Slake Rake

August 4th, 2008

Bo Channels walked into the office with his shoulders slumped.

Mr. Margarit: “Sit down, Bo. Wha–, you need coffee or something?”

Bo sat down, perked himself up. “No, no. I’m good, thanks.”

“OK, now, Bo, today is the day, the day you’ve been putting off and keep trying to reschedule for what, like six years now? You know why we kept rescheduling you at all? We had an office pool going. Frankly, man, I think your best days are over. That Pulitzer put a weight around your ankles, man. Now you can’t even come up with a good video game idea.” He chortled. “Oh man.”

Bo’s face was apoplectic. His chest was slowly rising like he was about to burst. His eyes widened. The sides of his mouth went down. He popped: “Slake Rake!”

“A whazza?”

Bo looked around, head beginning to shake. He stood up abruptly and Mr. Margarite leaned back, eyes squinting. Bo began using his hands, like a mime, pulling the air to keep going. “A . . . slake rake,” he mimicked the motion of using a rake. “You, uh, use the rake to uh, rake the slake.” He stopped, stood up, smiled. He scratched his head. “It’s ironic.”

“You want a video game in today’s market that is simple, stupid shit, call it ironic, and expect people to pay 60 bucks for dat?”

Bo was sweating now, not meeting Mr. Margarite’s eyes, instead searching the bottoms of the walls for clues, or looking for mice.

Mr. Margarit: “Let me ask you a question, Bo. Do you ever play video games?”

“No man, my world is pixelated enough, man.” Bo’s hands were sweaty so he wiped them on the sides of his jacket.

Mr. Margarit flipped a switch under his desk and several fans popped up on both sides of his desk. They both rotated to face the center: Bo. Bo’s eyelids fluttered in joy, the sweat being gently swept from his brow.

Mr. Margarit: “Are you on drugs?”

“No,” Bo said. “Ok, thanks for the fan. How about this: A story about a man in the future who, uh, has to escape something on earth, so signs up for a terrible mystery job on the last outpost.”

“Last outpost?”

“Yes, the last outpost between the manned universe and the unmanned universe. Of course I guess you would have several last outposts in several directions eventually, but for now there’s just one. The last outpost.”

“What happens there?”

“Well, there would be different stories, er, versions: the official government version, and folk tale versions: from one human to another.”

“The truth is bad?”

“Yes, if it was Disneyland there would be no drama, right?”

Mr. Margarit: “Disneyland is a lot richer than you are.”

“Nobody goes to Disneyland to read.”

“You’re proposing to read this video game?”

Bo: “Doesn’t a new age, a modern age video game need a great story? Zelda? Bioshock? Yes?”

“Zelda, Bioshock and Slake Rake?”

Bo sat back down. “Forget that. I have social problems.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. “Whew, thanks again for those fans. Those things are nifty.”

“So what happens in your story: bad things happen, like what? And how does he fight back? Is it like Half Life?”

“I don’t know yet. But it will be somewhat dark. Not as dark as the Blood Meridian, but dark.”

Mr. Margarit: “All drama is dark before the ending - it’s called act two.”

Bo: “You know what? Fuck you, man. I won a fucking Pulitzer. You peddle Pacman. Give me a fuckin’ break you fuckin’ bonehead. You wanna be the first developer to label your game as being written by a Pulitzer-prizewinning author or not? Because that’s what you’re paying for, finally. And we both know it. So let’s just cut the shit and agree on a concept, OK? Or I’m going to EA, you fucking bitch.”

Mr Margarit drummed his fingers together. “Yes, the Post it is, then. You flesh it out and I’ll put a team on it.”

“Thank you,” Bo said, then left. Once hitting the street he fished a J out of his pocket and lit it, took a long suck. He thought of something and had a good laugh. Slake Rake. He took out a phone and dialed, put it to his ear. “Hey baby,” he said. “Guess who’s going to be eating again?”

Class War Starts Here

August 4th, 2008

Class War Starts Here

This is what the cops were looking at, craning their necks up. Spraypainted artfully across the white brick side of an ale house:

Class War Starts Here

Beneath, in the same black and silver border colors of the aforementioned phrase, was an arrow pointing down.

“Is something supposed to be under that arrow?” Cop number one asks.

“I dunno. Maybe someone came around the corner and they ran, didn’t finish it.”

They both considered this. Another man walks up; they glance at him, nod. “Detective,” Cop number one said. He didn’t have to flash his badge. He was Detective Peronsky, Thought Crime Division.

