Wednesday, June 29, 2016

FOR A SUN: UGLY IN THE STREETS



Madchen is driving Hartwin home on this drizzly foggy night. or day. on her beat-up used hovercar. she takes the chance to wrap him up all snuggle in a heavy woven blue blanket in the passenger seat. with just his eyes showing.

Hartwin: come on, mom.

Madchen: now you can't answer your phone.

*ring*

Hartwin: how'd you know?

Madchen: kids today. mother's sixth sense. both.

Hartwin: *on the phone* yes. okay, bud. gotta turn the car around, mom. Lieu needs me back at the station. in a kerfuffle with Bump.

Madchen: i really hate that guy. at least it's not a scuffle. are you sure we can handle him? do you want me to turn this car around!?

Hartwin: yes.

Madchen: *deep sigh* you really gotta get off your phone, dear. it's poison. the work i do has cemented my resentment. i mean it sucks to have to be the center of attention at every stop you go to cos you have to film there. and it's a pain when one minute of film takes one hour to download to insta. i thought we were living in the future. i know i do this so that others can see the world without having to rid their beds. the less fortunate, those that can't buy a ticket to Italy, the cripples, the insane. i get flooded with hate comments that i post too much but it's not about my vanity! anyway i think i enjoyed that bit of country way more than you.

she touches his forehead.

Hartwin: i don't have a fever. and i'm not faking it. i'm really hot under here.

Madchen (smiles): i know.

---------------------------------------------

Lieu is still sleeping on the hood of his Gundam. Bump tiptoes in exaggerated big long strides like a Looney Tunes character and sticks a stick of dynamite in the cab. Lieu is jostled just in time to pick it up and throw it out to explode in the sky.

Lieu: what is your deal, my brotha!?

Bump: what? i thought it would be like fireworks. great gag in cartoons.

Lieu: start living in the real world, man!

Bump: why? the world sucks. i'll be back tomorrow. with some friends. i want to start something.

Lieu: please don't appropriate our culture. we're real people, not magic. that Michael song is for us. please quell your rich boredom somewhere else. i'm trying to catch some z's. and have some 'za. *buzz* hello? Hart? i need ya back here, bud. please sleep with me...

_____________________________

Lieu: *jostled*...is it time?

Hartwin: not yet. you'll know. finally got some sleep, huh. i envy you. it's the most beautiful thing on earth.

Lieu: that dude rustles my jimmies. spontaneity works in art, not politics.

Hartwin: what is the deal with your wheels? i mean Gundams aren't supposed to have headlights and tailpipes.

Lieu: hey man you do you. no way in hell i'm undergoing that procedure and having my back sliced open and ventilated for that vagina system.

Hartwin: you wish. alaya vijnana. spirit in the machine. very conscious. very consequential. you'd like it if you'd give it a chance. it's our only key to winning.

Lieu: get another skeleton key, boy. i've seen you naked. you got a pristine back.

Hartwin: *shaking his head* my skin wasn't dark enough for the procedure to take, a scientific fact as hard as that is to comprehend.

Lieu: nah, explains history perfectly my olive-skinned brother from another wed mother. pigmentation problems, complexion complications, the monster in the melanin. but you don't want to hear me drone on.

Hartwin: i do. it is my business. tea?

Hartwin sleeps right next to Lieu that night on the cold marble floor of the forum, still wearing his mother's garb to keep him warm.

____________________________

*ring*

Bump: yes?

Codrus: what did i tell you, boy!? do you understand nuance?

Bump: uh, what?

Codrus: i saw what you did at that citadel.

Bump: how?

Codrus: i see all. and i see the future. i'm worried about that place. there's a strong stench of leadership over there. intoxicating inspiration. but i'll handle it. i got my guys on it, ready to blow themselves up and blame the other guys. you don't do anything except prepare for the next debate.

Bump: but boss, i got no more debates. wouldn't do them even if i got 'em. got 'em, heeheeheehee. i already won. i know yous told me to hunt for lackeys but nobody wants to be my surrogate unless i promise them drugs.

Codrus: the first part. phase one. i do not have such problems. yes you clearly have too much time on your hands. again i say: prepare for the debate.

-----------------------------------

there's a raucous rumbling in the hall for the Democratic debate. Penyelamat, the little man in soul charge of the big party, stirs up the faithful when he steps on stage. at first no one recognizes him cos he's not known for public appearances. secondly they don't see him cos he's two feet tall, three feet with the Kaiser mustache. and yet he commands a room hushed. the spotlight misses him as Penye rolls onto the center of the auditorium and with the help of a high chair on which his long chartreuse gown gets hooked, he begins:

crowd: PENYE! PENYE! PENYE!

Penye raises his arm but no one sees that.

Penye: thank you. thank you. ENOUGH! i mean enough with this politics of fear, waged by weak strongmen. am i right or do i need a bigger mic? sure they make fun of us and think they're finally having their turn, after centuries of a PC noose tied around our bullshit. they're finally getting their way, which is a way older than time. they can say what they really think. so i guess humanity is that fucked, huh? a true free unguarded human is a low mouthbreather apparently. why curse under your breath when you can now mouth your breath? and that's cool. and funny. and what everyone actually wants. well, we'll see if there's enough of them come November. there's a couple more terrorist attacks to go...

crowd: PENYE! PENYE! PENYE!

Penye: thank you. thank you. wait, hello? *taptaptap* my mic wasn't on this entire time!............here's Hilary and Bernie, folks!

Hilary entrances to a tepid response but the crowd gets more ginned up when they see her newly-minted running mate the Pope glamorously stroll across the hall in a matching blue pantsuit that somehow only the Pope can make sexy. lewd imaginations start to boil on just how the two historic ladies finally sealed the deal. wolfwhistles and catcalls follow, which is unusual in a Democratic rally.

Hilary: yous guys. thank you. hey you know what they say, the greatest ability is availability, heehee!

Bernie is nowhere to be seen.

Hilary locked Bernie in the bathroom. Bernie struggles desperately to open the door, rustling the stuck deadbolt and turning the knob furiously until his arthritis catches up to him. he raps on the door but the cheap glass dulls any sound from coming out.

Bernie: help! HELP! I NEED TO DEBATE! IT'S ALL I GOT! yous bastards! if i'm not on tv people on the street constantly try to help me up cos they genuinely think i'm a nursing-home grandpa who wandered outside and got struck by lightning. damn having to go too often. and of course this happens on the day i run out of pills. if i'm President i'll fix all that!

Penye: well, seems Bernie's a no-show. Hilary wins!!! Hilary/Pope 2016!!! she's our delegate. i'm with her. cos no way in hell could i survive a campaign, i'd get run over by my own bus!

crowd: POPE PUSSY! POPE PUSSY! POPE PUSSY!

Wolf: Anderson? it's Wolf here at CNN Headquarters. where are you?

Anderson: lost my mic. got run over by a woman in the crowd.

Wolf: you got bumrushed? was she smaller than you?

