As he continues his application, Flow breaks into one of his comedy routines
‘This ever happen to you? You drop an E, look in the mirror and see some prick with a finger up his ass? Then you realize, it’s you! Haaa hahaa…’
I can’t lie, that one gets me every time.
‘Cracula, what’s happenin bro?’
Same as five minutes ago Flow—Culting, formulizing, fitting in.
‘You know what your problem is?’
Oh lord.
One of the Brazilo sames attempts English, ‘Crackey, what we dooey aftee dinnee?’ I feel like a ten-year-old whore in Phnom Penh, ‘We goey niteey clubeey?’ Is it over yet?
Despite my efforts, I can still hear South of Fraunce in the distance. Sitting opposite Dickless, Slave stares at me and eats a banana. Treimee is soooo drunk. The Reverend—evolved businessman—pitches God to inventors. Nowe speaks to me about DJs. The mother-to-be chugs vodka, stares suggestively at sames, and pops a Valium.
South of Fraunce. South of Fraunce. South of Fraunce.
My new and unnatural body chemistry taking its toll, I need a smoke.
Judas Bar—being massive, well funded, and built post-smoking ban—has a sort of indoor but outdoor stoge quarters. An all-glass rectangle situated in plain sight for all to see—aquarium, zoo, archaeological exhibit—living, breathing, smoking relics. Example of what not to do in the whitewashed Island. We make our way, Fireman and I, greeting good friends, inventors— staring at other men’s sames. I ask Fireman for a light.
‘Cracula, you know I’m really proud of you.’
Sensing a heart-to-heart brewing, I channel The Cult and plug in.
‘I don’t know how you can do it…around all these idiots and not get buzzed. It’s really just medicinal, to put up with the damn sames. You think I can talk to them without a bottle of vodka? No way.’
Thinking, no, applying like a Cult member, I peer into The Fireman’s soul. The man is well intended, big of heart. He’s me, Noddy, Aeronymous, The Reverend, Lousifer.
‘Hey, one of the Brazilian sames is into sames. I think we should put her and Slutskia together, see what happens. Did I tell you about the new one I met in Miami? Hold on that’s my good friend Spree.’ Can’t fucking help himself.
Twenty-Eight
The next several days are a wave of repetition. Slutskia would start in on her responsibilities—parents, seester. I, newly noble, would speak of our responsibility. Present my formula for Cult living.
‘Baybee, is not possible.’
I hear nothing, forge ahead. Construct entire civilizations in my brain. New religions. Religions without history. My daughter will be the priest, choir, congregation. A nonbeliever. The breadth of Angkor Wat, the calm of the Mediterranean. She will never orbit, a galaxy of supernovas. Have no need for moons.
‘Baybee, we no haveeng money. I alcoholic. And what is dees Cult baybee? Is stupid.’
She will be immune to inventors, hip to ladder dwellers. Allergic to businessmen, my daughter. A native with an immigrant’s heart. She shall transcend the need to transcend. My daughter shall be her own birthright.
When not fantasizing through arguments, I’m meeting with other Cult members. Cult meetings. Never was I more plugged in, part of a formula. We sit in circles and chant, whine. Oh, do these Cult bastards whine.
I just feel like I’m on the verge of leaving The Cult… When I walk past a bar, all I think about is my past life, how I loved it… My cat died, I’m having a really tough time right now…
It’s enough to drive you to the bottle!
Twenty-Nine
On the seventh day of the wave’s repetition I kiss Slutskia goodbye as she leaves for work. Then, my buzzer rings.
‘Who is it?’
‘Lousifer. I need to talk to you.’
I buzz in my most regrettable transgression.
‘Lous, what’s up bro?’ I know.
‘I need to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth.’
The question already asked, I straighten my glasses and light a red.
‘Did you sleep with Dulce after her and I got together?’
I toke my red, give Lousifer one. Inhale, exhale.
Straighten my glasses.
Look at Lousifer, the floor. Inhale. Exhale.
Our blues meet. I blink. Match souls with the only honest bastard I know. The man saved my life…fucking gave me his oxygen.
‘No.’
I lied.