Cop number two wanted to be promoted to Detective, so he always tried to show off his investigative skills when an actual detective showed up to take over the scene. Cop number two: “We was wondering about the arrow - either something was supposed to be lying under it, or the criminal tagger ran off before the thing was finished.”

Peronsky shook his head. “No, the arrow means you, the viewer.”

The cops furrowed their brows.

Peronsky: “The class war starts with you, watching the phrase now. The revolution starts with you, the little man. Etc.”

Cop number one: “I don’t get it.”

Peronsky: “It’s a thought crime, inciting revolution. A thought bomb, meant to upset the established order.”

Cop number two spat: “Fuckin’ mental insurgents.”

“You got that right.” Peronsky said. He spat in agreement, and Cop number one trioed the assent.

“They’re all over the fuckin’ city this morning. The same message. ‘Class War Starts Here’. With a fuckin’ arrow pointing down.”

Cop number one got out his truncheon and slapped it across his palm. “Let’s go beat some hippie heads.”

“Nah,” Peronsky said. He turned and motioned up to the street light cams. “They immobilized the cams and we got no footage. We can stake out the same vandalism victims but they’re probably not dumb enough to hit the same two spots twice.”

Cop number two: “You assigning intel to these yahoos?”

Peronsky grimaced. “Yahoos don’t build thought bombs. All mental terrorists have intel.”

Cop number one tapped a finger to his nose. “Intel is the enemy.”

Peronsky: “You got that fucking right.”

This was September 8th, 2009. The era of Java Joe had begun.

The Post

August 2nd, 2008

“You are here for the post, yes?” She looked him up and down. He didn’t think she was scrutinizing him, because nobody wanted this job, and they would take anybody.

He had already been hesitated through. “Yes,” he said. Fuck it all and yes. Fuck everything including your life and yes. You are headed to the last outpost in the known universe, a place which has seen more horror . . .

She smiled, a pretty Asian lady. She whisked her hands downward and then came up fanning forms, which she laid out in front of him. “Please take a seat and fill these out.”

He took the forms and a clipboard and a pen and went to the seating area, nervously looking out the front door. It was his aim to get on the next ship out to the last post before his landlord caught up with him. He thought he had taken all the geobugs off his stuff but you can never be too sure. These days they can build the things the size of pubic hair. His landlord would blow him away where he sat. His landlord was one mean motherfucker.

Cody hastily filled out the forms and brought them up to the desk. “When does the next reefer leave?” (Reefer, of course, is the term they use on boats for ‘refrigeration systems’ - taking a ship out to the last outpost meant that you, too, went popsicle-stick.)

The nice Asian lady with the beguiling smile looked over the forms and showed him her dimples: “In ten minutes, Mr. Cody.”

“Ah, Cody is my first name.”

“Yes, of course.”

As he was looking at her a red light flashed across her left eyelid, causing her eyes to immediately flit to another place on her desk which he could not see. “This man a friend of yours?” she asked. She toggled a switch and on the screen behind her a man appeared walking up the stairs with a shotgun in his hands; apparently this was live video taken via surveillance camera.

Cody laughed nervously. “Wha–? Ha ha no.” He rubbed his chin. “He does look a little familiar.”

The lady motioned with her fingers and on each side of her a dark door slid open and two oversized armed guards stepped out. Cody stepped away from the desk, panic-stricken. “Whoah! Whoah! Whoah!” he said. “I’ll leave, I’ll leave!”

The lady looked at him with an eyebrow arched. “These men aren’t for you, Mister Sebastien. These men are for him.” She looked ahead as Cody’s previous landlord stepped through the door. He saw the two guards and muttered, “The fuck–” before they both shot him simultaneously, blowing his head clean off.

The lady looked at Cody again. “You are our property now, Mister Sebastien and we have to protect our interests. Welcome to Zanzibar Universal, Inc.” The dark doors slid back up once again veiling the guards. Several blood bots were dispensed from unknown floor doors and set about cleaning up the mess.

The lady waved Cody to a red door sitting heretofore humbly in the corner. “That way, Mister Sebastien.” she said pleasantly. He nodded to her and took up his bags and went.

the post.

He walked up a large dark ramp. A man on the left partially obscured in shadow threw him something, “Here, take this.” Cody dropped his bags and caught it: a space rifle. It had a strap so he hung it across his back before picking up his bags again. “Thanks,” he said to the man, and continued up the walk.