Anderson: yes.

Wolf *heavy sigh* get a quote, you dolt...............................joining us now is one of the three Senators from Texas. sir your state has just seceded from the union. how do you feel?

Senator: yyyyyyyyyyyyeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawwwwwwwww! HASHTAG TEXIT BAYBEE! but now y'all can we please change the state flag? it looks too similar.

Anderson: oh lookie here, we got Snoop Dogg! care to comment on the passing of Bono?

Snoop: hey man leave me alone i'm with my kids. i mean the dude is a genius, no Prince but a lower-tier genuis, musical legend, was a legend, that's so hard to say, the world is emptier without him, no it's empty, he steered us right, always, he was always the world's beacon, a member of the cult of life. last couple of albums were rubbish, but you know. i don't think artists were ever meant to have 30-year careers. you will hit a wall and run out of ideas, trust. one good album and you're set, ya feel me? i mean i boxed Mike Tyson, ya dig? what can i say? he's Bono. he's Beezy. fam who are you again? you bussin' me out cos you have a young face but old peoples hair. Bono. man. anyone ever find out what color Bono's eyes were?

_____________________________

Bump: *on the phone with the papers* yeah i love this new thing on the gram, Fight Night. this is my distraction, not into pro sports. i like playground sports. been around for years apparently this Fight Night, still going strong. that one channel with videos of filmed fights. all sorts of melees, brawls, football fights, schoolyard bully revenge plots, girl on girl, bar fisticuffs which spill out into the night, quarrels over quotients, upheavals after elections, absolute altercations from Russia that are no doubt Absolut-fueled, riveting riots, scintillating skirmishes, fucking free-for-alls, race wars. heehee. so much fun to watch. love it, it's people taking back their countries, taking back their authority, their agency. if you can't fight in this world someone will fight for you. and to you. eh, it's mostly harmless. they lighten things up from time to time with a video of training-academy follies. bloopers which caused accidental deaths. tell you what if our armies were more cutthroat like these vids we'd never lose. i like all their vids, gotta keep this stuff viable and viral. like a virus. gotta bring fear back into the equation.

____________________________

Matthew Chris: *on MSNBC* i love basketball. i do. have you ever seen basketball? it's this thing where's there's a ball which is really a pumpkin. people say my face is a pumpkin. so much action. i love action, i can't sit still, i always have to be moving, talking, i can't stop myself from talking. i've never had a conversation in my life. if i do nothing for more than a millisecond i become twitchy like Chris Hayes. take it from my wife. the wife of a man with two first names. there's this guy, the supastar, James, and he throws down the giant peach into the basket, dunks it at the last millisecond and he wins everything, did you see The Finals?, and the entire building comes down around him. not just to worship at his feet, i mean the building physically comes down around him. what a spectacle. sport, nature's war. and there's this other guy, the other supastar, who until last night i thought was white. he didn't win for once. that's the real America, folks. anyway........................joining us now are some hooligans:

hooligans with the Icelandic flag dyed into their long scraggly beards: we won! we did it! against all odds! it finally happened! after a century of futility! normality has returned! we're taking it back! we're coming back! we're Vikings and we're gonna invade all your countries again!!! EMPIRE!!!

Matthew Chris: it's just sports, dude. i don't get it, you have two good hands and you don't use them. painful watching that field out there. like grass growing. cripples dribbling a white ball that's probably cocaine.

_________________________________

Hartwin: *on the phone with the underground papers* yes. still here. i know it's late. you're welcome. i'll sleep when i'm dead. the greatest ability is availability. not mine. got it off wiki. Fight Night? i know of it. disgusting. painful to watch. no, hurtful to watch. dreadful. ghastly. putrid. everything that's wrong with life. the greatest fighter is the one who doesn't fight, the boxer who whiffs and his opponent surrenders. here you have filmed fights, real fights which spill blood of fellow humanity. the crowd around is more interested in filming these fights than helping the combatants. they stand there idly with their stupid cameraphones as one guy, the nerd invariably, gets pummeled to death. there still isn't a good use for phones. they cheer on the angry bullies from the sidelines, bait them, the bystander effect in horrible reverse. the comments are full of praise: these are real men, this is how a man should act, manhood has been diluted and sapped of all its strength by the liberals. modern society is not man society. the other has permeated and globalized. they revel in this brazen show of force, this tipping point, this rejection of elite experts and the return to solving with salt and finishing with fists. why think when you can end? and to top it all off, to break the mood, they mix in a vid of sexually-explicit lesbian half-porn stars and big-breasted nymphos who enjoy choking and rough sex from their manly men. cos of course only hot models would enter a bed with a fighter. and of course the unimpeachable link between sex and violence must always continue or we have no country, no society. i'll give them points for showing non-heteronormative sex but i'm just kidding.

Lieu: *head pops out* bro hate to interrupt when you're on a hot streak but can this wait till breakfast? i'm so tired i can't get to sleep.

a huge explosion rocks the forum, shaking the temple walls and running through the barracks like a wavy missile. no infernos hold on the recent retrofitting but their small world is on fire.

Lieu: now that's too hot.

Hartwin: told ya. i'm starving like the motherfucking dickens but let's check it out. ready? time to


SQUAD OUT! CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK


Lieu: i swear these niggas gonna get paid for interrupting my z's. i won't let zed get shafted again! say i won't.



















Monday, June 27, 2016

TMIT: SWEETIE DARLING







top pic: you: the ant. life: the sugar. if you're an addict it's the other way around.

don't worry, they won the case. the jury didn't actually hear the songs themselves, but art is art is art. similar, sure, but all music is stolen from Bach.

1. when sizing up/assessing your relationship, is there a couple (celebrity or not) you envy? Hiddleswift. those two crazy kids look to be as steady as the Rock of Gibraltar...................no but seriously, Tom, Tom, buddy, what, what are you doing, buddy?

2. what stage is your current relationship in? a) infatuation stage: strong urges and intense emotions, sex b) understanding stage: gettin' to know you, gettin' to know all about you, your partner doesn't bore you to tears c) molding stage: changing each other to make the bond stronger d) advanced level:

1: doubt stage: buyer's remorse, thinking of exiting

2: happy stage: all kinks and flaws ironed out, nirvana

i'm forever in the MOULD STAGE, CLICK HERE RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

3. those who are alone (forever or otherwise), at which stage did your relationship end? the planning stage...

4. do you think you are too good for your partner? why do you feel this way? i just want to kiss. on the cheek. yes i have two shoes.

5. write a 25-word love note to your current SO or infatuee:

i love you more than love itself
which is impossible
but then again, it's a miracle that human beings exist
so we got that going for us

sorry, i was gonna do this thing where i used each letter of the alphabet but then i'd have to shaft zed again and i didn't feel comfortable doing that. i feel bad for zed.

bonus: have you ever been obsessively in love/borderline clingy with someone? how did you get over it? yes. i watched Fatal Attraction.

CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY




Friday, June 24, 2016

I'M ALWAYS TIRED. MY ENERGY IS DEPLETED.




learned:

* seriously

* why is it that i'm more tired after my shower? (tireder?)

* that Norwegian doc's got like no accent.

* Colonel Sanders, in keeping with his brand, is stoned.

* Bazooka Joe did this. didn't work. you gotta first fix what's inside. gotta get rid of that bazooka.

* Vanilla Icelandic Ultrablue

* see? Enya would sell more records if she wore a sexy dress. it's not all about the music.

* Captain Stabbin

* there is no such thing as clean pure air. gotta go to space for that.

* no one should use that word. no one.

* can't Disneyfy the horrors of history.

* can't sweet-old-lady-fy the horrors of history.

* can't wait for Olympic golf!

* what are you willing to pay for a college education?

* fudge is being bleeped. fudge isn't good for you, it's not healthy. why do they make fudge anyway?

* hey, come on, i like Smooth.

* hitting too close

* this is fundamentally why Weekend at Bernie's didn't work. death isn't funny.

* you can also use the embalm balm as chapstick.

* that blanket must be really itchy.

* young Neil Diamond

* "Solitary Man" plays in the Bubble Room.

* no one reads in a limousine.

* Thursdays/Fridays = Star Trek: The Next Generation lettering

* i'll never get shaving bumps. cos i don't shave.

* what the world needs now is love, sweet love. AND more friendship.

* but not dad grads, they're too old

* don't worry, there's no Phase Two. it was never continued...

CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

happy weekend. keep calm and carry on


Wednesday, June 22, 2016

FOR A SUN: FLASH IN THE LAND


Lysander: your name, dear?

woman: what does it matter. you take one look at me and see a blob. and that's just it. a blob with no outward emotion, no arms, legs, and precious hands. i prefer you see me as a human, not a specific human.

Lysander: absolutely. it just makes things easier. but when are great things easy anyway?

woman: you are a product of your society and your environment and your parents. even you can concede this. huh. everyone picks up basic psychology along the way. i'm fat. too fat for my own good.

Lysander: see that diploma above my head? i leave it there uncased in glass as a constant reminder..........of it always hanging above my head...

woman: waiting to strangle you

Lysander: i'd prefer it to drop and get it over with. i'd prefer the glass shards over anything this title concedes to me. Bachelor of Science, BS, unfortunate and yet quite apt.

woman: above all else you must be human. that is gone today.

Lysander: yes. it's one of those things. once it goes, it goes fast. like a legendary athlete's prowess. it fades and before you know it it's a memory outdistancing your running. like Jim Rome. there was a  time five years ago i literally couldn't survive without his daily sports snark. now that he moved channels and the cable got too expensive, thanks President, i'm struggling to remember Rome's face save for that goatee. but you don't want to hear me prattle on, do you?

woman: yes. it calms me.

Lysander: oh. um. thought you were gonna say no. everyone leaps at the opportunity to talk about themselves. mama told me i had the unique capacity of putting anyone i conversed with to sleep. helped out in the war. the thing is, i'm addressing you strictly from a medical professional's standpoint, such as that is, and such as that title exists anymore. it's not healthy to be this obese.

woman: but that's not the issue! it never was. you know that.

Lysander: i know. kindness. in short supply. as the oil becomes plentiful other resources compensate. negatively. we've treated our mother so poorly there will be a reckoning. and it is now.

woman: i never knew my mother. why i eat.

Lysander: oh yeah? i was talking about Mother earth but please continue, i've run out of stories and i don't have a winning personality to carry the day. need to learn more jokes from the monks. but i did gain their compassion.

woman: it's too long to get into. too complicated. it's always too complex. and that leads to a complex.

Lysander: and keeps me in business. until Bump gets elected.

woman: suffice it to say. the point being. look, i was right about you. you are right. and in the right. and i love you. you're the only person who has ever shown me kindness. ever gotten inside me.

Lysander: i'm not like that!

woman: i almost laughed. thank you. is the hour up?

Lysander: sure. i love short hours. get paid in full either way.

woman: oh i'm not leaving.

Lysander: please don't kill me.

woman: i'm staying here forever. in our short time i consider you my father. figure. there's nothing out there for me. why should i leave here? to get bullied until i mercifully end myself? till all the fat is sucked out of my body? my body the trap. why has bullying suddenly become a thing again now? it was dormant for much of the '90s. nothing out there but loneliness.

Lysander: grunge united us all for a while. outcasts "R" us. then the internet happened and separated us for good. ah, yes, Emma Thompson. what a wonderful actress. greatest British thespian of all time. shame she got usurped by that other Emma. everyone gets old. alright. but do me a deal. you have to get the food. come on, smile, endorphins and all that. i see you. i see you smile.

woman: *smirk under her breath*

------------------------------

Hartwin is scrollin'.

Hartwin: what's on the old gram today?

underground interviewer: savior if i may. we're up against it.

Hartwin: *still looking down at his phone* that's for sure. hey i'm no Penye. sorry. such a damned distraction.

underground interviewer: i'm running out of battery.

Hartwin: what was i gonna say? i forgot. damn. hate when that happens. my mind loses revenue each time. what's more important, something on instagram or something i generate? oh yes, wait, yes, something i saw on instagram, i want that story of the snow rescue on the top trends. we need more inspo. not room inspo, human inspo. we have to take back our race. Harfi, you can hack in and do that, right? cool. CUL8R. wow, first time i used this thing as an actual phone.

undergrounder: how bout dat LeBron?

Hartwin: who? great story. and notice he had to do it in the hardest way possible. it was never gonna be easy. for it simply isn't what it is if it's simple. we gravitate toward complicatedness. it's almost as if we strive for it. it makes that first juicy bite of that ball all the sweeter. basketballs are large oranges, right?

undergrounder: tru, tru. i mean that's not true, but

Hartwin: i wish i were a CNN cameraguy. i would point my lens to the good, heartfelt, neighbor-helping-neighbor stories. and bankrupt the network within a year. then i'd turn my attention to blogs. and hopefully all blogs would be eradicated soon. enough with the typing. more fists, less fingers.

undergrounder: bloodlust?

Hartwin: lust for something. more. oh yeah, before i forget: the greatest thing you can do for the cause is............stay alive. once you're dead, nobody cares what you think. or what you ever thought.

----------------------------

Bernie returns to the Senate for a long-overdue vote to a rousing standing ovation.

Bernie: *waving dispassionately* thank you thank you. but it's not over yet. one more debate. and i'm really gonna ream her!

the applause dies down.

Senate: what's the point?

*awkward pause that turns into a long time*

Bernie: how do you vote again? you push a button or something? i'm not good with buttons. whatever, it doesn't matter. i'll see myself out. oh, can someone here pay my towing fee? it's just 27 dollars.

Senate: what have you wrought, old man? a republic? you've started another 27 Club.

