and then I just ripped the side open without bothering the locks. “How’s that grab you?” I said, tossing it back to the lawyer.

Now, I didn’t think it was any fucking deal that I opened the goddamned briefcase; matter of fact, it was rude and destructive as hell. But that room went nuts. The beasts just kept thanking me, and the twenty-three clapped and whistled. I mean, it was like I defused a bomb or something. The lawyer stood and carried the briefcase back to me. I should have read his nametag then, but I wasn’t thinking about it anymore. He was spooking the hell out of me.

“You are worthy to take this briefcase, and open the envelopes contained therein.” He was serious. I mean, he was fucking grave about it.

I shrugged and took the briefcase. I’m too polite sometimes. I just wanted to get my shit and go; I didn’t want to sit around passing out envelopes. But I did it. I’m an idiot.

Danielle left her will in seven parts, divided seven ways. She didn’t have much, let me tell you, but it didn’t matter what she had, because I got squat. She gave away her money, her books, her papers, her weapons; hell, she gave it all away, to people I’d never heard of. Of which I’d never heard, I mean. Six people of which I’d never heard. And seventeen who got shit. Then me.

The seventh envelope was mine, by accident. It was the thickest. There was one sentence written on it.

“The contents of the enclosed black envelope are for the breaker of the seals,” it said. It occurs to me, in retrospect, that it didn’t make much sense to write that on the envelope itself.

I could feel without opening it that there was nothing but paper inside. I hoped it was money, but it wasn’t. Not that I was totally disappointed, mind you, but I could have used the cash. I was fucking broke.

A Chinese box

And many of them that sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt.

Daniel 12:2

“As it began, I was a king, or a captain of an army perhaps, returning from foreign conquest with caskets full of flowers. The flowers had a property; they were not narcotic, but they were much valued. We crossed suddenly from a grassy meadow to an endless desert, and just as suddenly into the tents of a traveling caravan.”

 

“An aged and blind man who was there asked me bluntly:

What’s this we hear about you? They say your servants are possessed.

“My face assumed a mockery of sad, even grave, concern.

Yes, I replied, ’tis too true.

“Some younger initiates looked up in surprise, until they saw how I restrained my laughter, and then they imitated worry as well.

Too true? said the aged man.

Yes. We can’t say much about it, for obvious reasons.

No, no, of course not. Yet—how possessed?

Well, the—simulacrum, as I’ll call it, follows us. In back alleys or offices, abroad or at home, it’s just the same.

How is this accomplished?

H’m. I lowered my voice. Some crime committed by a certain of our modern day scientists, we suppose.

Bless us . . . how strange and terrible!

But, as I said, we can’t speak of it much.

No . . . no.”

 

“By then, our camels were ready, warm food awaiting us on their humps. Our special forces moved in close, building a shield around me, and all were deathly afraid.

I feel death’s bony fingers upon me, said Joab. We must move faster: No effort, no reward.

Death has been upon me all my days, I replied. Don’t tell me what I already know. She’s not going to catch me now.

“We came to an abandoned lighthouse, and there made our camp. I stooped outside the grounds, and an eagle flew from my rectum, pulling a fiery flag behind it.

My soul has been stolen! I screamed. The feeling, lost!

We must continue home now, Captain, Joab said to me, standing calmly by my side, as if nothing had happened.

“Everyone began saying I looked like a dead man. I walked and talked. I screamed in their faces, whispered in their ears. I began to run, faster than the moon’s unholy radiation, but it made no difference. There was no one to show me sympathy.”

 

“I was home, in my castle, when a troupe of jesters poured into the court.

One of them is an automaton, said the woman at the well. Can you guess which?

“I watched the jesters dance, but I could not discern the toy, until they synchronously turned their backs, and I saw that one had a red string dangling from the back of its head.

That one, I said.

“The jesters stopped and looked to the woman at the well for confirmation. She smiled and nodded. The live jesters fell upon the robot, and ate it.

Seems a waste, I noted.

We had no choice in the matter, she reflected. We had to try.

 

“Then the dream changed abruptly; and though it was still the age of the third chimpanzee, I now wore a tuxedo, and I had grown a long tail. I noticed some insect larvae crawling on my tux sleeve, and used my new appendage to brush them off. For fear of being taken for a traitor, I tied to my tail a long flag, identical to that of the eagle. The royal court gave no attention to my unusual behavior. A butler escorted me briskly to an old tool shed, while my subjects looked away. There I ate greasy rags, and drank brown liquid from a rusty hubcap. There I sat in misery, trying to silence my thoughts of revulsion, when Danielle came to the door. She spoke to a family of squirrels, who were nesting in the shed’s roof, and the rodents began to shower us with shelled walnuts. Faced with her beauty, I suddenly became conscious of the disgusting green stains that had formed on my jacket. Danielle saw my shame and laughed; she took off her fur coat, and wrapped it around my shoulders.

“The tool shed was then a stable, and a donkey began to bray. I grabbed a double-edged ax from the wall, and advanced on the beast. Do not break its beautiful face, said Danielle, restraining my hands. Let us see about the sunshine. We tried to get outside, but could find no doors. Chickens filled the stable, making short, jumping flights into the air. What horrible mess, I tried to say, but could not; the stench of filthy fowl had clogged my throat. Danielle grabbed my arm, and we sailed through a window, toward the palace.