I make no attempt to rationalize my lie. The fact I was on crack. Her persistence. Her black eye. No, I’m a piece of shit. An oven-fresh pile of elephant dung.
‘Are you sure? Not one night fucked up?’
Dulce, what a hustler. Conjuror of emotions. A damn sorceress. Of course I know of multiple other guys she’s fucked since being with Lous. Straight men, gay men, battalions. Entire cities, fashion weeks, music conferences. It matters not.
‘No.’
‘OK, I believe you. Wanna go for a jog?’
Sure, I’ll go for a jog.
He heads back to Tenth and B to change. I replace my glasses with contacts. I do this with the lights off, afraid of my reflection.
We trot to the Dead Side Highway.
Running south towards Jellis Island, The Statue of Liberty, no words are spoken. Volumes. Annotated. Translated.
Taking in The Hudson, I know I belong at the bottom. Below the rats, snakes, snitches. I lied to the only honest bastard I know. He should have let me die. I’ll fasten rocks to my head, jump in. No boulders, drown in the scum. Why had I lied? I could reach out to The Fireman, ask his advice. What worked for him in the past? What formula? Was this The Cult’s doing? This lying? Had I again channeled Mill? Lying as altruism.
We run on.
Past the battery. Past mommies with strollers, past the fishing rods and into the tourists waiting for the Jellis Island Ferry.
We pause to catch our breath, Lousifer and Lie.
‘Son, I don’t know why the fuck she would say that.’
Me neither. Lousifer appears to have caught his breath, I’m still gasping.
Heading back up the Dead Side, we pick up the pace. I hang my head and visualize Chinese water torture, the guillotine, spontaneous human combustion. Ahh…but I’m a father to be. Must carry on
We bust a right on Canal, up Greenwich, right on Spring and stop at 109. Opposite Evolution.
‘Alright son, I’ll hit you up later.’
I slither up the stairs.
Thirty
Self-loathing and looking ahead eat up the next few hours. I try numbing myself via dotcomming—google, google, google, liespace, asmallturd, blewtube, racebook. I order sindemand and Demarco’s, call Cult members. Still certain I deserve The Hudson bottom, I hear the door.
‘Slutskia, what’s up my dear?’
Every same same in the world is hatched with the ability to sense weakness, injury, smell blood. Slutskia’s seed carrying only enhances this birthright. She can taste my loathing, hear my predicament.
‘Baybee, I go back Russia hav abortion.’
Capitalizing on my state, she proclaims this with an unheard-of confidence and certainty. I won’t allow myself to float away as usual. Can’t. I must focus on the next few minutes. Critical. Life changing. Life ending.
‘Babe, we talked about this already. We’re having this kid.’
‘Baybee I no give fauk, is up me. I spoke my mom already, she say I have abortion tuu. I buy ticket tuuday, I going.’
‘Slutskia, fuck your mom! She’s a greedy bitch. Does she ever call to ask for anything except money? Fuck her, she’s just worried you won’t be working for a few months. Let her fucking starve.’
‘Baybee, fauk u! Is my mom, no u.’
‘And what does your Dad have to say?’
‘He say nauthing.’
‘Well, he fucking should. Call your fucking mother right now, let me talk to that bitch.’
‘Baybee, she
no speaking eenglish. Anyway baybee, I go in three day.’
Mission critical. I move in close. Eyes to eyes, a blue swamp.
‘Slutskia, listen to me very fucking carefully. You are not having any goddamn abortion. You are not going to fucking Moscow. Look at me! You fucking hear me!’
‘Yes baybee, I duu!’
‘You selfish bitch! So help me God, if you have an abortion I’ll kill you myself!’
‘Fauk u bastaard!’
I make for the door. Who can I call? Aeronymous? He is a Cult member, and despite himself, a friend. A decent soul.
‘Yo, what up son?’
‘Meet me in front of Balthazar, I need to talk.’
‘See you there.’
I fly down my steps and turn left. Past Broadway, over Crosby, to the bench in front of Balthazar. Order a black coffee and light a red. Sitting. Waiting. I watch all the dogs walk by, all the strollers.
‘Cracula, what’s the deal?’
