We Have to Be Here,
So This City is a Pyramid Somewhere
The carpet was soft so they both laid over the opening to watch
people wander through the city street, into shops and out of
restaurants. The room was light blue, with a white ceiling. We
could see a small waterfall in the corner, with a steep clay path
for the water to flow down. The pool below was round and rose
about a foot from the ground. There was a door in the corner of
the room, which was closed. Opposite to the waterfall was a
painting by Jim Morrison, titled "Enlistment" and framed in
elegant black wood.
Ezekiel smiled and pointed his index finger and one young man
in a red hat. Daniel smiled back and reached to a small pouch
on his trousers. "Watch this," he said with great strength,
"It's a magic trick." On that cue he pulled and pair of dice
and threw them into the opening. They bounced back off the
curved enclosure separating the angels from the world below.
"Double sixes, it is your lucky day, pal" Ezekiel shouted. Just
then a black sedan screamed past the man in the red hat and
threw and duffle bag out the window. The man reached down and
picked it up just as a police cruiser chased after the sedan.
As the police flew by the man opened the bag and reached
inside, finding three gold watches and a stack of twenty-dollar
bills. "Nice toss," Ezekiel nodded, "my turn now."
Ezekiel grabbed the dice and shook his fist. "A part of me
wants snake eyes for that fat broad on 18th street."
Daniel laughed, "Toss them and see." He looked up and down
18th street and found the woman Ezekiel was gunning
for. The dice were tossed into the bowl; they spun and danced
like the wind around the woman. Her hair was tossed upwards as
the dice climbed the side of the bowl and fell once again as
the dice did the same. Slowly the white cubes eased into the
center falling on a two and a four. "Slight misfortune,"
Ezekiel said softly. She stepped lightly and nearly skipped
while whistling her new favorite song. The angel brushed his
forehead and pointed, as a bike messenger dodged and dog
jumping out at him and collided with the woman, spilling her,
himself and all the packages on his bike all over the wet road.
He slid on his hands for a few moments before rolling to his
shoulder and knocking his helmet against the concrete. She was
less lucky, falling to the right and into the street and
striking a man on a motorcycle. The wheel of the motorcycle
tore through her new dress and she landed beside the messenger.
Both angels laughed and Daniel gasped, "I love this game!"
"We have to remember," Ezekiel said, "God has granted us with
the abilities to meddle in the lives of the innocent. We must
do so with utmost respect and admiration." "Of course, I would
do nothing other. I love my job, I don't feel like getting
fired." Daniel laughed at his pun. Ezekiel nodded, eye
twinkling and stated coldly "It's a good gig if you can get it.
We just must be sure to restrict ourselves to the stated
guidelines of the game. We may have gone overboard on our
slight misery." "But it is completely random, that why this is
so entertaining. There is no ebb and flow to it, we are just
making days or initiating disasters to these people. It's
Daniel shouted, "I'm going to go again," while pointing at a
car with his index finger. He pressed his finger against the
bowl they were looking through creating a smudge. He threw the
dice, contemplating living every moment through the whims of a
pair of dice. The thought scattered as a bird flew past the
window. He tried to locate the bird again and it had perched
near the 4th floor of an apartment building, he
looked inside and saw a husband and wife playing music
together, the window was open and the sound was drifting down
the city block. The rain was pattering on the fire escape
creating waterfalls off the railings. Daniel smiled. He glanced
at the dice, snake eyes.
The crow was perched next to the window as a draft pulled the
blind over a lit candle. The blind began to spark and burn, the
couple was too busy playing their song to notice. The fire
began to spread and the angels watched in horror as the fire
overtook the apartment. Daniel began to speak softly, "It is
completely random, we are just watching." Ezekiel nodded,
adding, "We can't feel responsible." The fire rose above the
window and the tenants took notice of the flames. It was the
woman first who screamed after opening her eyes towards the
flames and her husband rushed to the sink to grab water. The
husband threw a bowl of water on the flames as his wife swung
at it with pillows. After about two minutes of accomplishing
very little but fanning the flames the couple ran to their
phone to call for help. After a quick conversation they ran out
the door and pulled the alarm, running down the stairs to the
street. The flames spit outside the window charring the brick
wall as people streamed from the building on to the street.
A third angel enters the space occupied by Ezekiel and Daniel.
"Danton! My friend, look at our carelessness." Daniel said,
while wrapping his arm around him. Ezekiel chimed, "The dice
were rolled and it was just their fate. We could do nothing to
stop it. These truly are intriguing acts of God." "The lord is
a very busy man," Danton stated flatly. The fire was now
ripping the room into shreds and the fire trucks were just
arriving outside, the men in yellow suits pulling hoses and
opening hydrants. A panicked mother is searching for a child in
the crowd, who is standing next to their neighbor. The couple
is holding their guitars, the woman shivering with fright.
Danton stepped away from the bowl. He turned towards the door
he entered the room through and tried to focus on the outside
world. He could not see through the open door, only a small
office plant on a pillar, then a wall. He looked back toward
the two laughing angels and spoke softly, "There is a black man
riding a bicycle on 2nd Avenue. Roll the dice
towards him, I'm feeling lucky." The dice rolled and bounced
along the surface of the bowl before falling backwards again
and landing at 6 and 4 in the middle. Danton smiled, "Success!