“A barrage of colors struck us, and I gagged. Hold on, Danielle said, for the story is never over, until the heroes are dead. I grabbed my tail, and it became a gavel, and we flew with triumph to my throne room, which was now a court of law. I grabbed the bust of Pallas that rested above my chamber door, and I crushed it between my hands and forehead. Danielle covered her eyes in terror, watching me through cracked eyelids.

Nothing’s going to harm you, I said.”

 

“I woke up then, perhaps. The next part, I am unsure of. I woke up, and Hister told me to prepare myself, to grab a gun and wait in the bunker. She said you would soon be coming, and that we would own you. But I waited for hours, and you did not come. I fell asleep again, if I had ever been awake.”

 

“I had only one more short dream before your entrance awoke me. I was sitting in a library, a gigantic library, and I was reading the same paragraph, aloud, over and over. It said—”

 

And here, he repeated the foul words in their foul tongue.

 

“Do you know what it means? Are you versed in the language of the people? Pandora’s box is a Chinese box, a labyrinth in which even the bulls of Minos lose themselves. We, the matadors, pray to Death with black flags, waiting to sleep in her arms. And all our eyes look to the heavens, without noticing the clay below, for the tyranny of pride.”

 

“Tell me, prophet, thing of evil; do you know what it means?”

Enemies in high places

This time tomorrer,

Reckon where I’ll be?

In some lonesome valley

A-hangin’ on a white oak tree.

Banjo

Officer Belle Bodham

Hi. You wanna tell me what happened in there?

John Tanis

That kid, he’s just—the kid’s a psycho.

Officer Belle Bodham

Of course he is. He go “psycho” and beat the shit out his self?

John Tanis

No, but look at my face. It was self-defense.

Officer Belle Bodham

Uh-huh. Room looks pretty messed up in there. You doing some redecorating?

John Tanis

It was like that when I got here. Look, I told you, the guy’s a fucking psycho. You saw him.

Officer Belle Bodham

Sure did. If we’re going on looks then you’re an A-grade wack job yourself.

John Tanis

Alright. Let me ask you this. Am I free to walk away right now?

Officer Belle Bodham

Certainly, you can try to walk away. I wouldn’t recommend it.

John Tanis

Then let’s have some rights read.

Officer Belle Bodham

Uh-huh, piece of shit like you, I’d like to take you in.

John Tanis

But, you’re not.

Officer Belle Bodham

Yeah, nuh-uh.

John Tanis

Why not?

Officer Belle Bodham

Right, well, I don’t waste time on moot cases.

John Tanis

How’s that?

Officer Belle Bodham

You’re a dead ‘un, John Tanis.

John Tanis

The fuck you mean?

Officer Belle Bodham

You have enemies in high places. I thought it was bad when they threw Danielle to the lions. I can’t imagine what they’ll do to you.

John Tanis

What? Who? Who threw Danielle to—what?

Officer Belle Bodham

Your sister was smart. You, I’d say, are not.

John Tanis

What do you know about my sister?

Officer Belle Bodham

I know what I told you. They threw her to the lions.

John Tanis

Who did?

Officer Belle Bodham

I don’t know names. I thought you knew about this. Don’t you know anything about this?

John Tanis

Stop being an asshole. Tell me what happened to my sister or I’ll put you through a fucking window.

Officer Belle Bodham

Hey, calm down. Step back. I will rip your face open and shit down your neck.

John Tanis

Hey hey, they don’t call me “John” for nothing.

Officer Belle Bodham

You think I’m kidding around?

John Tanis

I think you’re not a real cop. That removes a lot of restrictions on my behavior. You reach for your belt and I’ll knock your nose through your brain.

Officer Belle Bodham

Tough talk for a guy who just got his face broken a ninety-pound, incontinent teenager. I’m a cop. You wanna see?

John Tanis

Reach for that fucking gun and—

Officer Belle Bodham

Yes. Shut up and listen a minute.

John Tanis

Talk about Danielle, and I will.

Officer Belle Bodham

Danielle’s not your problem. Forget about Danielle. This is about you. I’m doing you a favor. I’m giving you a warning. I’m giving you a chance to escape.

John Tanis

You can give my ass a lick. What do you know about Danielle?

Officer Belle Bodham

There are people more powerful than you can imagine. Your sister upset them, and they killed her.

John Tanis

Upset them? What, and I’m next on the list, because I’m picking through the ashes?

Officer Belle Bodham

Something like that.

John Tanis

So, what, you work for them?

Officer Belle Bodham

More or less. Everybody does.

John Tanis

Then what good will running do? They’re more powerful than I can imagine, everyone works for them, and they kill people who upset them. They want me dead, I’m dead, right?

Officer Belle Bodham

Man, I don’t know. They just want you to leave your sister alone.

John Tanis

OK. These secret, powerful people, they’re worried about what I’m doing?

Officer Belle Bodham

Yeah, that’s right.

John Tanis

And they want me to stop?

Officer Belle Bodham

Yes sir.

John Tanis

And you’re the best messenger they could scratch up?

Officer Belle Bodham

Uh, fuck you.