Bernie: nah, you can't keep that. you can keep that. always bet on yutes. you have to. you have to cultivate young people, they have no ideals, they have idealism. it wasn't a waste. i accomplished what i set out to do. i recaptured my youth.

-------------------------------------

it's Bump's day off. Bump is having a hearing near the barracks and takes this opportunity to cause some mischief. not a crowd, a hearing. he gingerly tiptoes with his purple crayon up to the Gundam at the entrance of the forum and begins to write YOU SUCK on the Gundam chestplate. a horn honks.

Bump: fuck.

Lieu opens up the Gundam automatic hatch and sticks his bedhead head and bedraggled eyes out.

Lieu: man i was sleeping. you know what a commodity that is? richer than gold. you come here without an army? you're stupid i'll give you that.

Lieu sticks a cassette in the

DASHBOARD, CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

Lieu: this really jazzes me up. now that i'm awake. i might as well do something. love that opening rolling snare drumline.

Bump: ugh, turn that drivel off. or at least lower. got run into the ground during the Finals. much like the Warriors. i'm the real warrior. majesty tragedy? lies lies all lies!!! more like your majesty tragedy. soon.

the headlights come on on the Gundam's head and the car alarm blares, scaring the shit out of Bump. the Gundam leaves its moor station on the cut-off stone pillar, cuts its line, and rushes into a couple of yard globes before charging full steam ahead at Bump. Bump is comically chased all around the yard.

Bump: damn you, blood, you'll pay for this.

Lieu: i swear i'm not controlling this, oldhead. tech has a mind of its own. heehee. this is making my wounds heal up real quick. whoo! i know that's right. hey i wanted to sleep. man, never noticed how green the front yard is. exquisite emerald. Wimbledon lawns.

Bump bumps into Hartwin. for the first time.

Bump: don't tell me your name, you're just another grunt. i'll leave. you don't need to cuff me. what's the cable for?

Hartwin: hello there, name's Hartwin. can't shake your hand right now. my hands are always full. like my mom. gonna go train. this? slackline. slack life, you know how it is.

Bump: all this running gave me a limp. bye bye baeless.

__________________________

Lysander: *on the phone* excuse me. no, not you. your cat jumps on top of your bed and on top of your head and looks out the window? even though your window is all the way draped? he looks through the draped window as if it were a pane of clear glass? he doesn't see that it's screened? well don't we all.........................oh, and never waste an opportunity to pet your cat. if he's standing there all bewildered and looking at you by the bedroom door, go over and pet your cat's head. instead of brushing your teeth.

---------------------------------------------

Bump returns to charge his phone on the Gundam's leg.

Lieu: having fun on your day off?

Bump: hardy har har har. i'm missing something important on instagram to do this.

___________________________

Lysander: good evening, Madchen. i used good evening in a sentence. how are you?

Madchen: hello! who dat?

Lysander: dunno. don't mind my new daughter. she's my permanent resident. it's not what you think. you'll have to squeeze in there......yeap....that's right......there, all comfy and against the wall. you deserve better.

Madchen: what else is new. you always say that.

Lysander: oh we had some hotwings and potato wedges at the meat station. tell me about your latest dream.

Madchen: it's Game 7 and i'm up in the stands, in the way back. nobody sees me. they could step on me like a bug i'm so insignificant. i can barely make out what's going on. the lights are hazy and the home crowd is incredulous. in the dimmed din below but i hear the faintest final horn sound off. it's over. LeBron has done it. it's an historic comeback. the refs are slapping LeBron's fives. not without controversy but that's always the case with BronBron. funny how history erases all the details and leaves only the wins. Curry serves everyone in the stands toothpicked chicken samples and thanks the fans for the entire season. the entire season which was a waste. oh that chicken tastes so good! it tastes like chicken but it's been ages since someone cooked for me. that Curry is cute! too cute. like he was too cute with his unnecessary around-the-back passes. this one's gonna sting with the heat of a thousand suns. they let it get away cos they were tired. sleep is so important. that's what happens when you mess with history. LeBron is at the center of the court. he takes off his shirt. all brimming with sweat and barrel-chested and bald. he raises his sword, which is a selfie stick, in victory. he caused this to happen, no one else did. he made Kyrie insane. the one thing the enemy can't plan for is will. there he is, Cleveland Conqueror, Legend of The Land, Returning Hero, like Naruto and the Leaf Village. he wrote the final chapter with his stroke. i glance at the scoreboard, it's stuck on 89 all, frozen in shock at how close this game is. each team is in slow motion. LeBron turns around, fakes, jooks, jives, goes forward only to step back to the 3-point line, Curry's usual shot, to rub it in his face. to answer the instagram critics. and the pundits. and the writers. he can write better. LeBron turns around to go forward. he lifts his shot up. as the buzzer sounds, as it beats into time, it's a swish. nuttin' the net. 92-89. that's how it went down, right?

Lysander: sure. that sounds good. brilliant. you should be a blogger. oh, i don't know how the game went, i haven't looked at my phone today.

Madchen: at the interview, the undergrounder asks LeBron if he would do anything for the team. he of course answers yes. anything.

LeBron: i'd even sub myself out. to coach.

----------------------------

Hartwin is lying down on a long slack line connected between two pink mountains. the purple sky blends into blue, deepening its hue. the wind is stiff but steady. his eyes are closed, half-meditating but mostly sleeping. JUST THEN a pair of hands blocks his view and starts him.

Hartwin: mom?! shit, i almost reflected.

Madchen: peekaboo. peaksaboo. session ran long, sorry. how are you, honey? how's my Hart. what are you doing lying down hanging by a thread? shouldn't you be training upright?

Hartwin: well you are, too. it takes more balance to maintain this position than to walk across. wave to Harfi on the way other end of the line there.

Madchen: i picked up a few tricks. i did fall head over heels, literally, for a helicopter pilot, remember?

Hartwin: actually no, my father died the very same moment you were having me.

Madchen: right. in the war. but at least he died actually on the battlefield and not from some freak accident preparing for the battlefield. for a cause he believed in. it was different then. i was younger. you were his kid but you are my kin. i mean i actually gave birth to you. *waves* hi, Harfi! between you and me i can't see her. come on home for supper, i've made your favorite, spaghetti and meatballs.

Hartwin: i'm on duty, mom. and that barracks food is top-notch. i haven't had spaghetti in ages.

Madchen: i knew it! they're starving you over there! some sort of sick program they have you on! you deserve better. they won't miss you all the way out here.

Hartwin: they see everything. but they don't know everything. yet. that's our advantage. i hope. loook at this place. magnificent. unspoilt natural beauty. we have to enjoy this before it's all gone. we have to soak up this tranquility, store it in our pores so we can come back to it and recharge when we're depleted. muscle memory's important but sense memory is all.................*non-awkward pause*...................and it will be all gone. sooner than anyone can imagine. nation-states are breaking apart. unaligning. dividing. looking for the exit. it's everyman for himself. emphasis on man. the knock-on effect will be more walls. what's so good about independence? it's lonely.