Wonderful!" Danton then blessed the man. His bike slowed to a
crawl and he put his foot on the concrete. He blinked his eyes
twice and smiled before pedaling his bike down the street and
around the corner.
"This game is marvelous," said Danton, "Little fragments of
lives not our own and the illusion that we are nearly effecting
this observation of fate. Sometime I wonder whether the dice
are doing the effecting or being effected by the natural
progression of fate."
"We are allowed to choose the person," Ezekiel said softly,
"The outcome is in our hands. This always runs us the risk of
over-stepping our boundaries. It is a fear that haunts my
enjoyment of this game."
"I was hoping to create a new scoring system and official rules
for league play," noted Daniel.
"There are different forms, one die, blacks over spades, three
dice…" Ezekiel wandered off, "Either way, it is a fun pastime.
The conversion into league play would be a difficult one. I
never have agreed with the scoring systems used in three dice.
The second round should be worth twice that of the first. That
always has lead to sudden death and trick plays."
"Not a traditionalist," Danton laughed.
"The traditionalists always have the run of the joint during
other attempts at league play." Ezekiel said, "Always quoting
from the Bedford Parlor rules. The old gents like Sir Gabriel
and Sir Azreal, they are always playing Bedford rules. And
their attempts at league play failed due to the younger of us
refusing to abide by them."
"And nobody wants to watch old fellows playing parlor games."
Danton sat cross-legged on
the floor next to the others. He pulled a half pack of
cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and lit one with his thumb.
He coughed as he exhaled and then smiling asked for another
toss. The dice were placed in his hand and he shook his fist.
"See that redhead with all the hair? Over on 14th
street." The other two nodded. He threw the dice against the
back of the bowl and they bounced back towards the angels, and
then fell in the center of the bowl. "Two and two," Ezekiel
announced, "I have always liked this one." "Double score too,
and they say nice guys finish last," Daniel laughed.
Danton waved his lit
cigarette over the woman on 14th street. The smoke
curled above the bowl and drifted back towards him. He said a
small prayer and tapped the glass bowl that separated the
angels for the mortal world. The woman bent down and found a
penny, smiling and whispering to herself "What a wonderful
day." As she peered at the small copper circle the sun broke
through the clouds and shone upon the woman. The woman
unbuttoned her sweater and began to walk sweetly down the road.
She then bent down once again to pick a small red flower that
had peeked through the sidewalk. She put the flower in her hair
and continued to step livelily down the city block.
"Everyday miracles, I have always loved that one. I feel so
grand afterwards," said Ezekiel.
Daniel chimed in, "I would only give two points for that, if I
were the umpire."
"If we were keeping score."
"That one just didn't effect anyone, I couldn't find the
"A beautiful woman is a miracle."
"Praise the lord," Daniel smiled.
And like this the man had died, and this was the first world he
I Should Call My Mother
I should phone my mother,
as I was hit with a bad flu.
It has been a coughing
matter sent towards dead landscapes. I was clearing air and doing
things purposefully. It is the Jabberwocky show, a perhaps
poltergeist. Dear, I have been ill, smoking too much, cold, bad
fever. But I have been surviving. My immune system is stronger
after the battle. The battlefield is torn and smoking. I have a
hair bottle and a dearly hated man in my sights. He lives upon
smells, hair, small kids and death kneels but he made it,
And here I am doing
nothing. Do I want to be here?
Who is the leader of this
next story? She is eighteen. She is a dear to me meditative
battle, filling my head with angst and medicine. She is a
shoulder to cry on, a white spell farting on the Jabberwocky
television show. We are flying over Canada in an airplane,
looking at outlandish cities sticking out of the landscape like a
cartoon and boundaries or map-lines below.
Is she the girl from
Jabberwocky? Is she here to talk with me and tell me my dreams?
Or does she do this to everyone? She has a dark name. Black is
bluer with her on my troubled mind. But these words are just
This may be a turning
point. The sun peeks through the clouds and my window. Good times
should follow this, sir. All will be well again. First I must
relate this story as best I can. I should be better at hiding my
beliefs. If I had been, all this would have been avoided.
These were cheap prayers
from a man developing sloth in order to save my reign and tear a
whole new man out of this blueprint. They continued, though it
seems rather arbitrary as I have little room and much to say. I
hold the inner light but am afflicted with one upheaval. It was a
scummy little bar that had a bad habit of playing Tijuana brass.
And I had but one simple refrain, my true and dear simple
Truly I bow to this
reckless wish. He held a red gun. I had a stapler. His knees hurt
and they were not hiring weirdoes. It is sad because I feel like
a daft able man next to him. The righteous consciousness joins
another while they sleep.
An utter and disparaging
loneliness seeps into me. So I drink beer. And she laughs,
because she loves me. Another round pull my eyes together like
glass orbs or a knife hurting me such as John would stab hunger
through me. Sirens wail in the distance.