John Tanis

No sale, Officer Friendly. See, if someone wanted me out of this picture, the safest place to put me would be a jail cell. I couldn’t make bail on a traffic ticket. You have every excuse in the world to lock me down, and you said you wouldn’t do it.

Officer Belle Bodham

Yeah, well. Don’t push your luck.

John Tanis

Luck has nothing to do with it. You weren’t sent here to threaten me. You’re here to keep me out of jail.

Officer Belle Bodham

You’re very clever.

John Tanis

Right. Because Danielle’s dead, I’m willing to bet there’s some truth to what you’re saying. I’m willing to allow that some conspiratorial organization exists, and was involved in her death. Scenario one. You lied about the organization’s power, but you told the truth about it wanting to stop me inquiring about my sister. Scenario two. You told the truth about their power, but you lied about why they sent you here. I don’t know whether you know which scenario holds. In either event, someone gave you an order. Give me that person’s name.

Officer Belle Bodham

Danielle was clever, too, they say.

John Tanis

I know. She was better than me in every way. Give me a name.

Officer Belle Bodham

I ain’t giving you shit. That ain’t exactly hard logic you busted out there. I’ll admit, I don’t know everything, but I know enough to know you’re clueless.

John Tanis

This is your last chance.

Officer Belle Bodham

No, asshole, this is your last—erk!

John Tanis

Now give me a fucking name or I’ll flatten your neck like a tin can.

Officer Belle Bodham

Chad Nezzar.

John Tanis

Who is he? Is he the one on top?

Officer Belle Bodham

I don’t know who’s on top.

John Tanis

He gave the order, though? Chad Nezzar?

Officer Belle Bodham

I don’t know. Probably.

John Tanis

You know an awful little all the sudden. Who is Chad Nezzar? What does he have to do with this?

Officer Belle Bodham

I don’t know. I just know he’s up there, he’s important, he gave me my orders, and whoever killed your sister probably did it on his orders.

John Tanis

Why?

Officer Belle Bodham

I don’t know. Maybe she learned something she shouldn’t have.

John Tanis

Maybe? Do you know anything? What the hell are you telling me? What might she have learned?

Officer Belle Bodham

I don’t know. Man, I don’t know.

John Tanis

What can you tell me?

Officer Belle Bodham

Nothing. I don’t know anything. I was just sent here to warn you, and I don’t know why, and—

John Tanis

Alright, quiet. Do you know where Hitler’s cock is?

Officer Belle Bodham

What? Do I know where what is?

John Tanis

Nevermind. I’m going to let you go in a second. Just keep your arms at your sides and don’t move until I’m out of sight, alright?

Officer Belle Bodham

Are you leaving then? Will you get out of town?

John Tanis

None of your fucking business. Now hand me those papers you tried to hide down your pants.

Officer Belle Bodham

Yeah. Uh huh. Well, right. Man, OK. (rustling paper) Damn.

Back to normal

[The bloodthirsty yearning clamored all about us,
Darkness rose up from the floor like a demon.]

Beck Hansen, “Blackfire Choked Our Death”

I heard someone say raw baby raw. It was the fucking bum again. I don’t need the fucking clues now you sick fuck, I whispered. I can see it, and it’s all bullshit. Who sent you to that bathroom? Who the fuck do you work for? I mean, for whom the fuck. To whom do you speak, John? It was her. She. What the fuck ever. Interrupting my conversation, treating me like a fucking madman. Like she didn’t know what was going on. I took a bite out of page C2 just to show her I was serious. I swallowed it. It was the best thing I ever fucking tasted. You expect me to buy this bullshit? I growled. I was becoming a fucking animal. I was beginning to wish I’d drunk the T she gave me. My arms were getting very long. You don’t seem to understand my position. Your fucking position. Tell me what the fucking shit is or I’m going to bludgeon you to death with my own fucking giant cantaloupe gorilla fists. I hefted one of my hands in the air, and it was the size of a goddamn bowling ball. That seemed to scare the piss out of her. Look she said, all shit-eating grins and worried eyes. I’m not going to try to convince you that what we’re dealing with is what I know it is. I can understand your skepticism, and I have no way to alleviate it. That’s fine. If you stop asking what it is, I’ll stop telling you things you don’t want to hear. Let’s just say that I don’t know exactly what it is, which is true enough. Here’s what I know. You won’t kill me, because I control the entire supply of Tim. This is not a product that can be synthesized or grown. You kill me, your next fix goes up in flames. I don’t want another fucking fix I barked. I want to know what you gave me. And I want to know why you killed my sister. She made a diseased, warped contortion with her rabbit eyes and weasel teeth and muskrat nose. She was smiling happy, laughing at me on the inside. Those are two subjects I am obligated not to discuss she said. I protracted my claws and bared my teeth and jumped over the fucking desk. For a second I tasted her skin, her fat, her purple bloodlike fluids. Maybe a few seconds, who knows. I was clawing and biting and chewing and swallowing, but after a few seconds I was fucking and howling and spitting and puking. I could see streams of purple flying around my head. She tried to fight back but I had become the Beast, fucking Beauty and the Beast, and I had the strength of ten messiahs. I grabbed her skull with one hand and banged it against the floor. I could feel her biting on the other side and I pushed on her face and her teeth busted out and I spread my fingers so I could see her fucking coward eyes and I dug my talons into right into her vegetable brain. I ripped her dress off with my fangs and I was naked all covered with fur I stuck my claw into her belly and ripped a hole out and then I fucked it over and over my uncut cock impaled her like lightning like a scorpion’s tail and I came all over her fucking black heart.