When he got to the top it was a round room with 12 pods hemming it in. There were only four other people there. Three men and one women. He nodded to them all and took in the woman: she leaned against her bed in her freeze clothes and regarded him without a word. She had long black hair and mocha skin. She smiled at him. His named appeared on an electronic scroll bar over the bed sticking out of his pod. He went to it, stowed his bags under the bed and picked up the pack of freeze clothes laid out just under his pillow. He looked around for a change room, saw the bathroom door perched between two pods and went to it. He relieved himself, washed his hands and changed. He peered at himself in the mirror. The enormity of what he was doing right now hit him and he blinked back tears. He tried to keep his eyes open a couple seconds so they would dry before he went back out with the others. The countdown started over the speaker system so he hustled back out there, dabbing his eyes with his sleeves pulled up over his hands. Put his old clothes under his bed and jumped onto it.

He gave the girl one last look. He tried to imagined them actually talking when they got to their location . . . maybe being stationed together . . . him coming over to her place to make some spaghetti, if they had spaghetti up there. He closed his eyes and tried to dream those thoughts as the countdown closed and the big freeze began.

When he awoke his eyes immediately went to the girl: her pod had been opened and what looked like her intestines and one leg were the only thing left on the bed. There was splatter all over the glass portion of the pod, including one eyeball facing his way.

A technician assisting in the wakeup saw him looking and chuckled. “It sometimes take a while to get your space legs.” he said. He pointed to another door. “You can go over there when you’re ready.”

He wanted to clean up but he wanted to get out of there more. He grabbed his stuff and went up to the door and through it, up a long dark ramp. There were things moving about in it and he stopped suddenly, waiting to see what they were. One came up to him and licked his hand. A dog. Several of them. They sniffed him and moved off. He continued up the ramp, the walls around him plastered with space graffiti. Ahead of him was a larger room with a lot of lights and a fair degree of commotion. He passed a mirror and stopped to take a look at himself. Still in his freeze clothes, dried vomit stuck to his chest, hair stiff, big flakes of dead skin under his eyes and around his nose. Carrying two black satchels with all his worldly possessions. Rifle slung across his back. Shit, keep it together, he told himself. He went up.

the post.

“Who gave this joker a space rifle?”

Two guards and a fat man suddenly crowded him from behind. He stood just past the doorway looking into a largish room painted black with two lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling. Several foldout tables stood at the opposite end of the room, manned by a duo of bored-looking clerks. There were two lines, and only one person waiting in each, with two people being waited on. The man slumped in his chair on the right looked catatonic, and the clerk was having a hard time communicating with him. A guard pushed himself off the wall and came forward to slap the unresponsive man across the back of his head with the butt of his rifle. Several dogs were milling about the place, smelling the corners and sniffing the floor. The floors and walls were all stained with long since darkened alien archipelagos.

The fat man repeated his question, “I said, ‘Who gave this joker a space rifle?’”

Cody replied, “Someone gave it to me after I signed up, as I was walking up the plank–”

The fat man smacked Cody across his forehead. “Shut up! I wasn’t talking to you!” He nodded to the guard. “Take it.”

The guard extended his meaty hand to the strap and Cody obliged, trying to wriggle out of it.

Cody stood looking at the fat man, not sure what to do next.

The fat man slapped him across the forehead again. “Well, go stand in line ya mighty git!”

Cody went and stood in the line to the left, where at least the new recruit presently being interviewed was actually speaking. Cody looked to the right line again and the man who had been sitting there was being laid out on a gurney by two of the guards. “Next,” the clerk said. A passenger from Cody’s flight, a small chubby Korean man, stepped up.

Two of the dogs in the corner started growling at the other. One of the guards nearby kicked the closest dog in the ass to push it closer to the other one, thereupon starting a fight. Both dogs gnashed and kicked and hair flew until one yelped and managed to dodge away.

Cody had his turn in line and sat in the chair facing the clerk.

“Name?”

“Cody Sebastien.”

“You are here for the post?”

“Yes.”

“Are you still mostly alive and cognizant after your space flight?”

Cody frowned. “Mostly. I think.”

“Are you ready for your post, Mr. Sebastien?”

“Yes, but . . . I would like to shower and eat something first. Maybe put my stuff away.”

The clerk nodded. “Of course, but no. Your shift has already started. According to your contract, you must be on shift at all times when sheduled unless mortally defunct.”

“Sorry?”

“Dead, unless dead. Three-quarters dead, to be precise. Here,” the clerk stood up and wrapped a band around Cody’s wrist. “This band will show you the way to the factory.”