Hartwin is chugging a large bottle of coconut punch and chowing down on a potato tornado. as he tries for his latest swig, his mouth moves awkwardly and the skewer of his potato tornado cuts into the slack line! snapping it instantaneously. enough time for Madchen to turn her head and clearly see Harfi on the other end with an O face and the palms of Harfi's hands on her puffy red cheeks. no last chew. but potential for another crunch. mother and son plummet.

quickly Hartwin instincts. he wraps himself into a ball all around his mother, with his fist grabs the highest point he can on the falling line, Tarzan yells, and swings for dear life in a duo to the other side. safely landing on a jutting cliff below over there.

Madchen: phewwwwwwwwwwww!!! whoo! are you okay, honey?! thank god for your training! this is my kind of vine.

Hartwin: not my training. my love of films.

this causes a slight disturbance in the atmosphere but soon the surrounding silence settles, the mountain brooks babble, the trees rustle, Harfi laughs, the frog and toad whir, and the cotton candy clouds wisp in a circle before returning to their original shape.






Monday, June 20, 2016

TMIT: SAD SUMMER












no, not the Game of Thrones thing, it was the series finale of Vicious last night. i am so depressed. more than usual. i'll miss inhabiting those intimate characters and that intimate world. Ash will make it in New York, unfortunately. Mason and Violet are soulmates. i'm so happy: all you can ask for in life. i don't watch Game of Thrones!!!

1. you are looking at your lover. you say "i'd love to_______." love you. both meanings.

2. in a chat with your best female friend you say, "you look really sexy when you wear______." platonic pants

3. name the one piece of lingerie you'd love to see a man wear. a One Piece union suit. with Luffy's face on the man's crotch.

4. i wish i did more_________in bed: CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

5. i ABSOLUTELY love when you kiss my_________ uvula. thank you. i couldn't say thank you without my uvula.

bonus: tell us your favorite sexual memory of you and your most current or recent lover: we're strollin'. on the beach. at moonlight. it's not a sad summer. it's a sand summer. JUST THEN The Sandman approaches and lures us to his summer cabin before disappearing. there's nothing we can do, he has us under his spell. there at the cabin, Neil Gaiman is giving a lecture. my most recent current lover and i decide to see where the evening takes the three of us. the spell worked. the lecture is so boring we both fall fast asleep.

CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY






Friday, June 17, 2016

AZIZ IF YOU PLEASE


learned:

* warning: sponsored content

* not everyone can live in the white house.

* this saddens me. i mean what i wouldn't give to have long hair like that and you callously rip it off.

* warning: a lot of shouting, wailing, crying, and cursing at one's fate. don't watch at night, you'll scare the neighbors. don't watch at day, you'll scare your sleeping cats.

* never leave your door unlocked.

* he's wearing a black suit. on stage that always means something.

* bacon: there will be a reckoning.

* people, people who need people...............sometimes need to be alone...

* this is reverse Animal Farm.

* mud pie, not the same as dirt pie

* relationships are hard

* don't worry, just a green shirt, not the Hulk

* his voice isn't weird. your ears are weird.

* that's what God looks like?................okay, yeah, that makes sense...

* advising the internet? he's the devil

* lies save lives

* do you know who i am?

* pizza: there will be a reckoning.

* God's wrath

* you can't really have two best friends.

* yep, the ol' internet black hole. or rather the wikipedia Great Blue Hole as in all those shiny blue links. damn you, wikipedia, you know exactly what you're doing! make all those blue links black so we can't see them.

* the sign for jizz and sprinkler are the same, gotta watch yourself when you're in polite company at a summer soiree.

* clap on, clap off, the clapper! didn't you see that commercial? the clapper is only for old ladies.

* not part of the show but an aside: hey guys, it's finally happened: i'm full crazy.

* Frieza

CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

happy weekend. have fun tonight!

Wednesday, June 15, 2016

FOR A SUN: STATUS



Mickey Bump combs his long luxurious hair in his long luxurious mirror. there are no more falling strands, just power lines. his head glows orange.

Bump: waiting for the day it favors the more gold color. this comb is hard on my thumbs.

his first official crowd of the campaign is a small one in his office that ever so invisibly starts to fill with the rocks and rolls and taunts and blistering negativity and scary energy that will inhabit his spaces from now on. they crowd his desk but know better than to touch him. a black man with a poodle cut in a purple jumpsuit storms the desk to a chorus of bitter boos and jerk jeers.

Bump: this is the year of death. it's all around us, folks. we wait on pins and needles which have turned into swords and knives. not a question of when but what time. death comes in threes in communities. the time to act was yesterday. so you got me now. it's either us or them. you're either right or wrong. status quo or strongman. your decision. actually my decision. always beware the fighter who is not naturally inclined to fight. when you go up against a man who has been forced to fight, the gloves and the rules slide off. are you gonna let the same thing happen again and again and again for eternity? you gonna let those with more power dance on you? or you gonna rise from your grave and grab their shovel and konk them on the head?

Lieu: and you don't care about us. don't turn this atrocity into more of your division demagoguery.

*boo*

Bump: wait, let him speak. i'm nothing. if not fair. he's my only one in here. that takes guts, i can respect that. what's your name, son?

Lieu: hell no i'm your father my father came before your father they call me Lew as in Lieu as in in lieu of any sort of justice our people get as in lieu meaning Light as in i'm the light of the world as i stroke the side of my dark-skinned chin as in Love as in i represent no i present a lifestyle you backwoods hicks could never git i am love in its purest sense i am love not from the magazine but from the codeine secret and ashamed cos i was born this way in the wrong decade i wish i was born in the struggle so i'd appreciate it more now that it will all be stripped away and we will be left with nothing but the shattered tatters of our quilt why is humanity so dense? the cro-magnons with heavier heads were smarter cos they couldn't be bothered with inane things like skin color and fuck color if you could harvest the seed you was in the crew not a bureaucrat but a failureat Lou as in your typical standard lou walking down your warzone street filled with so much metal there's no room for steel chiraq pilladelphia los deviles crooklyn washington bullets as in Lieu as in Lieutenant as in bow down to your master slave we bout to git it in here see if you can catch my hands strongman i'm the livest cat that's ever gonna scratch ya dig?

the savage crowd is simmering with rage, which is always worse then being full-blown with it. they strip Lieu of his purple suit of the purple clan, a subset that isn't recognized as one of the two major parties in this country. Lieu laughs freely.

Lieu: oooh that was some flow. i surprised myself, which is a blessing nowadays. mixtape out this Tuesday, voting day, for all you in the know and on the go. coming to a drone near you.

Bump: don't get him outta here! let him stew in his shame!

Lieu: thank you, my niggas, just like old times in the bush. i feel so connected to my ancestors this naked but not for a reality show. please, rough me up. i rought. you may make me bleed but you'll never kill the idea of it. look not at your past for that would mean you kill yourselves.

Bump: animals! i'm not a cat person. i'm a ball person.