When I woke up, she was all over the room, and I was back to normal.

Into the pine forest

Hold them dogs, boys, don’t let ‘em growl,

I thought I heered the ground hog howl.

Banjo

Ed fingered the trigger of his shotgun, but relaxed his grip when he saw it was the Jew who had broken down the back door. He didn’t know the Jew, hated it for obvious reasons, and allowed it to live and walk only because Hister had commanded it. Setting down the shotgun, waving at the boys, he shouted that the Jew was not to be harmed.

“The Jew!” the Jew screamed. It quickly flopped on its ass, removed its shoes, and threw them at Ed. The bartender ducked. The shoes bounced off the bar and landed harmlessly on the floor. “The time for non-violent revolution has passed!”

“Fucking kike,” one of the boys said, flicking his butterfly knife and standing up. “I’ma fin’ out what color it bleeds.”

“Watery blood, from thin-veined, white-walled, corridored zones! Hell benders, bend hell!” The Jew picked up the broken door and threw it at the approaching drunk. He toppled. Three more stood.

“Don’t touch it,” Ed commanded, on his feet again. “Hister’s orders.”

“Fuck her,” a patron replied. “Fucking hooknose is tearing up our bar.”

“It’s Hister’s bar,” Ed said. He hefted the shotgun. “I will fire on those who violate its sanctity.”

“Fire and ice,” the Jew said, scrambling on all fours toward the exit. “You can eat ice. I can eat fire!” It pushed on the door, which was clearly marked “pull,” and knocked it down with a shoulder. The drunks gasped, Ed stared on in amazement, the Jew leapt away like a sprightly gibbon.

Without words, the men all gathered at the front windows, peering cautiously into the dark. Only Ed caught a glimpse of the Jew crawling into the pine forest.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Ed said. “What was that thing?”

“Stronger ‘an shit,” someone replied.

“I betcha it’s out there fuckin’ slashin’ my fuckin’ tires. I don’t care what Hister says, it slashes my tires I’ma kill the sumbitch.”

“Careful with yer threats there, it’s probably a lawyer.”

Everyone had a good laugh at the incomplete joke and sat down. Except Ed. Time passed. As he continued watching the forest, his cell phone vibrated. He answered it without moving his head.

“Uh huh,” he said. “Alright.”

The music hadn’t come back yet, and Ed could overhear one of the boys explaining the genetic origins of black sloth. Africans, he asserted, were the descendants of people too lazy to leave Africa.

“Sort of funny they make such good slaves, eh?” another joked.

“Yeah, but don’t that mean that the Indians are better than us? They came all the way to America on foot and canoes and shit,” someone noted dismissively.

“Like everything, you got to look for that golden mean. They’re too damned adventurous. That’s why they’re all drunks and knife-fighters. I’m talking about fucking Aristotelian ethics here.” Ed jerked his head around and gasped, stunned by the conversation he was powerless to stop.

“You don’t know a fucking thing about Aristotle.”

“Fuck I don’t.”

“You trying to tell me you actually read something by Aristotle?”

“You fucking illiterate sumbitch, yes I actually read something by Aristotle.”

“OK, OK…goddamn it.” Ed swore again and closed his cell phone. “You fuckers just had to start up that shit again, didn’t you? She’s coming.” Everyone groaned. “Yeah, that’s fucking right.”

When Hister arrived, she wanted to know who was talking about Aristotle, and why. She gave a five-minute speech on the logical errors in Aristotle’s work, and called him names for another thirty seconds.

She was not surprised that the Jew had left, or that two doors had been ripped from their hinges. Before leaving, she told Ed not to fix the doors before the Jew had returned.

Anything less than an unquestioned, literal interpretation of her commands would be met with fierce reprisal. When closing time came, and the Jew had not returned, Ed had no choice but to leave the Bunker empty and unprotected.

I’m no fundamentalist aesthete

[There’s saints and there is animals, they’ve taken what they could,
And it’s written in the pages: Do just like they should,
They stood the test and burned the rest and tore them limb from limb,
And it’s marked upon their faces, it’s written on their skin.]

Beck Hansen, “Feel the Strain of Sorrow Never Ceasing”

Dr. Yice

My goodness, Tanis! Your hair is so short! And you’ve been working out a bit, I see. You’ve changed a great deal.

John Tanis

Well, you can’t be a pot-smoking, pot-bellied, C-student forever.

Dr. Yice

Oh, you always carried the weight very well. Now—

John Tanis

Now about that story?

Dr. Yice

(laughs) Right.

John Tanis

Well, here’s someone who’s anxious to get right down to it. A little anxious to get to it, are you?

Dr. Yice

Not anxious no, but that’s why we’re here. I must state, first off, that it is a highly unconventional story.

John Tanis

You got that right. It was just incredible, non?

Dr. Yice

Pretty incredible, yes.

John Tanis

You don’t sound too enthusiastic.