‘Aeronymous, sit down man. Listen, I need to talk to somebody about some things. But please keep this between us, yeah?’
‘No doubt son.’
I know he won’t. Can’t. No matter.
‘So here’s the deal…I haven’t told anyone else this, no one. Slutskia’s pregnant.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah, and right now shit’s hittin the fan.’
‘What’s up?’
‘Well, I wanna have the kid. Straight up. She’s been saying from the jump that she wants an abortion. You know her situation with her parents back in Russia.’
‘Word. But how are you gonna take care of…’
‘Aeronymous! That’s not why I’m fucking talking to you.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Anyway, I was sure she’d come around. You know, me being in The Cult and all, but today she fucking comes home and tells me she bought a ticket for Moscow, that she’s talked to her cunt of a mom, and she’s having an abortion.’
‘Word?’
‘Yeah. Then I lost it. Told her I’d kill her, grabbed her fucking arm, all that.’
‘So you really want this kid?’
‘Yeah man. There’s no reason not to, and I know it’s a girl.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah. Will you take a walk with me back there, try and talk to her?’
‘No doubt.’
Not sure if it’s my newfound cult disposition or something greater, but making our way over Spring I sense the need to pick up the pace. Urgency. Crossing Mercer I’m in a sprint.
Key inserted, I take the stairs two by two. Galloping. Fling my door open.
Thirty-One
Floating on the kitchen table is a single-minded sheet of paper— a note. Four words. It reads:
I GO RUSSIA, BY
estaba soñando
there is a tiny five-foot ledge between our loft and the neighbor’s. its only purpose to house a ladder used for changing light bulbs atop the living room. slutskia, the mother of my daughter, has disrobed, tied my crackberry cord around her neck, climbed the ladder, fastened the other end to the top step and let go her feet
for three seconds (hours?) i’m frozen. immobile. petrified.
I re-attach to the living, run over to her blue and purple body, rip the cord off and lay her face up.
a tub of ice
I slap her face. Left hand. Right hand. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Aeronymous, fucking call 911!
I attempt mouth to mouth. Breathing. Chest pounding. Shaking. Screaming. Pulse? Temple. Neck. Stomach.
womb
My blues meet Aeronymous. Nothing. Drained of thought. Outside wit. Non-formulaic.
collapse
I attempt tears, but find the road blocked. I reach for convulsions, too far. Anger meets me halfway. Rage. surrender
I wish to trade my soul for Slutskia’s, resuscitate her. Watch over her like a dark angel until she births my daughter, then slice her head off. cook it up, slam it The cowardice witch. Not even a note! Did she not owe our daughter a goddamn note? A letter? did she not owe her an epic
Fuck her. Fuck The Cult. Fuck God.
Thirty-Two
Embalmed when the police come, the paramedics. Aeronymous does the talking.
I remain motionless as they carry away the bag. The bodies.
‘Sir, is there anyone that should be called?’
‘Sir?’
I got someone to call.
estaba soñando
I was an onion, in human form.
Sweating. Itching.
itching, sweating.
I was open, porous.
Onion tears ran down my onion cheeks onto my onion tongue. I scratched onion balls with onion nails.
I pulled my onion hair until it fell in my onion mouth, tasted like onions.
Raw onions.
I scratched so hard a layer of the onion shed.
Feeling in tune, I kept scratching.
another layer.
another
My onion hands were covered in onion blood, I scratched on.
I scratched my onion nose until it fell to my onion feet. I scratched my onion face until I removed my onion skull.
I scratched my onion eyes until they cried no more onion tears. I scratched on.
I scratched until there was no more onion blood, onion skin. No more onion.
I was a fetus, human again.
No more than a heartbeat.
I was possibility.
I was possible.
I came to, I wasn’t dreaming.
I was at Noddy’s place, arm bleeding.
I need another hit.
‘Noddy…Noddy.’
yeah?
‘Load me up another one. Same white, little more D.’
I was aboard the spaceship Assimilator, bound for Gleisica. The first human to enter the constellation Libra. Our first stop was the capital, Perg. I’m to meet the Queen, discuss intergalactic diplomacy.