Lieu: figures. all you care about is hair. they slaughter us but we're not real people so nobody cares. we are the last expendables, the bad kind not the badass kind. we deserved it. nature's way. the only way we will break free from you and your dogs, the new boss replacing the old boss, is to find a boss cat who's been there, who's felt my feel, who knows what it's like to be downtrodden, dismissed, dissected. forgotten as futile. who has to decide on cold nights whether to eat the penny or use it to buy food. you will never understand. and we need more understanding, less platitudes. more quid pro quo, less quotes. but without expecting anything in return. treat others. that's it. treat someone other than yourself.

Lieu's body begins to evince purple stains. he holds up an oldskool boombox over his head with the last of the strength in his thumbs.

CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK FOR THE SONG IN THE TAPEDECK

Lieu: now see this what imean. that isn't dancing from a professional, that's moving your body to the natural pulse of the universe. everyone CAN dance. just like everyone CAN sing, Jeff Goldblum taught us that. don't ever let professionalism provoke passion. so pure, i love it.

Bump: this vicious attack was perpetrated on our fellow hurting different weak and vulnerable brothers and sisters by our own government. the President is in league with the other side. he's the boss alright, the boss of the bad guys! main man mullah. he's a baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad man. you see how perfect this is for them. they'll never take you seriously folks, their system is too perfect, you need me to punch down that wall. now i'll leave history to judge which side was good and which bad but they most definitely did this to mindfuck with us and feed the conspiracy. they have more terrorists working for them training in underground bunkers around this country in places of worship than you could ever imagine, even those of you into pulp comics and Clancy espionages. time to band together and form one unified army against the real enemy.

Lieu holds up a newspaper which draws temporary oohs and aahs as this the last known newspaper to exist.

Lieu: allow me to read the reviews of Spike's latest: thought-provoking, poetic, shining a light on gun violence and bigotry and competing feelings which always seem to explode under the guise of something larger than oneself...

Bump: fooey. from that liberal new york rag.

Lieu: no, this is from the Washington Post.

Bump: it's all media imperialism. cultural imperialism. imperialism. i learned that word from my god today. i banned the Washington Post. it's not fair but i can do that. man, fuck that urban noise!

Lieu: i cry but my tears are brown. i can say i'm sad but it doesn't matter cos i'm a nobody. are you sad, sir? cos only that matters. you can do something about it.

Bump: it's true, i've been finding my words carry a lot more weight than they used to. it's strange cos i'm always the joking guy with the mook accent, y'know? i dunno. now that it's getting serious i'm starting to lose interest. the ratings are sagging. and i need them to always be firm and plump. it's still fun using this pulpit as a bully. i don't get sad, i get even.

Lieu: before me and my fam are carted off, i will filibuster a few more. haul me if you must but never hate me. sir, i ask you, what is your favorite film? don't answer that. just, as you go on on this track, always think of that movie before you start your latest speech, as your lips purse and lick the microphone. always have that favorite film in your heart, that's all i ask.

Lieu raises his hands for the last time and chants PENYE! PENYE! PENYE! before getting konked on the head.

at the roman-style barracks, which are the only old thing in the otherwise computerized shiny futuristic utopian compound, the two soldiers share a time in Hartwin's bed playing loteria and sucking on uiro from overseas. there are two other walls of note, the one by the far entrance which still houses in stone the immortal Latin letters

IBI NIHIL PUNCTUM, QUOD EST PUNCTUM

which were finally unearthed on a tablet at the bottom of the ocean after decades of sweeping, and the gray cobbled platform daises out front, the one flat with the Medici lion and the one symbolic empty one on which just recently a Gundam was placed as a joke.

Hartwin: don't know how to play but these cards are kyute!

Harfi (laughing): i'll learn ya. i'm a native bitch *laughing, constantly on her phone* you better move that Gundam inside before it gets vandalized.

Hartwin draws a scrotum on his scutum.

Hartwin: and i'm a native witch. your vandal is my graffiti artist. hey if my structures don't get touched how do i know that they're appreciated. only thing worse than a blank sheet of paper is a sheet of paper with just your scribbles on it.

Harfi: i'm getting calls from all the underground organizations. and the aboveground ones. and some aboveboard ones, too. they want another speech. you're Lincoln! they love your zeit but especially your geist. your no-ethics ethic. meta. you're a rock star after one viral hit. you know how viral sensations go. what should i tell them?

Hartwin: nah. i'm no great orator. i'm more into platitudes. aphorisms. sayings. stuff that's easily culled and fits onto a white instagram square. i'm lazy.

Lieu barges into the dorm door and lands on Hartwin's lap and kisses him on the mouth.

Hartwin: whoa! i can taste your blood. unexpected affection, that's a fate worse than death.

Lieu's black eyes sparkle as he waits for the verdict.

Hartwin with guppy mouth: that was nice. it's weird kissing someone when they're naked.

the fan above Hartwin's room silently buzzes.

Hartwin (without looking up): give me the phone.

Harfi (smirking): oh darn, i was just about to send you nudes when your mom's face plastered all over my bush. i'm gonna need therapy for that freudian slide.

Hartwin: don't bother.

Harfi: your mom or the nudes?

Hartwin: wait i just trapped a lightning bolt.

he pushes the hold button for his mom as he answers the reporters, the ones reporting back to the other heads of the new forming state. resisting with resistance. coalescing around his outer circle.

Hartwin: yes. it's me. voice recognition not working? been nursing a cold. or a fever. whichever one makes me hot. yes, how about this one: join gangs. they have your back, they won't shoot you in the back. they'll shoot you in the front. they have quotes, not quotas. most importantly, you can stay up late and sleep in.

Hartwin: *push* hello mother...........hi, mom.

Madchen: i love you. hi honey, it's me. you know it's me i don't have to say mom. waiting for you to come home this weekend i'm getting an early start and baking your favorite chocolate chip cookies in my adult easy-bake oven with the whirring fan. on a Thursday. i realize they'll be cold when you come so we'll just have to warm things up together. speaking of fans, do you check the fan in your room? make sure it has batteries, i don't want you getting hot. i hate those hazard revolving blades...

Hartwin: um, mom, is it this weekend? wait, *push*

Hartwin: hello? yes. me again. this one: the only way to combat total insanity is to be a little less insane.

Hartwin:...hello, mom?

Madchen:...so that's how my day went. and my week, just multiply that by 7. looking forward to your visit, Hartwin. i named you that for a reason. call me anytime. i'll call you anytime. good night, dear. snug in your bed. on my head. gnsd. dream. i loove you. it's me, your mom.

Bump Tower:

Bump: god is dead. religion is evil. but Codrus is cool, right?

the crowd politely claps.

Bump: hey who's this broad? you from Atlanta? i don't like disguises. i don't like fakery. take your clothes off.

a woman wearing a Carmen Sandiego fedora and broad coat is spotted by the monolith and pushed onstage. she trips on her heels.