Dr. Yice

To be honest, Tanis, to be honest right from the beginning, this story is not good.

John Tanis

What, are you fucking kidding me?

Dr. Yice

No, now please, calm down, and don’t take this personally.

John Tanis

Oh, I’m calm. That’s just the way I am. You know that.

Dr. Yice

(laugh) Yes, yes, I apologize.

John Tanis

Tell me now, what’s your problem with Penis Forte?

Dr. Yice

I don’t have a problem with the story, per se. I just don’t see any merit in it. I found it confusing, random, aimless…more than a few of the longer sections seem to bear no relation to the rest of the story.

John Tanis

Well, I have to give you that. And I can’t pretend to know what the hell it means, but I thought it was beautiful.

Dr. Yice

Tanis, I’m no fundamentalist aesthete. You know that. But I do believe that when one deliberately flouts convention, it should be with some purpose in mind. I mean, the gratuitous use of irrelevant puns, the unnecessary literary and pop culture references, the lack of paragraphs or structure, the lack of concrete description. I have to be able to put my feet down somewhere, Tanis.

John Tanis

No, no, come on. There’s no reason to treat convention as the default. I mean, when it was conventional for every scholarly work to be written in Latin, so that nobody could read the damn thing, don’t you think that was a little ridiculous?

Dr. Yice

Not at all. Latin was an international language that allowed scholarly communication between disparate lands.

John Tanis

Oh, fuck me. Alright, nevertheless, conventions don’t always make sense. First of all, take first-person narration. I mean, half the time narrators are just spilling their guts to an invisible audience for no reason. What are we are hearing? Why the hell is the narrator writing the story?

Dr. Yice

Well, there are many interesting cases in which the author explains exactly why he is telling the story. He or she.

John Tanis

Look, it doesn’t matter, because I’m not talking about the exceptions. The Catcher in the Rye: Why is Holden telling his story? Who the hell is he telling it to? And A Clockwork Orange: What’s Alex doing recounting his whole damn life? And Lolita. And As I Lay Dying and…and just about every short story by Edgar Allan Poe. And just, just, ninety percent of everything you read. I’m saying that shit doesn’t make any sense. I’m not saying those are bad books or anything. They just follow a convention for no good reason.

Dr. Yice

Your point is taken, although you may want to re-examine some of those works you mentioned. But for the sake of argument: How else would you have them tell the story? How would you rewrite A Clockwork Orange from outside Alex’s head?

John Tanis

I don’t know. I mean, obviously, you couldn’t. It wouldn’t be the same book. But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t have been a good book. And he could have just thought up some excuse for Alex to tell his story.

Dr. Yice

Well, then, don’t you see, that would be your suggested convention, more cumbersome and unwelcome than the current ones: Every author would have to insert some excuse for the telling of the tale. Writers tired of that one long before you or I was born. In fact, the current works you mention, which do not give any reason for their telling, are unconventional from an historical perspective.

John Tanis

Look, whatever. That doesn’t really concern me, because I’m not saying every story needs an excuse. I’m not saying every story needs anything. I’m saying that when every story does contain something, and there’s no reason for it, it’s OK to cut it out. That’s what my sister did, alright? She wrote an honest story for once. None of this come gather round me people or call me Ishmael crap. It’s all a bunch of bullshit to say that this first person narration stuff makes sense. It doesn’t, and my sister deserves a fucking medal for getting around it.

Dr. Yice

I don’t see that she really gets around it. She just creates more confusion. If she wants to see a more impressive solution, your sister should try Ulysses.

John Tanis

Why is your answer to everything fucking Ulysses? That’s a whole fucking different ballpark. That’s a whole different thing. Sure, sure, Joyce was God, but I’m sick of hearing about him. My sister wasn’t writing goddamn Ulysses, for Christ’s sake.

Dr. Yice

(laughing) Yes, I wholeheartedly—

John Tanis

Wait. Why did you say your sister like that? What did you mean?

Dr. Yice

Look, I mean no offense. It just seems to me…I had you in at least one class every year of your college education. I’ve read dozens of your essays and short stories. I know your style better than anyone, perhaps better than you yourself. I understand that siblings may have similar influences, styles and vocabularies; but it remains obvious to me that you wrote that story. There’s even the matter of the nom de plume

John Tanis

My sister wrote that story.

Dr. Yice

I’ve known you for many years, and I’ve never heard you mention a sister. We’ve talked about your parents, your teachers, your friends and dates and boyfriends—

John Tanis

Boyfriends? What the fuck is that, a joke?

Dr. Yice

No, it’s…listen. I’m sorry if I’ve offended you.

John Tanis

Fuck you anyway. Give me the goddamned story back.

Dr. Yice

Tanis, calm down. I’m not trying to offend you here. I have a feeling your sister has the same doubts about this story.

John Tanis

Strike nineteen, asshole. She’s dead.

Dr. Yice

Oh. Oh, my god. Are you completely serious?

John Tanis

Dead, doc.

Dr. Yice

What happened, Tanis?

John Tanis

I don’t know. Well, shot in the back of the head, that’s what the police told me, but I don’t know who did it, or why. Look, I don’t give a shit about her being dead and her story not being published, if that’s what you think. My sister being dead doesn’t have anything to do with this. I just think it’s a good story.