But I hope I haven't left
you with the impression this story is about me.
The man leaves down the
stairwell and out the door. The beginning light of every day
chases this man to his car and he runs towards it in a black
suit. The knife is thrown on to the seat and he starts the car.
The black Cadillac pulls into the dawn. This dark man smiles and
lights a cigarette. I had not seen him every before, or since,
for that matter.
He is now sitting with
Mother Suzanna. The dark man is wearing his black suit with a
dark fedora. It is hard to tell if it is also black, as they sit
near the back in a booth and write silly lines back and forth.
The technical spark is myself, a loner with failed knees. His
He reached for the bell and
was swatted by Mother Suzanna. His hand flew back in fear. Mother
Suzanna wrapped her hands of this diner booth, "It's a shame we
can't smoke in here." The man never wore anything but black
suits. He smoked three packs a day. Mother Suzanna didn't smoke.
She also wore black suits.
Later, the halo on his
windshield shone in brilliant purple and red. The crack up the
middle separated the bright sun. He sniffed and drove a little
faster. He felt burnt and reached for his cigarettes. He lit one
and adjusted the mirror so he could look directly into his eyes.
It is about what Mother Suzanna sees, so she can report it. The
man had wasted an hour on the freeway so he pulled into an exit
leading to a park where his car wasted no time slowing to the
point of idle recreation. He had very little to do. He imagined
ghouls banging on metal tables and hooting into the wind. A smile
broke over his lips.
He knew what she would tell
him, "I looked into the secret life of plants. I left a shutter
camera out over a few days and watched how they moved and
manipulated their environment. I watched how flowers
The man sat coldly staring
over his dashboard and into the empty green space. He knew that
somewhere a femme fatale held a wine glass. A ray of dusty sun
shines off the coffee table made of glass. But all parties are
afraid to look.
"People make mistakes,
sir," the man would have to tell his boss, "I was left to the
wolves. What else could I have done?"
And his boss would laugh.
He would sip his morning coffee and say, "You will never flee
these ghouls." The man choked and heard his boss continue, "The
grim reality is that you are scared."
"They won't get me," the
man said aloud to the empty car and green space.
He heard the femme fatale
chime in, "Don't let them, kiddo." She stood from the high table.
She excused herself and marched quickly out the front door of the
shop. She passed the newsman with a smile. She passed a beggar at
a quicker pace. Two men who worked a construction site whistled.
And the man was still alone in his car.
The ghouls stayed with him.
He had heard the noise and came across two laughing men and a
pool of blood. Happy days and shared interests, one supposes. The
ghouls vanish and the man has little to do but laugh
Our hero writes a brief
list for me:
1. Call a
2. Three perfect
3. I sleep in
4. Death becomes
5. There is little I
can do yet a prayer may send us past it.
Conspiracies and cutting
jobs, dark asking and jewels, hard line carnies and festival
lights, happy gnomes and figurative laughing, it was a generous
banquet. I am the writer who orders another beer, watching,
waiting and trying to find the ghouls.
Mother Suzanna shone a
green light upon him. The man was watching it flow through his
veins and he looked puzzled. It was beginning to darken in the
late afternoon. He thought of the queen. Was she still the Queen?
He needed to discipline himself. The writer had many empty books
to write in, and the man could tell they were all about him. So
he struggled with his coffee and laughed about his press pass. He
had sent many manuscripts away, yet very few had been
He prayed he could pay his
rent. He had $2000 dollars to his name, $1400 hundred to play
with and $600 to keep at all costs. He was smart but socially
awkward. He may have been famous in past lives, but that is
neither here nor now. His goal is to have his work studied after
his death. It had been his goal many years when it finally
happened. The man should listen because the advice was golden. He
shattered parental tension. He failed at gatherings. He had the
economy. He could transform.
Casual encounters first,
then taking steps for breathing. He sheltered himself from the
mid-day sun but now that it was gone he was thinking of the
Tijuana brass music that leaked out the diner doorway at about
three in the afternoon. He was a sometimes prophet but paid five
dollars for roaches he found in an ashtray. He had the
He was found near the
entrance of the alleyway sucking on a filtered cigarette. He had
given up cigars for his health but felt obliged to continue
smoking for the sake of his aches and pains. He had worked at a
smelter his whole adult life. Now it was closing and his town
would change. His friends would leave, finally. They had been
threatening relocation for years.
He owned a thoroughbred
horse. The thought at the time was that it was a success and an
investment. It had paid little in cash but it was a good social
detail. He would talk of it when he needed to increase his class
or if the time was right. He told himself to feel good. He had
food in the cupboard, a roof over his head and the need for at
least two quilts. He was doing things on purpose.
But we were all his pawns.
We all move according to his whims. In the end we will all work
for him. The refusal to love Mother Suzanna has repercussions.
Things are illegal due to the divine word and some are illegally
against that. The infinite word is one that many ghosts and
gargoyles protect. Many people fight this infinite word and fail
to become trapped in the world they have created. Some become
trapped as ghosts. Some leave this world to find a reception of
pain. It is ill advised to deserve this.