Bump: lost your way, sweetheart? face? body? how can i judge you when you're so covered up? i need something to fill into my /10s. as a 10. what's your name, my nigga?

Doreen: please, sir, i just want to get the fuck out of here. i'm Doreen Chatman, uh, Chatsworth, i'm from Chatsworth, CA, uh i mean Catsworth. i lost my way after a tragedy.

Bump: haven't we all.

Doreen: where's the nearest train?

Bump: right here in my office with all the folks!

the crowd laughs. but it's not a natural laugh, it's a programmed laugh.

Bump: don't know actually. but i'm sure wherever it is the station runs on time. you can't run away, though. no one can. not anymore. it's different this time. you have to choose. really choose. you must decide on a track. choose, not coast.

Lysander's office:

Lysander, on his phone of course, scowling: what? ma'am, what? your cat is suffocating you?! oh, figuratively. you always forget to turn on the lights at night cos you're so busy? by the time you remember the damn house is pitch black and cold as fuck cos all the windows are still open and undraped? you feel for your kitty scared in the dark? well tell him to get off his tiny heinie and do the windows himself, he's got two paws! okay, put him on the phone.

cat: hello?

Lysander: you gotta help out, man, you can't puss out. your hooman is crazy. she's getting on my nerves. make that your daily chore from now on. the gig is up, you gotta work for your treats now.

cat: hello? yes, um, y'know that dog-licking thing from snapchat? too much tongue. i can't fucking stand it!!!

Lysander: i know, bro. you're preaching to the non-denominational choir. it was funny at first. but it's not cute anymore. it's exhausting.

JUST THEN a severely overweight woman crashes the door down and with frantic eyes and hookladder arms grips onto the doctor with a suffocating hug and desperate cadence.

woman: PLEASE PLEASE please! you're my only hope! i can't turn around. save me. i don't want to die. look at me. really look at me.

Lysander looks not at the huge body but at the face and sees the pink water rolling down her eyes into her fat rolls, gluing them shut.

woman: i am here because i was told through electronic channels that you are the only man in the world who still carries this medicine. kindness.




Monday, June 13, 2016

TMIT: LIGHT







real Archer was driving the truck, clone's in the pool.

1. do you obsess about having an orgasm during partner sex? are you disappointed if you don't orgasm? i tried to fake it once but i was all sticky afterwards so that gave it away. y'know you really shouldn't obsess over things, it just saps you of energy. i obsess about coffee when my energy is low.

2. why are you into gay porn? cos i like all porn, i think of porn more as art. i took a porn-as-art class in college.

3. why are you not into gay porn? this is confusing. i remember that class. i did well in it cos i had a crush on the ginger teacher who was younger than me. she had a mane of wild hair. she visited me at my apartment and we watched Northern Exposure together. i got an A in the course. i am grateful for that exposure.

4. do you use drugs to have or enhance sex? yes, alcohol is a drug. i can't perform without my nerds in my bed. my Nerds candy drizzled all over and Mark Zuckerberg under the sheets. i'm with the consensus, modest is nice but Zuckerberg really should have gone for the Jetsons house. R.I.P. Janet Waldo

5. do you believe you are much more sexually open-minded/risky/kinky than most of your previous partners and friends? y'know Kinky Boots? my kinky boot came to life and talked to me. i tried to sell the rights of my story to Disney but they didn't believe it. Michael Eisner in the meeting was in a rush to see Hamilton. *sigh* how soon everyone forgets.

bonus: do you believe in ethical non-monogamy, even if it isn't right for you? why or why not? sure, live and let live. the only ethic i have is the artist's ethic. (i'm so sorry, Dali, but i slept with your imaginary friend Dullita. we didn't intend for this but one thing led to another. we were discussing art and imaginariness and it just happened. please forgive me, my hero.)

CLICK HERE FOR TMI TUESDAY






Friday, June 10, 2016

SPEAKING OF GARDENING...


learned:

* i love this stuff. i live for this stuff. i love shorts. which is ironic cos i haven't worn shorts in 20 years. this is like if adult swim and Imagemakers on PBS had a baby. a baby who grew up to be Wes Anderson.

* frog team? i'm not Navy SEAL material.

* I FOREVER HATE ALL ANIMAL ABUSE . ART IS NEVER AN EXCUSE.

* play Jerry Cantrell's Boggy Depot in the background as you watch this.

* it's when he rubs himself in the back of his pants you should worry.

* it's all grass in the end.

* shovel privileges suspended. for one week.

* don't play with your rolling cart like that, there are cameras everywhere.

* still scratching my head over the female voice narration. not sure what they were going for there. does anyone know Wes Anderson's instagram?

* this is getting ridiculous. we are being reduced to suitcase gas. when is that renewable energy from the alien ship coming?

* sugar sludge, also known as: sugar

* oh i see, it's the woman in the blue shirt, cap, and bottle in her butt. she's the worm who's taken over the dude's body, i'm tryna keep up.

* we missed you, Hotel Hell.

* dude, it's just carrots.

* first time in my life i'm rooting for the cops

* solution: don't go to the bathroom.

* God is Pepe Le Pew. and we are the cat with the white stripe on our back.

* filthy hippie Berniebot Sanderista cosplayers

* current mood: dumb/happy. thanks, Kurt.

* a sock filled with...white jewels

* you can grin, but you can't grin aggressively.

* just don't go to any Christmas parties with the mayor

* a denial died on my tongue: wish i could write like that.

* the mayor WISHES he was Hugh Hefner.

* that's the problem, the mayor can't give himself a one-week shovel suspension. Vermin Supreme 2016

CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

happy weekend


Wednesday, June 8, 2016

FOR A SUN: THE ONE GUILELESS JOURNEY


the figure stands in between the one Medici lion and the one exploded space at the hemicycle of stone steps to the forum. in his tattered blue jumpsuit. his voice booms though it's illegal to use microphones. he is handsome and strong. he comes from a different age. a different sentiment. a different time. a different world. he has a babyface but he's an assassin. he has long hair though his hair is short. regulation for the right.

Hartwin: we live in death. our culture is speed to the grave. what are we doing? no, seriously. this is not like those other times. previous generations who clung to hope. backward folk who denied logic in the face of their beliefs. for you see it's not a matter of belief anymore. the future is now because it is gone.

the knives of the knife storm are tearing him to shreds but he doesn't move a muscle from his stance as the blood pools below. save his mouth. the crowd starts to notice and collect and strum up.

Hartwin: this is not my training. this is my humanity. for this is all we have left. this is what we are. our experience is our only experience. we are not divine beings, we are merely here. whatever it is that we are. and we are at war. it is not ours to wonder why. we never had control. the time for thinking has passed. sadly. oh what i would give to be solving infinity through an equation rather than confronting it. mathematical. a philosopher is only as good as his publisher. we are of no affiliation other than our asses. saving them. even our assholes. we search not for god but for our next meal. drink alone, it's better that way.

the crowd is bloodied but steadfast. the rain is interfering with the knives, dulling their blades and cooling their wounds. nature finds a way.

crowd: how are you talking to us?

