Ashes and Entropy

by Laird Barron

  I am bald what do I even need conditioner for. Conditioner is just a way for these ripoff artists to make money off of gullible people. Shampoo is enough. Their was a cracked in the bottle and the contents leaked in the packaging. It was a mess and a lot of the product unsalvagable. Hey how come my Dean Koonts book never showed up, please email me at Ronny93475334@hotmail.com and issue me a refund immediately or I will contact the Better Buisness Buroueu and the FBI.

  Mary Lacey-Neverchange (three stars)

  My hair is long, down to the backs of my knees, and is very straight and fine. The ends are wont to get frizzy and dried out, and in the colder months in New England, static is a major problem.

  Pros:

  1. Not gunky or greasy or slimy.

  2. Dispenses easily. I use a drop at a time, six drops total, which is four more than suggested in the instructions. I called the number on the bottle to make sure this was okay and the friendly customer service representative reassured me that it would cause no lasting harm. Each drop is probably 1/16 to 1/18 of a fluid ounce. I apply to the ends only, by which I mean, from the neck down.

  3. Can be used on hair that is dry as well as wet. I apply it with my hands and then use a hairbrush to ensure even distribution. So this will also reach a little to the "non ends" of my hair.

  4. Even using more than the prescribed two drops per day, this is a very economical purchase.

  Cons:

  1. OMG I hate the smell.

  2. The design on the bottle is ugly—why not flowers or a meadow or a pretty lady instead of the weird 3-D symbol that changes depending on the angle you look at the bottle? I covered it over with a blank white label because it was literally giving me vertigo.

  3. The trampling of the flower garden outside the bathroom window.

  4. The calls from the customer service representative to check up on my hair are nice but a little intrusive and too personal, and sometimes she calls very late at night. Not to mention the promises to “come around one day soon.”

  I will need to gather more data before I can report on the long-term effects. I will try to keep using it every day for a year and report back.

  PeterPeter45678 (four stars)

  I love this Conditioner! I am not usually one to write product reviews on sites like this, although, to be fair, I have written some negative reviews, for detergents that don’t work or snack chips with an unpleasant aftertaste or some gadget or appliance that doesn’t come with all the parts promised or else doesn’t work as advertised. It’s such a release to call out an inferior product, or a rip-off, to prevent others from having a bad experience. In these busy times, when it’s all work and TV and hastily eaten meals and trying to squeeze in time to stave off the encroaching filth in the home, and then to bed for six restless hours, it is rare to find a spare minute to do something that injects a positive energy into the world.

  But what a disservice to companies that make a superior product. People are never moved to leave positive reviews. Look at Yelp! It’s all complaints, most of them overblown, and insults. Why? Because it’s easy to complain. It’s fun. Complaining fills the body with endorphins and self-righteousness and excessive pride. It feels as though no one is ever moved to write a review when they’ve had a generally decent experience, never mind an excellent one.

  Which brings me to Malumense Dr. 999’s NL-id Blends Micellar Moisturizing Milk. I’ve been looking for a conditioner that gives my hair that soft, floaty feeling, without being oily or drying out my hair or causing it to lay limp on my head like a washcloth. I’ve tried everything from your fancy salon product to your bargain bin one dollar Job Lot special, and the result has always been a resounding Nothing Spectacular.

  I had never even considered buying conditioner online until Malumense Dr. 999’s NL-id Blends Micellar Moisturizing Milk popped up unbidden in my “suggested products” list, along with the usual roach sprays, pickle chips, Tom Clancy novels, mouse traps, adhesive removers, party balloons, fly strips, and all the various other things I have to buy online because they don’t have them anywhere near where I live. It was strange, because the mysterious algorithms of such sites usually hone in on something in your searches or your general web browsing history, and I had never done any internet research on hair products to speak of.