“Where do I put my stuff?” He raised his bags.

The clerk tsked. “They should have told you when you signed up. You can’t bring anything with you to the post.” He nodded to a guard and several came forward to wretch Cody’s bags away from his hands. They went to the back of the room with them and a large iron door Cody hadn’t noticed before swung open. There were flames inside. Into this hole Cody’s two black satchels containing his last remaining possessions were thrown.

The clerk said, “Well, you will get one of your wishes, Mister Sebastien. You will receive a chemical hose-down before entering the factory floor. Goodbye.”

Cody immediately felt a tug on his new wrist band, as if magnetic, something pulling him toward the door. He obliged, nearly knocking over his chair as he did so. He went through the door and into another corridor, this one sloping down. His wrist lead him at a trot.

Soon the chubby Korean caught up. “A factory?” He asked. “Nobody said anything about a factory!”

Cody shrugged. “I don’t know.” he said.

The chubby Korean’s face was screwed up with anger. “I thought we each had our own suite up here. I thought we would be space observers, or . . . soldiers. But working in a factory? What kind of factory? Are we prisoners here?”

Cody frowned. “I don’t know, man.” he said. He wasn’t feeling well; in fact, he was beginning to feel quite sick. Maybe he hadn’t received his space legs yet, either.

The corridor finally ended and there was an open round door there ringed with rouge, and what lay within strangely dark.

“My name is Egg, by the way,” the chubby Korean said.

“Cody,” Cody replied. He nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

Egg nodded back. Both were exerting muscle to pull their wrists back, which were pulling them to the opening. “Well,” Cody said, pointing his head back up the corridor. “We can’t go back that way.”

Egg looked back up that way and his face screwed up again, like this time he was going to cry. “We’ll help each other, right?” His bottom lip was quivering.

“Yes, yes of course.” Cody said, feeling obliged.

Egg stiffened up, suddenly looking bolder. Braver. Calmer. “OK,” he said. He looked deep into Cody’s eyes, saw fraternity there. He took a deep breath. “I’ll go first.” Egg jumped through the hole. Instantly Cody heard screaming. The hole closed. Another hole opened closer to Cody and a clerk stepped through, catching the look of horror on Cody’s face. “Oh dear, was that hole open?”

Cody nodded.

“Did someone go through?”

Cody nodded again. The clerk called back through the room from whence he just came: “Hey Larry, we lost another worker! Who left the goddamn Dark Hole open again? Goddamnit, that’s not funny, Larry!”

The clerk motioned to Cody. “Come on.” Cody went. “And take off that goddamned band, too. Those things are sometimes as bad as Larry.”

the post.

King Sucker

August 2nd, 2008

It was a roof and a bed: the Publix Hotel in Chinatown, formerly, for they have since closed it. Introduced to it by fellow fishermen just off the boat from Alaska. Well, maybe not ‘fisherman’, but they all lived on the boat, and worked on it, and worked with fish - in the bowels of the ship in the factory, which was a little different than being a ‘fisherman’, technically.

He was poor. He had nothing. But he had his youth, and a hell of a lot of energy. And even a mite of an ego. He had probably reached his lowest low: attempting to walk to the nearest mountain so he could starve there, and only getting so far as Elliott Bay Park, demoralized by how far away those mountaintops actually were.

The Asian lady at the bait shop: “Yes?”

“How far away are those mountains there?”

She looks. “Far.”

“Will this path take me there?”

“No, you have to drive. You have to take roads.”

Going south to Elliott Bay Books in Pioneer Square and looking for their copy of How We Die - because he wanted it to be as painless as possible, of course. But he didn’t have enough cash for the pills. And for meals. He had maybe 8 bucks. Maybe. So he slept in the park that nite, waking up one time when someone walked close to him, looking him over. When the intruder saw he was awake he asked him what time it was. Deep into the nite. “Dunno,” the one laying down said. “I don’t have a watch.” What do the homeless need with watches?

Finally, it takes a lot of guts to take one’s life. And maybe more than one tries, more than a several resolves. That day had been possibly the worst tho, walking around looking at everybody knowing they wouldn’t lift a finger to save him. That he was hungry. He was young and maybe dumb but hell man, letting him die for his past mistakes was harsh. This was a cold society. This was a cold world. It is a lesson everyone should know.