Hartwin: i speak up. man Bump is dumb. so unoriginal. he can't come up with his own battle strategy so he lifts techniques from a kid's cartoon. a brilliant one but he'd be better served with Tom and Roadrunner. the classics. he can't control something so indie. he has taste, i'll only give him that.

crowd: no way Bump is making this happen! it's someone higher.

Hartwin: perhaps. in my short time i've come to believe in magic. and that nothing is magic. what seemed impossible is a memory. this is a good thing. but by the same token what has killed the wizard has also killed the priest. beware of collections. spread out whenever possible. cause? we have no cause. cause is code for collection. a cause is created when there is no destination. no finality. i mean we gotta do something to pass the space, yamean? my brothers and sisters who i will never be related to, i know discrimination. i'm German for fuck sake.

there's a strange rise in the crowd. smiles seep through the standard sullenness. the blank faces chuckle before they all forget how to laugh.

Hartwin: it's not funny ha-ha. nor funny strange. it's funny Earth. what i wouldn't give to be back at the academy in my geta wasting time with those fake fights and fake grades. sex is pointless so you'd see me Saturdays nights curled up in bed with rollers in my hair and the latest copy of Freundin magazine in my clean hand.

crowd: our wrestler is dead...

Hartwin: ...and with him, our last mentor. that was back when wrestling was real. when sports mattered. i loved it when he sparred with Howard the Pluck on those ABC telecasts, back when there were three channels instead of these horrid ubiquitous screens. these sport figures were agents for real social change, social justice, criminal justice, poor justice. cos THEY were the internet in those days. their words carried more weight than presidents.

crowd: that's like now.

Hartwin: more weight than popes.

crowd: *gasp*

Hartwin: he was the most popular man in the world. i remember my first academy quiz and the question everyone gets. remember how you answered the fame question? the teacher was flabbergasted that i was calling him the most popular man in the world. she scoffed and thought it was a trick subjective question. but i was stating this as cold hard fact. she obviously wasn't a wrestling fan. nor a justice fan. our Brother is gone. toward the way of his religion of peace. does he inspire you? eh, what does it matter now? are you angry with the way things are? do you want to do something about it? why? something and nothing are the same thing.

crowd: we share that gut feeling. do you believe in Jesus?

Hartwin: of course, i'm Jesus! and i hate rap music. i won't bless you, that's arrogant. i won't bless you with my arrogance.

crowd: do you believe in the hair whorl?

Hartwin: it doesn't matter what i believe, it matters what i don't do. i leave the door open for you. sure, go ahead, check my head. watch for lice, i skipped that day at the academy.

crowd: oh my C! it's true! you have the hair whorl! you really are the chosen one!

Hartwin: told ya. what clans are all y'all?

crowd: OBEY CLAN!

Hartwin: huh. The Obey Clan is drowning out other responses. don't blame you. artistic. all-encompassing. Andre the Giant was a giant. don't matter none. but you might as well be an artist.

crowd: Borromean rings!

Hartwin: overlapping circles grid? give me the Flower of Life, the Olympics scare me. go on now. go out there. blow up their buildings. fight fire with ice. you might as well before they blow up your buildings. i won't remember you when you blast off for the last time. but you'll remember you. with that, here is my adieu to the highest bidder. i really gotta get out of this weather. my body really hurts. i'm not that brave.

Hartwin exits through the entrance and spies Harfi fiddling with her pads behind the first tall house plant.

Hartwin: *external sigh* at least the second tree, man, come on.

Harfi is also wearing the blue jumpsuit, but less tattered. she has that typical female face, y'know?, that can't be disguised with a shaved head with no special markings.

Harfi: i love fucking with the drones. i attached a mic to them and they'll never guess how. you give good speech! you can't lead worth shit but you'd make one hell of a politician!

instagram these days is terrible. it's loads of the same batch of countless meaningless watered-down ineffectual quotes and pics of pics of food. and other horrible bits too ghastly to mention. but every so often a pic came along that would inspire. one came in the middle portion of the NBA Finals of LeBron  James in his mansion mirror standing shirtless and barrel-chested tats blazing smiling as he shaved his beard with an old-fashioned longblade. artists noted the symbolic aspect of the blade near his face, seeing as he was down 0-2. others just thought it was a damn good pic and it got the most likes in instagram history.

Lysander (holding his pad looking at the LeBron pic): huh. they're still going through with the NBA Finals in this war weather? well good for them. that's what sports are good for now.

Lysander practices at Furnace Fell near the last hermitage.

Madchen is lying on the long gilded arched buttoned couch in her slight pink nightgown.

Madchen: got a thin headache. they're worse than migraines. stop stroking your long flowing beard, it's weird. you looked better cleanshaven.

Lysander: sorry, the monks have gotten to me in my old age. i counsel them but they really counsel me. i'm a fraud for accepting money to be on their council. but it's just money. turn up the radio?

Madchen: god no! state radio ruined my eardrums. i only trust what i see.

........................

Madchen: say something! do something! it's too quiet! i hate silence!

Lysander: you're lucky i still have my record player. last one. the last deductible of my last taxes. doctor confidentiality. and my mom called me a hoarder for all my vinyl.

*CLICK* CLICK HERE, RIGHT HERE AT THIS LINK

Madchen: ah, it soothes, it doesn't create the beast. works better than any of your hypnotic hypothetic pathetic techniques.

*ring ring*

Madchen: damn you.

Lysander (holding his finger up as he answers his pad): yes, excuse me? again? your cat pooped in the barrel of kitty litter as you were emptying the litter box? well you can't blame the cat now can you. i mean what is he supposed to think? pizza? no, i can't make you a pizza right now. *click* sorry, people are getting edgy about everything as the number of authorities are dwindling.

.........................

Lysander: i'm not a real doctor. speaking of, i checked your schedule. is it gonna be major?

Madchen: are you spying on me? no. but then again there's no such thing as minor surgery. it's on my butt. fuck my life.

Lysander: go on. if you're gonna be angry it might as well be about your past, not your future.

Madchen: i remember the last time i saw her. she always made it a point to announce when she was leaving the house. i took that for granted. i miss her voice. what's the point of wells anyway? i couldn't save her. she was my only sister. only sibling. we were twins. in spirit anyway. we were war orphans. the thing is, i tried, i had the strength to pull that rope up. i in fact pulled the rope up. all the way up. but it wasn't enough. how can you try with all your might and still lose? why are we human?

Lysander: they don't teach that stuff at the academy.

Madchen: i better stop now, i'm getting angry.

Lysander: that's kinda the point of all this.

Madchen: there's a point? to all this? later, doc. or, man. i better get home before my cold pizza heats up. gonna see how my son is by clicking off the screens.

Lysander: i won't wish you well.

Madchen: thanks. he needs all the help. he's not safe. he's crazy.