  I was on unpaid leave from my job due to a minor protocol violation, the exact nature of which one of my contract clauses prevents me from revealing, when I received this conditioner (well-packaged in bubble wrap and unbroken cardboard, and undamaged), and I confess that a significant period of time elapsed before I first used it. At the time I had little interest in personal cleanliness nor grooming, and was content to let the mice prattle about, the roaches gather and scatter, the parasites feed at will, to let everything fall into disarray. When I received the call that I was okayed to return to work after the oncoming weekend, though, I had to turn things around in short order. I did the apartment first, three straight days of no sleep tidying, sweeping, vacuuming, mopping, scrubbing, really getting down in the muck and grime and mold, getting into the dark corners and under the fixtures and the this-and-that. The refrigerator alone took four hours to empty and clean. Then I had to get rid of the cobwebs and position air fresheners and open all the windows to let air in once again.

  When that was done I feared I was too far gone to ever get my own self clean again. I stunk up the place, that’s no lie. A heat wave had begun, too, with oppressive dew points and triple-digit temperatures. I took a three hour shower, watching with amazement as the weeks of grit and dirt and dried sweat pried itself from my skin, mixed with the cool water, and swirled down the drain. I washed my hair with melon and rosemary infusion, digging my fingernails into my scalp, lathering, rinsing, and repeating more times than the directions…directed.

  Then it was time to use the new product. Malumense Dr. 999’s NL-id Blends Micellar Moisturizing Milk sat on rubber-coated wire shelves screwed into the wall, along with an array of razors, antacids, astringents, decongestants, bismuth subsalicylates, cotton swabs, cotton balls, hydrogen peroxide, bar soap (I am a Dove devotee; see my review of their all-natural soap which immediately cleared up an aggressive groin rash that had plagued me for months), toothbrushes and pastes, painkillers, Listerine, et cetera.

  Even the bottle, among all the typical junk of self-cleaning, is of an elegant shape, subtly similar to the classic hourglass figure that draws male to female like a flower pulls in a bumblebee. It just feels right in the hand, like it was made to be grasped lightly around the midsection, and even the plastic—I don’t know what they used to give it such a pleasurable surface, a kind of sheen, or something, your hand just wants to touch it—is strangely similar to the touch of goose-pimpled flesh, yet somehow smooth. I know that doesn’t make sense, but that’s the best way I have to describe it. Anyway, it’s that kind of attentiveness to seemingly unimportant details that sets Dr. 999 apart—with such care put into appearance and the very feel of the packaging, the consumer can’t help to be extremely eager to see what wonders await in the product itself.

  With my right hand I gently held the bottle—that sensation!—and squeezed just slightly. A warm bath of scented liquid pooled in the hollow of my palm. How to describe the aroma? It smelled like a cloud might; like the soft breath that wafts down to your nostrils when a woman’s tongue teases the rim of your ear as a bee explores the rim of a lily; like a bell tolling in the depths of a deep wood; like a child’s first taste of a strawberry (although there was no strawberry scent); like standing up in the back of a pickup truck rolling just a little too fast along a ruler-straight country road on an April some time past midnight, peepers singing their soothing song, pumpkin fields on either side of you (though there was no pumpkin scent), the comforting heft of an axe in your right hand and your feet still clumped with drying mud; like a leaf tossed about in the upper reaches of a tornado that has drawn blood; like a cat catching a moth in its teeth; like the cry of the betrayed toddler; like a brand
new luxury car; like a plastic Halloween mask purchased on the cheap on November first; like the infected ear of the noble elephant.

  I snapped awake some unknown amount of time later, my hand still cupped at my chin, my arm aching. The water had gone completely cold, to the point of being icy—I think that’s what woke me up. I was holding the bottle between my calves, which caused my legs to tingle sensually. I chuckled—it was a husky, raspy sound, nothing like my usual laugh—and I lifted my hand over my head and let the manna of Malumense Dr. 999’s NL-id Blends Micellar Moisturizing Milk saturate my hair, and with both hands I worked it into my scalp. The sensation was unlike any I’d ever felt before.

  Imagine a storm cloud in the crown of your skull, darker than the inside of a witch’s hat, and it rains a silk rendered somehow into gelatin down through your brain, rolling down through your neck along your spinal column, limning your ribcage, gilding your pelvis, sending its rolling rivulets down your arms and legs, into the tips of your fingers and toes. It was a feeling of being loved, and not only physically. It had, how shall I say this in a manner that doesn’t send the censors scrambling for their red pens, the same effect as a certain blue pill, as well.