So in the morning, unmolested except maybe the damage to his eyes done by keeping his contacts in too long (he had no backup glasses and didn’t want to be blind in the nite), he went back to the youth hostel, put some money in a locker to keep his stuff, and trudged it down to Laborready, where he got a job moving someone’s stuff from one nice house to the other, riding in the back of a pickup truck with other Mexicans also helping with the move. That nite, he went back to the hostel with some cash, got his stuff out of the locker, and gorged himself on a beer and a sandwich, knowing he had a bed to sleep in that nite. He wrote feverishly in his notebook, believing that one day he would be a famous writer, and all these expierences would help shape that.

Later, when a fisherman tried to wake him while he was sleeping in the low bunk on another ship, he woke up with his fist clenched - a common habit probably for anyone who has ever slept in a park.

Nobody cares about you. But offing yourself would be a big mess and a real pain in the ass. Living is always better. Better than nothing. Having lungs and being able to breathe is probably the best thing of all, which is probably why some people meditate?

After the first boat he had a room at the Publix, for 60 dollars a week. It was a small coffin-shaped room with a sink and a mirror, and old set of wooden drawers, and a twin bed with an iron cast headboard. Asian ladies came in every morning to clean and change the sheets. There were bathrooms down the hall. It was wise to wear flip-flips when you utilized the shower. It was heaven. It was all his. Nobody bugged him, and he read for hours. There was often gunfire and loud drunks out the window, but that only added to the excitement of the experience.

This room he imagined Henry Miller staying in. There was an ancient sign on the back of the door in twenties font; he often thought about taking it. Out the window before the area was built up he could see the Sound. He could walk to Pioneer Square in the morning and got bottomless coffee from the cafe in the basement of Elliott Bay Books for one dollar and then sit in the back reading the New York Times. He had not actually developed yet a keenness for politics, but he had also never actually been so deprived before. At this time, he could only decipher the Arts pages. Coffee helped. He wrote feverishly in his notebook. One day he would be a famous writer.

Instead, he is a stupid blogger, writing this. Sucker.

My Compassion

July 12th, 2008

“My compassion for others is peripatetic at best.”–goon monkey #9

The Narrator

July 12th, 2008

He is tall, British. His suit is impeccably devised. He is standing, looking off, one hand in pocket. He turns to face us. He smiles, “Hello. Didn’t see you come in.”

He walks to us.

He puts both his hands about a foot from his body on each side, palms facing out. “Welcome. This is a place for hash and bits. Slash and hits. Stash and tits.”

He stops, looks off. “Words have become boring, eh? Stories too predictable, eh? All the usual complaints . . . ”

He walks away a few paces. “Not that we can do anything about it.”

Turns to us again, “But we can try.”

He motions to something or someone out of our sight: “Cue the donkey lady.”

He looks, “Sorry?” We hear mumbling. The Narrator nods and looks back at us. “No sight gags, today, I’m afraid.”

He points in all directions. “But in these areas, here, here and here. But mostly above us, in the future, and below us, for the past, several wannabe wordsmiths will come in here and try and share their wares.

“Obviously, you are a tough audience.

“We are prepared for that. But don’t worry–when we say we know you’re a jaded audience and we’re prepared for it, we’re not thinking of anything gross or purely scatalogical as an antidote for that. No, no, for the record, we here–this ensemble all–are one hundred percent opposed to the new genre known as ‘torture porn.’ Yes, and even for a 420 wannabe flick like the latest from Harold and Kumar - also known as the Wackily Ethnically-Diverse Potheads - to begin it with a bathroom joke is . . . disappointing. Why does modern movie pot humor have to be so low?

“What will we attempt to do to ply you out of your media-engorged sophistication?

“Frankly, I have no idea. But it won’t include any dream sequences with midgets, that’s for sure. Think of this as a big tent dedicated to the exploration of anti-cliches. Or, something like that.”

A bar appears on the right and our Narrator sidles up to it. A bartender appears behind. “Lemon Drop, please,” our narrator sez.

The waiter pours the Stoli and assorted parts into a stainless steel container and begins to shake. The narrator waits. The bartender finishes shaking, opens the top of the mixer and pours the contents into a waiting reverse pyramid glass. He puts the mixer down and pushes the now brimming glass across the bar to our narrator, who picks it up and takes a big sip.

“On second thought,” he says to us. “I’m not promising anything.

“Stay at your leisure and browse . . . or not.” He goes back to his drink, his shoulders now slumping. “I could really give a shit.”

Slick N’ Dirty
la di fucking da

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March 29th, 2008

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