The word of man is not the
word of the above world. This world is tainted. Men have a common
trait to waste time slowly. Men are tainted by ego and
self-deprecation. The divine think past those menial words. They
spew out into a thought that the femme fatale is yet to find. It
is of the unknown. It is the elder of the two that is determined
to be correct in his varied situation.
This so enraged the
gargoyles that they put a guard in the air to follow the man in
the black suit and Mother Suzanna as if they raced against him.
The goal at the end would be a million dollar purse. The
gargoyles had the man pass through empty and invisible gates to
track his movement. And there the man sat, in his idling black
So he put the car in drive
and moved it through the dirty street when he realized that the
gargoyle had set a trap inside his car. He heard two children
laughing and it kept him up at night. It didn't matter much what
his personality was like at this point but he lived trying to get
it back. It was the same as it ever was, as if he knew any
The car turned and was
headed west, chasing the sun as it fell behind a skyscraper in
the distance. He lowered the blind and adjusted himself in the
seat. He turned the wheel and headed north to a shady
thoroughfare. It was here that he would ask a man for
As he pulled into the bar
parking lot he noted how empty the block was. He quickly made his
way inside, away from the world.
"Could I have a glass or
juice," he croaked, "And perhaps a chocolate chip cookie?"
Enter the two cats from the
battle of Emregon. They were two cartoon-like light green balls
with goofy eyes and lanky legs and spent their time tracing
around the man and his femme fatale. They had brought little
reaction from her or the barman. The one on the left held a staff
and laughed at bad jokes. There was something about anti-humor.
It always seemed to break the ice.
The barman handed him juice
and a cookie. "Thank you," he said grittily. He sipped it as if
it were dark scotch and turned to the woman to his right. She
placed her hand on the table and the small green men stopped
"Now we're sucking the
government teat," she said.
The man giggled and asked
her to call Whacky Chris.
She pressed a speed dial
button on her phone within two rings he was on the other line
singing a fancy song.
She asked him to take the
two green men from the barroom. The man was sure of this because
they laughed and moved towards the doorway.
The man smiled at her, "So
the deal is on it's way through?"
Later he felt like he may
have wronged the woman, and it was tearing him up inside. He felt
certain that he had a heart. He imagined the way she talked, her
attitude, the way she looked, eyes that were tremendously blue
and she wore a Government of Canada suit and smock. They were
friends of the old tie and demanded the kids to listen. They
lived in warehouses on plushy pillows. Their families were the
other kids that lived in the warehouse. He had always banked on
that. He always wanted those opposite things. He was well fed now
but had not always had such luxury.
The light changed and he
pulled his vehicle through the intersection. He looked for an
audience, smiling as he waved. The distance traveled down the
road and back allowed him to unravel. He was passed the asteroid
belts and far worlds.
He recalled trips to Vegas
as his car slowed down. But a banshee trapped him, wailing
towards him so he could murder the poor. A still light and whole
worlds left him bare, as if a sectional sofa was left in the deep
woods on some island that was only his.
He felt successful and
accomplished. He felt disenfranchised and tough. He had a
butterfly knife to swing around his knuckles. The banshee wailed
just arms length away from him. She was old and haggard around
the face. He held his place and swung the knife twice at her. The
first she did not flinch, the second swing ripped through her
arm. It was another apparition for this man.
And even harder mathematic
equations created a torrent. Idle muses haunted him by the
evening, as the Gods plan a new sun. He wanted to capture the
example he had played by. He thought of other work, but his
madness continued with a simple rapping at his window. It was
keeping him up at night.
He needed to sell his idea
to the subscribers, or perhaps move in and conquer someone else
by video taping an artist, asking him interesting questions. If
he could mask himself later, this first draft would not hold his
This was not our hero's
point, although it may be circumstantial. At this point it might
be good to state that the protagonist of this story was the whole
time in contact with these varied and symbiotic characters and
was in fact a thief.
The others were spellbound
by his beliefs, resolve, determination and guile to face the
world that treated him so poorly. The inspiration he had promised
the other young artists came like a flash and in a moment he had
left. For this they could do little else but thank him, not to
his face or in a letter. But under their breath they thanked
their luck in anger that they had not become so jaded that they
treated the charity of others in such a way. This man in effect
saved the others from squandering the life they were so blessed
The man had nothing of
value except a blues harp and was motionless sitting in an empty
lot of a rail depot that had seen far better days. There was
nobody near the man. He held his grip tight and blew in the
lonely silence. He had a secure petition and a lovely instrument.
And though he had not thought of his mother in years, suddenly
she became rather prominent. She was killed early in his life by
a man she owed money to.
He was on his own in a
tired and dreary world. He found friends in the urgent city
somewhere in the poorest depths. But the murder was never
investigated. She was his only mother and the police did not
recognize the crime. One like so many, flying through the dead
bureaucracy in this ill-fated city. She had words like the others
but this fell unknown to his self and it made dark reminder of
He stole to provide a drug
habit but never really drank. He never laughed nor cried. He
split the page in two. He lit the night sky and looked at his
letters. They were unopened and drafts blew into his house and
perched on a round glass table. The other chair moved though it
was empty and the man approached the second chair. He shivered as
a force that would leave him approached. He boarded with energy
and noted the door was unmoving and in fact was a deep
He read his favorite prayer
by memory. If hell was what he favored he thought he would be
mighty happy. It had no impact but he prayed for insecurity that
the man held his aim through. He had prayed for her enough that
tidbits of the Lord strained a lonely backseat with roses
crumbling at half-mast. He had it this time, he thought of the
two friends talking.