  When I finally with great reluctance rinsed Malumense Dr. 999’s NL-id Blends Micellar Moisturizing Milk from my hair, my whole body tingled, almost like the sensation of being tickled, or of fingernails being lightly raked over every millimeter of the surface of my skin. Invigorated, turned-on, roused and aroused, I dressed and went in to the office. What a work day! I impressed bosses, co-workers, and clients alike with my increased acuity, my sharpened memory. Am I attributing this all to Malumense Dr. 999’s NL-id Blends Micellar Moisturizing Milk? No…and yes. I feel like it mixed somehow with my natural chemistry to bring out the best I had to offer. Here’s the proof that’s in the pudding: my supervisor apologized to me at the end of the day for having to put me on leave. If he’d had it to do over again, et cetera.

  I even took Lily and Carrie from accounting home to celebrate with me.

  Every which way.

  ~

  After, I considered allowing the ladies into my shower, but I felt the need to keep Malumense Dr. 999’s NL-id Blends Micellar Moisturizing Milk all to myself, despite the delectable effects it might have on their lovely young systems. There would be time for that, though. I sent them packing, recommending the Look Diner for their hearty dinners and super-strong coffee, and I took a shower that lasted from just past dinnertime until the darkest hours of early morning. That time I did not employ Malumense Dr. 999’s NL-id Blends Micellar Moisturizing Milk. I dozed in the tub, woke, and showered again, this time filling my hand twice with Malumense Dr. 999’s NL-id Blends Micellar Moisturizing Milk and rubbing it all over my head, my face, and my body, pushing it into my ears and nostrils, pouring some down my mouth, and even applying a generous portion to my rear portal, if you will. I missed work that day. They were all the more grateful to have me back the next day. And why not? I was making them beaucoup money.

  ~

  The weeks sailed by in a kind of milky, silky miasma of energy, relaxation, orgasmic pleasure, and extravagant meals. I kept up with the cleaning, trimmed the hedges, mowed the lawn, even trimmed the trees that lined the street, though they were not mine to maintain. I excelled at my job, accumulating accolades and bonuses and tokens of appreciation. One was a gift card to this very site.

  With that gift card I bought ten more cases of Malumense Dr. 999’s NL-id Blends Micellar Moisturizing Milk. I stacked them in the pantry. Some nights before my shower I knelt before that totemic tower of cardboard and I prayed in a strange language previously unknown to me. It had just…come to me.

  That night a neighbor banged on my door, complaining of the noise at the late hour. I kicked my front door open, hitting him square in the forehead, sending him tumbling down the porch steps and sprawling on the walk. I was in the altogether. I showed him my brand new Sig Sauer P226 Legion RX pistol. It never jams, I told him, not even the slightest hiccup. No surprises. As reliable as fall following summer, and barely any recoil to speak of. I explained my extralegal acquisition of the weapon, its lack of a serial number, rendering it virtually untraceable, the devastating effect of its ammunition on the human body.

  He may have known that if I hurt him, I would be almost immediately implicated, my timely capture inevitable. Obviously, his family would tell the police his last act was to come to my house to complain. He may have considered ballistic tests, GSR testing of a suspect’s skin and clothing. If he considered any of these things, he didn’t bring them up. Clearly, he was suitably impressed.

  ~

  Update: It’s been a year since I first purchased that one seemingly inconsequential bottle of Malumense Dr. 999’s NL-id Blends Micellar Moisturizing Milk. About a month after, I wrote the review above, eight months having passed since that first propitious purchase, its true effects became known to me. After a shower on a Sunday morning, I looked in the mirror to discover that my hair had formed itself into a multitude of thin arms. I had first thought them snakes, as though I had become a Medusa-like figure, but then fists uncurled at their ends. The arms elongated, stretching up to the ceiling, gripping it with what I can only assume was a preternatural biological adhesive of some unknown species. Then the arms shortened, lifting me right off the floor and, glue-tipped fingers sticking and unsticking, propelled me around the house, leading me to the front door and dropping me there.