Dr. Yice

And I respectfully disagree. If you would still like me to show it to some friends of mine, I’d be delighted to do so, but you shouldn’t expect positive results. I’m very—

John Tanis

No, I told you to give the fucking thing back to me.

Dr. Yice

OK, but I’ve already copied it, and it’s ready to send out. If you want me to—

John Tanis

I don’t give a shit, send it out, I got more important things to do than take shit from a fucking cunt like you. But give me the fucking copy I gave you. Jesus, I should have gone to a real fucking college, you fucking conceited prick.

 

(crumpling of paper, heavy footsteps, a sudden squeak)

John Tanis

Hey, do you know where Hitler’s cock is?

Derelict

[Brother, are you really here?
The message I’ve received is gone,
Are you a phantom detective?]

 

Can you read my soul backwards?

I will glide with you,

If you are a backwards ghost,

I will hire you.

Beck Hansen, “Brother”

I think he had more eyebrows than teeth, by weight or volume or simple quantity. Fucking freak. Public restrooms are always full of freaks. They lock eyes on you like a Korean shopkeeper, and if you happen to glance at anything but your dick they take it as an implied sign of eternal comradery. Usually they just want to bum change off of you, or a cigarette, but for some reason they always assume I have pot for them too. I don’t know why. I don’t smoke very much pot, and even if I did, I wouldn’t give it to some derelict I met in a porn house shitter. I’d have given this guy a fistful of dough, though, if he had promised to spend it on dentures.

Not really, of course.

“Raw, bebbe, raw,” he ground.

“Beg your pardon?” I was too polite. I have a hard time adapting my conventional conversation to individual circumstances. I should have spit in his eye and pushed his face in a urinal.

“S’raw, bebbe, innit?” He smiled. “Raw, bebbe.” Dirty grin.

“Yeah, I got hit in the mouth by some fucking punk today,” I said, running my fingers over my busted lip. “I beat the shit out of him, though. Smashed his fucking video game over his head.”

“Man, I ent talken bout cho lip, foo,” his nose said. His nose was a promising amateur ventriloquist. “The moofey, maa, tha fuckey moofey’s fuckeeng raw.”

And this fuckface had me questioning my conversation. He spoke like a New Orleans blues singer with a mouth full of screwdrivers, doing an impression of a hairlipped Mexican with throat cancer. Why do these Valley of the Lepers hobos always talk to me? When I go to a porn theater, I don’t even want to talk to people I know, for God’s sake, let alone some urinal camper that watches me piss like I’m carving ice sculptures at a county fair. I had business waiting.

“The fuck you mean?” I replied, pretending to straighten out my coat in order to avoid looking at him. I edged a bit toward the door.

“Move-ey, baby. S’raw, man, ainnit?” I glanced at him. He was nodding, and his eyebrows were raised. I looked back down at my coat, and I saw that he was making pistol gestures with both hands.

“Yes,” I agreed, fixing my collar. “Fucking raw.” I over-enunciated, but he didn’t catch my drift.

Fuck-can raw!” he sloppily echoed.

“So you like it?” I asked, for some reason.

Like it? Eh’s raw, bebbe, raw!” He punched my shoulder playfully, and I inadvertently sneered and pulled away.

“S’alright, man,” he said, soothingly. “Ah ent goan hurtcha. Hey, man, do you know where a brother can score some Tim?”

The clarity of his last sentence startled me, and my first thought was “cop.” He wasn’t even black. But I was clean, and I didn’t know anything, so I didn’t give a damn either way.

“No, I don’t know anything about any goddamned drugs,” I said.

“Then you know what Tim is?” he said, leaning in.

“I’ve heard of it,” I said.

“From whom?” Good English.

“My sister.” I have no idea where I first heard about Tim. I don’t know why I said that. “She was a detective.” I don’t know why I said that, either.

“On the force?”

“No, she was a private investigator.”

“Why didn’t you say that?”

“Does it make a difference?”

“There’s a world of difference. You are what they call ‘John Tanis’?”

Then, I fucking froze. I don’t know how long I just fucking stood there all fucking frozen, but I was silent for some time and he didn’t say anything.

Finally, some fat Italian guy came into the restroom, and I snapped out of it.

“S’raw, bebbe, raw,” the freak said, as the dago cut between us. “Yuh got dat fo ya.” He walked out.

I followed him fast. I mean, I was right on his ass. But I lost him anyway, somehow, before I even got into the theater again.

The bunker

And then I took a long way at a dead end,

The end of the line, born with no name, the hard luck child.

Beck Hansen, “Olde English”

“Chad Nezzar,” John said, entering the bunker. “Chad Nezzar, come out come out.”

The bunker was poorly lit and dank. It smelled of booze and mold.

“I’ve had a dream,” an ageless voice responded.

“I’ve got a gun,” John replied, aiming in the approximate direction of the sound.

“I’ve got a gun,” the voice replied. “I’ve got lots of guns.”

John stepped further into the room.

“What do you want to do? Draw?”

Nothing happened for several seconds. John waited helplessly for his eyes to adjust.

“I’ve had a dream,” the voice repeated.