They would have been
sitting there but they were not. It was probably for the best.
But that little smiling girl from Jabberwocky was placed on the
window or a turn of the candle. She danced like his world across
the wall as the light flickered and landed somewhere beside the
man who killed me.
Neither of us showed it,
but we would race passed the trees, brooks and fences. We took
liberty to slide on the bike tires as we strove to love our
Father. We found nothing in obsessing over various trends or
mercenary movement. Various people would raise our liberty and
show that nobody and no force would take our measure as lead. In
the end, your soul with all its earmarks will come to rest like
mine. The faithful always claim to live in the light.
"So how do I know you are
not a freemason?" the man asked.
"Had they taken them in
fascist states?" I replied
"Answer the question," he
I stood motionless and
surveyed his face. He rapped against the table and stated his
demands again flatly. I struggled to respond.
"I believe they are mostly
He struck the table again,
"You God damned fool, get out!"
Civilization started with
indoor plumbing and genocide because the Creator is cool as shit.
This is a literal handbook. They hold all of his artists. They
each took three days to incorporate the influx. The trouble with
humor is that the President and other evil people holding guns
drive Cadillacs. Do you think he will kill again? It is a topic
that never left our opinion, but perhaps these men are chosen
well in advance.
But one hundred years of
genocide is enough. The literacy rate is higher now and many are
happy to work. He was an accountant once again. Three years of
school and he knew the technology of the world before. He was an
accountant then, too. It is best to be near money, "Maybe I can
hold some," he thought.
It is a textbook case of
I suppose he read for the
fun of it. A servant of the dire lord, I take it for granted that
I eat daily. So thank you. There by I am a disgrace to all living
men. I do not live a life, but a series of sexual advances. The
only illness you fall into is a blank line spending three days in
a coffin. If you fall asleep you chased a demon. This ill will is
finally your torture. Did you ever notice the TV screen?
The man's cigarette broke
and the cherry fell out, "Damned thing can't light," he muttered
under his breath. He was malarkey living like C. S. Lewis writing
Alice in Wonderland. And perhaps it was all for a child in the
Of course, near the end of
all time, the Actual Freemason is the still around guy. A still
around, stuck in a staying around kind of mood, the still around
guy at the end. "That's my goat-boy," she said.
They asked me to leave and
I left rather quickly. I held them to it, saving the last of the
paranoid. The overwhelming reality of their true cause made idle
small talk with those who were true journalists. They held him to
it, folding less of the paranoid. Only the reasonable, the witty
and the idle judged the irresponsible. And only the lonely are
idle. The red tape and pants are a gonzo truth.
Real writers are much
Real writers need to be
They told the man nothing.
It was utter gibberish, garbage. Magic impulses and manic
outcries, though he believed it all. Only the reference held a
man half interested in believing. He sat idly searching and
pulling words from other's thoughts. He would never leave Los
Angeles again. I take that back, the LA of the north, Vancouver.
It is a city of only red cars, but then we found this black
He needed coffee like he
needed a bag of hammers to the side of his head but he stopped in
anyways. The delusion was grated and the dreams succeeded to make
sure he belonged to Mother Suzanna. The whole beverage was on her
dime. So he asked to put "The Needle and the Damage Done" in the
CD player. He never imagined it would keep him up at night. It
was just the scratch of the minute where he stared out the
window. But that never kept him up at night. She would, she might
grab his arm.
It was a classy joint, he
thought, the Devil's burnouts and white trash. He argued with the
cashier enough to turn the next page. The whole restaurant turned
on him. It was as if his fly was undone as he paced the counter
with a smile. He had to leave and go elsewhere. The highway would
be right. He could just drive away.
There was nowhere he could
hide. He struck the steering wheel and allowed his car to drive
itself down the straight and narrow highway. It was for the
His person conquest was one
that trailed off. The turnpike was draining him. Traffic was
getting worse and he knew that if he wanted to run away he had to
do so now. He would do what the doctor would not. The damned were
noted and two of the acid trips he had done recently caused an
accidental ghoul. The draw of nicotine and coffee would save his
note. If he ever left the depression the jitters would come.
There was nothing up the middle or at the window.
Nothing would keep him up
INTRODUCTION TO STEVE
Maybe if I find the ape he
will guide us away from the wolves. It was the chance we missed
I simply asked for salt and
explain that everything we reply could very well be a false
statement. I explain that the drink is strong and the salt eases
in down. So far we feel fine but expect these dire wolves to
close in abruptly. The Doctor remarks we are again entering Pawn
County, if the man sitting in front of us keeps calling us
The Doctor was calm and
deliberate stating, "Righteousness that was the issue last time.