We dined in the Perg Palace, joined by Gleisican dignitaries and politicians. Drank 1000-year-old ring wine, ate natives and raw Gleisican vegetables. The Queen told me of their utopian state, their evolution into compartmentalization. The dichotomy of Gleisican civilization, what the Queen referred to as harmony. I was to tour Perg and two other cities the following day, her daughter my guide.
I woke the following morning to coffee from the Sagittarian minefields, scrowalactyl (an indigenous flying creature) eggs, and fruit from their closest moon, Darby A. I was bathed by fluorescent eunuchs and outfitted in the latest Perg wears.
As it so happens Gleisica has a weekly solar eclipse every Darkday, today. Darkdays are dedicated to Pergan nighttime activities. We began our tour in quadrant LE.
It should be mentioned that Gleisicans come in many colors: purple, green, rust, blue, orange, sienna, turquoise, olive,
lavender, cyan, firebrick…and appear to be equally displaced throughout Perg.
Makiva, the Princess, has the dark brown skin of her mother, save for her British racing green head. (Rumor has it, her nipples turn blue on contact?)
We started our day of night by taking the Assimilator ground hover craft (Aghc) to quadrant LE. The place seemed interesting enough, lots of Perg bands and what not. All the fellas in tight white pants, outlining their evolved Gleisican cocks. The alien sames all topless in plaid skirts, intergalactic combat boots, red hair. The eunuchs rocked indigo jumpsuits, checkered hats, ivory slippers.
Our first stop was Milky Way, the new LE hot spot. It was retro night every Darkday. ‘Earth Darkdays’ they called it. The place has a ten-mile antennae on the roof, literally catching and broadcasting our planet’s transmissions as they rolled in from the cosmos. Apparently the 80s were just arriving. Mötley Crüe, Def Leppard, Van Halen, Poison, and GNR blasted throughout Milky Way. The DJ keeping an alien ear to Amoeban and English FM transmissions.
Drinking and smoking were banned in Perg, but eve
ry 30 minutes Milky Way released a duster.
A duster is like bombing a house for cockroaches, a miniature mushroom cloud. Makiva told me it contained WHB, HST, PKD, and Amoeban-style LSD. ‘Don’t tell the Queen I didn’t take my filtration pill before we came.’ don’t worry honey
Post-duster, the DJ picked up KROQ and blasted Cinderella. Could I not have visited a few years later? Oh well, I’m loaded.
Dusted, Makiva began to loosen up. actually looked hot, green head and all. She told me how lovely it was to meet an Earthling, tells me she loves our music. How’s the Cold War show going? Dallas?
I asked her why no one here notices me, being an Earthling. and her? The Princess. ‘Oh they do, the LE Pergs are just too cool to give us the satisfaction. As soon as we leave they’ll make fun of us, talk about your shoes.’ My Chucks?
We took in another duster and boarded the Aghc. Our next stop quadrant W.
The Pergs in Quadrant W did not hide their shock at seeing an Earthling, or The Princess. We were ushered into the newest W outpost, Sol. We signed autographs, posed for pictures, and were slipped contraband. Makiva explained the red pills were whiskey time-release capsules, the white pills serotonin boosters (with a one-hour cutoff), the blue pills instant comedown. I must be dreaming. Still dusted, I popped a red and a white, felt at home.
All Perg society lined up to greet Makiva, pay homage, alien name-drop.
Makiva, I went to boarding school with your father on Gleisoma…
I just love your dress, really brings out your head…
Are you summering in the rings again? We should share a ship…
Feel free to use my moon house any time…
Jesus, what sycophants. She seemed to take it all in stride, told me it comes with the territory.
Popping another red, we board the Aghc and head across Gleisica to the city of A.
Makiva explained that A is Gleisica’s university town. Five years required of all Gleisicans after their tenth birthday.
‘Ten seems a bit young?’
‘Well Cracula, we Gleisicans only sleep once a year, for three days.’
yeah?
‘Has something to do with us having more liquid water than Earth, 35 moons, and a red dwarf for a star. By ten, Gleisicans have seen our entire planet. Most have even been to a few moons.’
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