“I had a dream too,” John fired back quickly. “I dreamt that a crackpot shot my sister in the back of the head and fed her to some lions.”

“You have been misinformed. Or, you have been misled. Or, perhaps you are simply confused. Your sister was very much alive when we threw her to the lions.”

“Chad Nezzar?” John growled.

“Your sister was a very dangerous woman,” the voice continued. “She was causing trouble that we could not afford. We run a legal business here, essentially. The government is unaware of the existence of TLC. It is not addictive, nor is it synthesized from any illegal substances.”

“She told me it wasn’t synthesized at all.”

“That is true. Tim is short. We eat, drink, and are merry while it lasts.”

“What the fuck is it, Nezzar? What did your people put inside me?”

“Your mind does not seem to serve you very well. Your sister saw the writing on the wall almost immediately.”

“I’m not my sister,” John replied.

“Then who are you, John Tanis? You should attack the little things before you walk where men and angels fear to tread.”

“I am Vengeance,” John said quietly. “I am my sister’s brother.”

“And I’ve had a dream,” the voice sang. “Can you tell me what it means?”

Double quatrains

The captain, he got married,

The cook, she went to jail,

And I’m the only son-of-a-gun

That’s left to tell the tale.

Banjo

Dr. Yice

I know, I agree, but there’s no market anyway. (unintelligible, muffled voice) Granted, but we would need a chapter’s worth, a few dozen at least. We can’t do anything with fifteen stanzas of moderately amusing nonsense, even if the author is dead, which I have my doubts about anyway. (voice) Yeah—uh, what happened to yours? (voice) Yeah, I have it here, let me look for a…OK, here it is. What do you want, the whole middle section, or just the…? (voice) OK;

 

Of smoke and mere biology

The necromancer drummed,

My body free, my kidnapped mind,

I was simulacrummed!

What devilkind of punishment

I disembodied bore!

What accident, mine drug o’ Lear,

Thee boldly I implore!

 

And if you these should secondglance,

Take not a mystic eye,

Let life be chance, yet there be rules

And watchers in the rye.

Where they be fools who do not dream,

And flesh is turned to light,

There spirits seem to bite like fleas

At those who will not fight.

 

The poltergeist shall not betray,

Nor send you far astray,

Nor—

 

(voice) Well, I like the meter and rhyme scheme of the…two…double quatrains, but then she sticks in that seven-line—(voice)—Well, that’s just the way I talk, sorry. (laughs) Well, they are double quatrains, aren’t they? (voice) You know, I never actually put that together, I’m sorry to say. I did work out that it’s an anagram, though. (voice) Right. It’s just so hard to find any connections with the narrative. I think she threw in the “Hitler’s cock” business for shock value. Sort of a, uh, a combination of two of the most offensive concepts in our society. (voice) Right, right, sex and violence; or maybe hatred and, sort of, sensuality? Anyway, I don’t think even the best stanzas are worth salvaging. (voice) Well, it was written by the sister of a former student of mine, I am told. (voice) Yes, isn’t that always the case? I promised to show it to some people, so I did. Once again, I apologize. (voice) Yeah, I—sure, I guess. I’ll have Rita send you another copy. Is a xerox OK, or—(voice)—OK. If you just—hmm. (voice) Oh my God. (voice) Oh my God, that’s the connection. I—I have to go. (voice) No, it’s—I know why Tanis asked that question yesterday. I know what’s going on.

 

(Click. Five minutes pass in relative silence, the only sounds being the rustling of paper and the scratches of a pencil.)

Dr. Yice

Oh, damn it. That doesn’t make sense. (click) Rita, I need you to type something up for me.

Chillin’ like Didymus

O the birds and the bees and the cigarette trees,

The rockeye springs where the whang doodle sings,

In the Big Rock Candy Mountains.