We searched for the wrong people. Our first mistake was making
plans to find traces of an orgy of metal and smoke on an airport
runway. Do you think that?"
Steve Spectacle replies,
"The issue is we forgot to check with the Mole-People."
I remain silent a moment
and recall the old story.
Moleman is a myth based
around the workings of a homeless man who takes people and puts
them in a large burlap sack. They say he is very apparent in Las
Vegas. We even heard he works to save souls.
At this time disgusting
arrays of people tell us we are breaking every rule of the air
and sea. In defense we explain we are good law abiding citizens
of Festin, like all the others. The Doctor was
"The trick," I tell him,
"Is to beat these fools literally."
"Maybe we should test you
when we land." Dr. Misinformed shouts towards a conversation he
is not part of.
Fools think the trouble
with Las Vegas is the homeless folk cannot help their stature in
life. We are soon to discover the intolerant majority is the
problem. The men and women of the street seemed afraid of the
lights and sounds of the casino district.
But did they even realize
it was there?
We asked many people on our
tapes to define the American dream. The broad consensus of people
told us the American Dream is opportunity. The others told us it
was gambling. Most of the homeless mole people had never heard
the term. Once, we had a quick reference from an obviously
cold-dead woman. She may have been trapped in the dream once, or
maybe she worked around that burnt lot in the center of the
So is Moleman is real or a
myth? They say around my hometown that he lives alone in the
darkness of the hills. But as of yet I have not mentioned that he
refuses to take souls of those who hold sage. The people of earth
told me this story as a child growing up. But this is Las Vegas,
and we were about as far from perdition as you can get.
Is Moleman heroin in
perdition? It may be the only issue on the minds of parents of
teenagers, as the mayor has admitted that he sold the dope
through the police in the 24-hour store parking lot next to the
main local High School.
He had always mentioned the
name with a tone of, "High's Cool." I had never noted that in
writing, but I admit the whole town was cloaked an odd silence as
he attempted to kill me. That is the trouble with running for
office if you have enemies in high places.
But back to the
"This America is not what
we want it to be." He told us. Somehow he referenced a word or
two about Britain. This was strange enough at the time for me
write it down. These homeless rarely talked of anything of the
like. The debate whether Britain existed was quite a hassle on
our recorded tape. This was recorded from memory, as it was only
static when we listened later. I may have been shaking. I was
scared from the ghosts we were seeing.
Was the mayor a mole
Why the city police pick
him up just as we left?
Was he the Moleman we
I came back to tea across
from a strange Santa Claus having trouble keeping illicit
admissions private. I looked his way as we sat peering at crack
dealers outside and a very nice Australian woman.
And we are on the streak
that got us into trouble last time. But we know better now. We
left our casino before losing our path and shopped quickly at the
staple store. On the street as we left the casino one of these
strange mole people told me we must, as the key was to attach
papers together. Though we cannot find the person who told us
this. We bought one for us and one for her. I also bought a
satchel to hold my modern disk for various files that I know
about but these people seem to not.
The Australian lady accused
me of stealing as we paid. I told them I worked very hard for my
disks and she noted that I had no way to pay. A thief outside the
Stapler Superstore had lifted my credit card as we crossed a fake
placid light and camera filled void known as Las Vegas Boulevard.
The doctor didn't mind the twenty-dollar bill. I paid him back
later, as it was the righteous thing to do.
Dr. Misinformed and Steve
Spectacle watched a district attorney changing socks outside an
alleyway orphanage and we were told that the men inside the
building excluded these children and they could not be taken for
our assumed purposes. We couldn't understand him. The man stated
clearly these children should only be bought to be tortured and
nothing else. They were not for sale otherwise. And that was
light on this street.
As we walked away we passed
both a free and exclusive Baptist church. The free one was simply
50 yards up a hill and much roomier. The social club that one
needed to be an exclusive member had a lineup and a bouncer such
as any bar might. It was sold as a personal choice.
We sat in order to discuss
this possibility. The doctor warned me and I missed a series of
upright broken glass planted in a stunningly perfect grassy
knoll. We began to believe that these people behind the Palace
Casino in the City of Sin have made this world for themselves. I
can't be sure if that is true.
Dr. Misinformed should take
credit for my standing as a man of faith. That and not having a
cut pant leg. Perhaps their world was a desert and this is simply
what man made of an oasis. We tried to act like sinners in the
first book because we were waiting for Moleman to come to us. It
was a tone that seemed to keep Las Vegas spinning. It also made
our trip a living hell.
Did we truly find Moleman
on the way to the hotel? Was it a bitter hallucination? Was it
just a thought? One can never be sure. Hindsight is blind in this
town. We will see to it the mole people find us. Dr. Misinformed
and Steve watched a wise policeman pick one up and he just jumped
back to work. Was that the particular Moleman we wanted?
These questions haunt me
this lonely night in a Las Vegas hotel room. I feel like I can't
get out of purgatory psych-ward. So I asked these suits a few
questions until we flashed false IDs at him and took thier drugs.
That was the entire relationship. It seemed too simple to be
anyone of myth.