  I opened the door and stepped onto the porch. Overcast sky, a light wind whispering through the leaves. A voice, many voices, whispered in my head, overlapping, finally coming together. It directed me to my neighbor’s house. I slipped through the unlocked front door and my hair-hands once again gripped the high ceiling, pulled me up, and sent me, legs swinging, into the living room. Below, my neighbor and his daughters sat around a card table, engaged in a game of Scrabble. He was letting them place words untethered to the main gameplay, out at the farther edges of the board, allowing them misspellings and strings of letters that were not actual words. This awoke in me a kind of rage. Looking back, I’m not sure exactly why. My hair-hands disengaged from the ceiling, dropping me down right onto the card table. It collapsed under my weight, sending tiles flying. The girls shrieked. Their father cried out. I stood like a superhero, my hands on my hips, one foot on my neighbor’s head. I ground it into his ear until he screamed. My hair flew about my head like great, life-giving grain, like the glory of a victor’s battle flag in storm winds, like the sails of a mighty galleon. Then it curled itself into thick tentacles, wrapped around my neighbor’s throat, and lifted him into the air. His kicking only caused the hair-noose to tighten. I lowered him to face me and watched as the life leached from his eyes and the tongue popped out of his purple face like a shy gecko finding its way out of a letterbox. I then slammed him to the ground.

  His children had fled. The rest of the house was empty. I exited through the front door, my hair back to normal. Well, if normal is silky and lustrous and manageable and imbued with as yet only minimally explored power. My heart was beating like war drums, pulsing in my wrists and legs, my whole body wracked with the thrumming and humming of my excellent heart. I again prayed to my totem that night and took a seventeen-hour shower. My bonuses were just about covering my excessive water bill. Somewhere in there I heard the sirens, then the heartbeat of a helicopter. I never saw anything about it in the paper or on the news. No one talked about it at work. A week later I saw that the neighbor’s windows were boarded up, the weeds encroaching on the driveway. I found this very gratifying.

  Since Malumense and Dr. 999 parted ways and the Conditioner was pulled from the market in the midst of a war fought with lawsuits and countersuits, with sabotage and newspaper editorials and public recriminations, my hair has become the stuff of legend. It’s talked about worldwide, in hair salons and brothels, in trailer parks and mansion compounds. I am priapic, godlike. My hair sways and sings, dances on the air, forming curio
us shapes. It sings songs in forbidden languages. Children are in awe of me. Men envy me. Women eye me with curiosity or outright lust. People send me gifts. Packages of all different sizes pile at my doorstep. Some contain cash money, wrapped in rubber bands. Sometimes the bills are sopping wet and falling apart. Other times they’re brand new, sequentially bundled, the ink still damp. I travel the world. Many hands have touched my hair and my hair has touched many bodies.

  In the spring of this year I arranged through certain entities with whom I’d made acquaintance to meet Dr. 999. He lives in the fabled inverted caves in a protected region of the Ngari Prefecture in Tibet. He is surprisingly small, bespectacled, Caucasian. His hair is glacier-white and gorgeous. At night he basks in unthinkable, terrible pleasures, and during the day he toils in his laboratory with a silent coterie of masked assistants, devising a new formula which will, he claims, put Malumense Dr. 999’s NL-id Blends Micellar Moisturizing Milk to shame. After his work has done and we’ve sat for dinner and wine in the cool, capacious caverns that form the outer edge of his environs, we touch our coiffures to one another, and he passes along his many secrets.

  LEAVES OF DUST

  by Wendy Nikel

  The cherry tree cracks on a cloudless, windless day, sending magpies fleeing from its foliage in a burst of leaf and feather.

  Ysobel hears the ragged snap of tree-bone and rests her tea upon the patio brick, where it sloshes against the sides of the mug like floodwater threatening to overflow its banks. A lemon slice bobs in the near-boiling liquid – a tart concoction meant to cleanse the liver, restore the soul, and dissolve the body aches brought on by advanced age and by yesterday's attempts at arranging furniture. Inside the box-strewn house, the television buzzes with some talk show that Ysobel has no real interest in, save for how it fills the corners with its human-like chatter. The illusion of companionship, sans messy entanglements.