Banjo

I get high and burly from the jet born into a broke car flipping a toy gun. Standing on first base slipping bucks a hand. Whiskey burning like I got no watch. Kicking the whiskey like a murdered child. We get dragged and beaten by a pantry boy with his legs on fire pissing and drinking like a box of lice. You’ve been out and on arrested detonate hated if you lie but nevertheless we don’t know anything now. Purple mountains. There was the dentist playing the keyboards and she was putting some drill into it. Passing cars with novelty horns. I’m too ecstasy to know any better and the rodents pull in talk to me this and that way going I may be damned I may be dead I’m still going to flow into the end of the next phase tried part. It was a strange day afternoon and in fact it was the very afternoon that Jesus nailed himself to a tree that Judy went to the streets and said, “Yo where the party be you sad saps don’t know no disco?” But slower this time. Sad and slow. And the universe was all lights and music and here then was a horn ensemble rocking the town like a diseased pygmy stoat. A moment’s relaxation detonate sadness. Suddenly I could hear it that all music was coming from the same simple iteration of sound if you listened to it on a small enough scale level so I got the tune in my tried to show to people dum dum dum dum dum-dum-dum dum-dum no one could hear because the music was carrying them away so I broke the fucking needle and said “look here listen up it’s all a sham to you sister there’s nothing here worth dogging you got it all mixed up the real music is in here” and I pointed to my head or my heart and some gigantic space bunny punched me a hole in the chest and I was bleeding out my nose like in the movies and I told a joke from the pilot. You may be damned or no I may it doesn’t matter a shit these evil things don’t matter me none. Girls with pretty titty overbites large one says the bigger the tits the fewer the wits. But Jesus tells a different story ninetymillion years ago there was a horse named Old Bethlehem and he was married to an innkeeper named Frowdy Bob. Frowdy Bob told his Mother Married that there was no room in the inn for the conception of his stepbrother so she copulated with a horse in the stables and later she gave birth and the shepherds said it was the virgin child of God and God’s thunder. And the virgin child was called Jesus and it became a carpet merchant and went down south where they still had slaves and he said “who will walk with me along the lilies at the side of the road?” and everyone said “no.” Devil said “I’ll give you a dollar to hang out with me I’m very lonely” and Jesus said “you got no personality” and he started a war and made his sergeant modern major general a man named Odysseus Granite who brought a butcher’s knife to the table whenever he was eating meat or potatoes which is where the expression today Jesus said no and Odysseus beat up the Devil and freed the slaves and then gave them jobs as extras in a movie he and Jesus made about the history of the war they started then when the movie came out it got very mixed reviews Jesus took it hard and his friend Judy lent him some tools and Jesus went and hung himself on a tree. I’m alone I need a kite. And he said “see how it is all a bright white light even though they have often times said that the light is everywhere and everything is the light how often have they put this wisdom into practice because they gets reheard and written by the branches of the darkness and the darkness seeks only the light but the light is everywhere and the darkness cannot win I remember the way that she smiled when I showed her the Freeman’s Nation Proclamation and she said she wanted me right there right then and I giggled and we blew bubbles it was a strange afternoon a strange afternoon indeed.” Outside the universe there was some crankly old man saying “where’s that fucking music coming from that fucking noise where’s it at where’s it at I got two full barrels and a mind to blow’m.” But everything dies down by bedtime and we all snuggled in for a good laugh those of us what were there and all. It was sweet that midnight sound drifting over cloud and mountain purple mountain white with snow and cocaine runners. I took and hit and man it was I was the music and man you know what I’m talking about I was me but I wasn’t me. Heavy cat heavy. Now it was saxophones not trumpets or trombones and I went out on the lawn to see what the big cartoon parade was all about everyone just kept pushing me back like “go inside man it’s all over none of your business” and everything and there were eleven million people fucking on the front lawn but when Jesus showed up everybody was running for the mountains but the space bunnies were there and everybody got killed except for me and Jesus so I said “why me o Jesus?” and he said “who else?” A very dissatisfying answer I shot him with the shotgun and I became Jesus through divine hierarchical succession. Roses are redolent violets are blooming. I touched your tit and it was lily white but whiter and your nipple was dark and brown like fairy shit but I sucked it and it tasted like hymns and hyenas. Empty and cold I was staring at the fluorescent lighting in the bathroom and the sadness was overwhelming I drowned myself and that might be when I woke up here. Now it’s no less depressing but there aren’t any clean toilets and I’ll be fucked to drown myself in shitty water. You can’t send a child to do a brother’s job you can’t send a father or a mother the doctor said a sibling is the best for revenge and if you can’t find it find someone and change them. I can’t wait to live in the apocalyptic wasteland. Broken trains and torn coats and gashy throats singing songs without beats of Ignatius Loyola and San La Cama. It’s all fire and sand but we can still throw a damn fine party with the sarsaparilla. Watusy. Fire to beat the band. Shake the band and spend your praises we’re all broke sorry and leave your body for a minute: I’m in flight like the other idiots. It’s easy to pity or laugh it’s easy to soar. My veins are pounding. Something burning. Purple mountains. They won’t let us outside. I’ll just breathe in the sand and let my face rot and go deeper and heal. Until the end. I can’t fathom but I can almost feel. I’ve been all over on this magic carpet I’ve seen everything and done everything. I don’t know what you’ve gotten me into this time. Tender loving TLC? This is not withdraw it’s too sweet too lovely but I am coming down is coming down the fun part of the ride but once you’re down you can’t fall again until you climb it’s a good metaphor. TLC. Win it if you grin sinner like a love or tongue. Where’s my sister whatshername? Fuck I always thought she’d be no nevermind but is she somewhere around here is this what I was sent to do? No dead then why am I here? It’s a bottled it’s a it’s a damn whatever. I can’t even think I can just listen. Dah-nee-ell. Electronic blues. Shit the noise goes sucked down a computer drain. OK think think what the fuck am I for? How long have I been dancing? OK I’m still on the couch. How long? I am dreaming. What have I been taking? Who is TLC a man or a woman? Did I fuck someone named TLC? I can’t even find my dick right now. I’m running out of time or I’ll miss the sunshine. OK that chair I know that chair but was it before today or just during the hour? It seems like I just sat down just sat down yesterday. I just sat down I didn’t take anything did they put something in the air? Who are they? TLC? T L and C? I can move my legs and my arms yeah my dick is where it usually is. Alright I get out of here now shit brother. Box of junk and a crocket of stuff. Chillin’ like Didymus—

***

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Eidophusikon

  • ISBN: 9781370155149
  • Author: Jack Masters
  • Published: 2016-07-21 21:40:26
  • Words: 59854
Eidophusikon Eidophusikon