That is the silly thing
about Sin City. These simple fiends want to mimic our true goal.
The rest are silly enough to think that they are God. The
homeless man selling these simple tones made me think of that
woman I met as I came back from my coma.
Her name was Divine and she
said she was dreaming of me. I asked her why, so she told me that
she wanted out of Dallas to quit using. Her street life in this
town was sickly but she had a story of a man who prayed to a
The bird was dead and in
two pieces but this Mole Person knew his bird was God. Everyone
made fun of him. So she asked one time and the bird connected its
head to the body and flew away. She had thought of herself as
dead ever since.
"Maybe we can find the
bird?" Steve asked the doctor.
"The key is to write an
actual book," he said after a pause, "That is the righteous thing
to do. The American Dream was a hotel and I checked as we stomped
past it on our way to the stapler outlet and casino. That lot is
still burnt down."
"I think it's near the
middle of the city," Steve replied, "Making it the exact center
point of hell as a continent."
I am smoking in my dream. I
didn't have anyone arrested but my friend suggested I try it. I
said no. He offered me beer so we discussed very little until I
suggest we stay in the outside plain and have a stiff drink, a
The trick is to be a
revolutionary. I made myself this character so that I could take
trips like this for science.
The illusion needs to be
noted. One may be somewhere near Summerland but these men are in
the care of the ward. This made me glad.
I remember moving swiftly
out to our patio and telling a psychiatrist, "I be still in Las
Vegas. That is the key to life."
The American Dream is
haunted, they say.
The burnt out building has
A Whittier, California
white supremacist that said something about his family needing
ownership of the place killed a Chinese man during the breakfast
rush. The place was then burned down to destroy evidence.
A famous court hearing
followed the event and it was later confirmed that he should be
installed as president of America. I believe that was a cold and
remorseless campaign slogan: "I Am Torching the American Dream."
That note was changed to "I Am Touching the American
He won the election.
I am sure that lot has been
torched by many ghosts. I heard another tale of the burning being
at a buffet. The place is a ghost story of reference to the
people back home. To sum it up quickly the ghost leader of the
gang had been feeding the citizens of Las Vegas other chained and
haunted spirits. The old men that haunt the Las Vegas strip are
eating ghosts that could not leave their bondage and lived over
and again. A regular customer brought his bosses son once and the
child claimed he wanted to leave. When asked why he chose not to
submit to peer pressure he was cast under hypnosis and this child
said the buffet was people.
The sign changed for months
afterward and a stone cold air hung over the block as the monster
that tried to do this to people vanished slowly and the empire he
created in Egypt's image was struck by a wrecking ball. But the
pyramid still stands. I believe it is near Teotihuacán but I may
We decided to leave our
hotel room once again. But first we ate a peanut butter sandwich.
It is hot in Las Vegas today. What we were promised is about to
cross our path.
The disk we picked up on
our quick jaunt down the Boulevard was simply stolen. It was
marked with the word Pong on it.
I wonder if we should
report this to the authorities. That is the righteous thing to
do, but Las Vegas police are notorious for turning against the
righteous actions of people deciding to make such moves. I would
hate to be thrown in the dirty city cells as a foreign diplomat.
What is worse is that I was hoping the game was included with my
But that is the vibe of
this city. They sing to a different tune. The theme song of Las
Vegas is a drunken, belittled, speed filled Elvis singing gospel
to try and save his career. At least he was about to move to that
Ranch near Nashville. I believe he was required to sleep twice
with an aging Marilyn Monroe before they both passed to the next
world. That may have been the high point of American existence.
It was that or the variety of crooked rednecks claiming to be
prophets. Surely those same men who killed Kennedy had their way
with these priests.
We walked away from the
store and decided to take a path with a sign clearly stating "DO
NOT ENTER, for we have a valley filled of damned."
Not many know that the
balance of Las Vegas is this: If you drop as far as you can go at
the last possible second you will land on top. That is right
where you have to be. We knew this as we gambled on the empty,
hidden path. Any sanctity left was torn from Steve as the first
hand grabbed his ankle.
It was a juniper tree when
The man underneath gave me
a simple, almost holy request that I could not hear. This scared
me so I ran to cross the street. To my surprise Las Vegas has no
respect for the pedestrian crossing law.
The machine I saw was
metal. I knew that for sure.
It had gears and whiz-bangs
of the clunking sort and looked specifically design for eating
pedestrians. It shone its graying teeth at me as the man looked
sorely at me and revved his engine. The tone was the contrast of
loud and dull so as the man eating cross between a pick-up truck
and a thresher called on his excavator friend to turn towards me
I tried leaped to cross the somehow frozen desert river.
I was stopped cunningly by
the doctor, "Don't do that," he said, "That River is known to eat
I asked if he saw the
thresher I was avoiding. He told me frankly the river had warned
him I was in peril and he assumed it was his conscious mind. So I
asked if the tractor was moving after me and we walked startled
through a swinging door into the parking lot next to a fast-food
The parking lot seemed
empty, but that was my second mistake. They also made an
invisible version of the pedestrian eating automobile. I assumed
the worst as they surrounded me so I made a mad dash towards a
"visible-invisible" line and turned to the fastest one of the
bunch. As I began barking noises at it in the common car language
it only came out as screeching tire noise with the demand for
respect as his master, a person.
The first woman who told me
I was alone walked past and I made the mistake of telling her I
could save her soul. I watched her turn into a baby holding two
bags of groceries as she walked across the invisible line. I
heard the woman laugh as she learned she should have heeded my
She was quickly eaten by
the entire ravished pack.
I turned to a man sitting
watching the whole affair in terror and asked as a cover, "Pal,
could you spare a dime." He gave me twenty-five cents in order to
save his soul from these threshers. He knew. I knew. And that
seemed to end it until I left that that convenience store and
crossed the valley of the damned. I recall making the note to
Steve Spectacle that the man who wrote Dante's Inferno had been
to Las Vegas on Peyote.
We tried to dodge the
falling bodies and shadow people without becoming them before I
grabbed a plastic owl from the display table on the street. I
used it as a gargoyle to protect me from these damned
We walked down the sidewalk
and Dr. Gonzo tugged my sleeve and told me some gibberish about
turning the wrong way a few blocks before.
He had no idea.
It is a better use of my
time to document my thoughts: some are quite interesting I think.
Tonight I will sleep all the way through because the drone of my
insight is not why I am awake. It is the bitter air of hell or
earth, I could not tell.
When I asked the Mole
Person his opinion it was eerie to hear the man's response. It
was valid because he felt he needed to explain his actions. My
lawyer noted that that is not what we wished to discuss. Our
recorded was not on to learn about career planning so we noted
that we wished to find the one Moleman of Myth. He was the second
homeless man to claim he had heard the tale. So we helped with
his career and questioned him quickly. He claimed to be the
Moleman of myth. Our work was done soon and all we were was two
days in to the quest.
He told us, "It is common
for dealers of hope to ask if that was the Mole secret, something
that all homeless people have in order to hold their
My lawyer was quick, "But
He said we needed to pay
him for him to keep talking.
Dr. Gonzo and I decided it
may be for the best and were accosted quickly by a swarm of
police officials. We asked them why they thought it was us that
needed to be sent away to jail. They claimed it was a money
issue. Las Vegas officials took the bribe and left us.
A second car came
needlessly and slowed asking if we were FBI. Instead of
requesting clearance and having to go through the trouble of
impersonating one I wisely suggested, "If we were, we would not
have to tell you, sir."
The police officer vanished
so we turned to the person who wished to be Moleman. We told the
homeless gentleman to get in his sack implying the members of law
that left us were outranked and had to do our bidding. The
homeless man stammered, "I'm no myth man of nothin', and I mean I
can help what you want to learn and still I think I have heard of
that tale Steve."
He addressed me as a famous
man though from this comment of all we can hear is some gibberish
begging that we did not have him arrested. The most important
things he said were recorded and are as follows:
We threatened that all it
could take is phone call, which was true, and misdirected him
until he gave up his bag of dope. The decision to let him keep it
was on of righteousness. After that he was eager to please and
notably much older than us.
"He wanted to impress his
superiors every day," the homeless man said, "The eager men that
holy churches take in, they have our settled lands. What do you
mean I am a mole? Life is not under dirt, sir. I live behind a
dumpster in Vegas. Is that commonly what you people refer to us
as? Life's a bitch, it get worse every day."
"If you will it to," I
said. "We are trying to spread something that seems to be kept
"Is that you?" he asked,
confusing us. "And why do we not care about Mole people? And you
should not call us by your superior name. I can't even spell.
Nowadays no wonder I live behind this cursed dumpster, sleeping
on broken glass and spit and farts."
It is a shame that we
cannot pick up most of what the homeless man said of our tape
recorder but his last comment was of an old Black Panther leader,
"We all believe that Erica Huggins is an attractive older
We shrugged and listened to
"I am simply sure she is
strong and heralds a divine insight, ever for a cracker like me.
The strangest men in the world claim they have seen the Moleman.
He was not like me with a sack, even though I know that is the
myth. We'll have cream tomorrow with some money with the money.
He has no sack like me. He had bird in two pieces and he prays to
He then pulled his sack
away and held a yellow canary for us to see. We were on the right
track and hadn't even noticed. The mole people knew of the bird
was that man we met first. And here he was again.
We made ourselves as
righteous as we could silently shared our whiskey. Our hero
seemed a little eager to please. He wanted to drive a quarter of
the way across this city to show us the effect, as he knew where
the man with the bird lived. He claims he himself is God. People
laugh saying there is no God in Las Vegas.
When we met the man by
appointment he sent us shifting and dictated to us that the bird
could not fly if we did not need to be saved, so I was punched in
the back. So we asked instead for all the hell that we
It was a rabid time in
which I thought my feet and hands were not being controlled by my
own decisions. My left hand would move my right foot and vice
versa. I took a cut on the leg and various paranoid thoughts that
involved the matters I would rather keep private. It was as if I
was in a backwards coma. The whole ordeal took about 2 hours to
me before I woke in a stupor and was asked to leave a