Wednesday, September 9, 2015


(it won't be! cool.)

Kenyatta is in bed with Bridge embracing her awkwardly on the forehead as she thinks deeply. they are completely naked but wrapped artistically in a swaddling white linen with just their interlocked toes playfully touching poking through at the bottom. rather like a master's painting.

Kenyatta kisses Bridge's breast after licking away Bridge's raven curl, moving it from nipple to areola.

Kenyatta (breathily): missed you.

Bridge: you missed this.

Kenyatta: yes. time and death make the heart grow fonder. i'm having an existential crisis.

Bridge: or a midlife one. how did you escape the clutches of that creep?

Kenyatta: i convinced Codrus i was spying for him the whole time even when it looked like i wasn't. and i wasn't. i'm so confused. why am i doing this again?

Bridge: no one can swim in your lane. but you do know you're doing it for me. and by extension the migrants sleeping downstairs. it's worth the risk cos at the end of the universe is our humanity.

Kenyatta: yeah been meaning to ask you about them. when did you grow a conscience? i was scared of orgasming as loudly as i normally do, didn't want to wake them.

Bridge: last week. went to The Store for some cold cuts. as i slide my card in the notice pops up on the screen asking if i'd like for them to take ten bucks out of my account for the needy. my guffaw was louder than your orgasm, spreading throughout the store like when they use that microphone to announce cleanup on aisle 9. the man behind the deli counter felt bad but laughed with me.

Kenyatta: he just wanted to hit that. your irresistibleness will always paper over any personality defects.

Bridge: but something clicked in me as the man handed me my paperthin meat wrapped in brown paper. he wasn't smiling anymore cos he was the needy. for the first time i felt my birth station in life and felt bad. he didn't look at me and went right back to work nervously cutting tomatoes. i paused there for a long minute. i went back home to this island retreat and clicked on the drones. of course the reality show i chose was interrupted by the continuous live reports on the migrant crisis and it shattered me. serendipity, huh?

Kenyatta: nah, just the universe. sometimes all it takes is a click in your head, like a remote-control click. of course it's not sudden or strange, it accumulated over a life and finally builds up enough pressure inside your brain to flow in another direction. you just never noticed it over the sound of your privileged laughs.

Bridge: i'm a changed woman. now don't you change and bring me drama now that mines is all sorted. please tell me you're not succumbing to those terrible Stones. that stuff isn't drugs, it's life.

Kenyatta: of course not, babe (she says as she checks her instagram. on her DMs is a message from Codrus detailing her next mission and special-linking to a separate password-protected webpage where to push the big yellow button YES? if Kenyatta wants the Stones directly administered to her bloodstream via the tardigrade Codrus implanted in her to keep tabs on her. Kenyatta had pushed this yellow button before her treacherous swim, that more than her will or anything is probably how she survived. she hesitates, circling her finger around the button.)

Bridge: what's that?

Kenyatta (quickly hides the screen from the bushel of raven curls): nothing.

Bridge (pushing another remote control): you don't need that lowly instagram here, dear, remember?

the ceiling mirror flips over and out pops through the wall a giant Minority Report screen full of all the digital communications of everyone in the world flashing in lightning speed. it's like the communication back and forth between all the shapes of God. so many trillions of messages at once. Kenyatta smiles when she locks onto a specific girl who keeps sending out the same message day after day: HELLO. WANNA CHAT ABOUT LIFE? to anyone out there, it's like this girl will always be available in case you were busy one day, you know she will be there and you can contact her tomorrow, she won't miss you ever.

Bridge: i'm not being a gracious host. join us downstairs for scones and cold tea. the stories these migrants tell will show us reality. your attention will be rapt.

Kenyatta: sure, in a short minute, i don't need to brush my teeth, the seawater scrubbed them for me. tell those migrants to always walk. you tell those fugees to never trust trains. don't worry, they'll be safe here, they won't be tracked, bagged, numbered, and camped like meat.

Bridge leaves.

Kenyatta (whisperly): be happy. all i know is that i come from a long line of strong women. i need to focus on my lineage, not my lines.


Gora misses the beautiful big oak tree he used to play his sitar under. it simply disappeared undernight as he slept.


Bump is watching the tennis. he's watching the tennis actually being in the tennis stadium where the big event is taking place. it also happens to be the start of the next presidential debate.

Cameraguy: just call me the cameraguy. from CNN. we have to start the debate.

Bump (watching the action intently): the what? oh, i forgot about that. i'll do it from here. wait, i'll comment after the point is finished. oh what a shoelace volley! i can't believe the other sister came back to win the next set and even the match! this is wild! exciting. this is what America is all about, these two legends battling it out on the court here, it's all on display right there. it's all about family, family first, well god first, then family, then work if we get the jobs back. to try that shot on set point...down...that is an open-mouther. oh but i better not open my mouth, another cat flea might get in.

Cameraguy: i'm filling in for Wolf, he's busy with something. Mr. Bump, are you using these sisters to score political points, saying that their story from adversity to acclaim is uniquely American?

Bump: are you one of my writers that i had to boot for impropriety? yes that's what i'm saying. actually no, i'm just flabbergasted at this sport, what's this thing called again?

Cameraguy: surely you know of tennis, you must have played it before, watched it, built a resort court with a diamond surface, isn't the court where deals are made? negotiating over Novak? this is the ultimate white man's sport.

Bump: take a look below, take a look around, the demographics are changing, you either adapt or inept. no i don't know what tennis is but i'm fascinated like the everyman.

Cameraguy: what's that smell? it's coming from the back of your shirt. Mr. Bump, why is there a brown trackmark on the tail of your professional shirt?

Bump: PEE YOU! you're right. and it stinks more in this nighttime sun. what can i say. no really, what can i say? i'm just like you, i sometimes don't wipe properly, i'm just an ordinary hardworking smelly working-class American tryin to get by while The Man takes the money and runs. i don't have time for hygiene, i'm tryin to feed my family on peanuts. um miss, can i borrow your peanuts? oh these peanuts are so good, want some? we done here?

Cameraguy: no, the debate has just started. i'm getting an email filled with many negative emojis from Rand Paul asking me to ask you about the au pair.

Bump: we've been through this, my hair is real. that guy whines too much.

Rand Paul (through the screen): but you are The Man.

Bump: yes i am.

the crowd Bronx-cheers.


Cotard is naked in the lotus position, his toepoint balancing his entire weight.

Erneste: you are doing so well, fam. you have done so well. i am so proud of you. i see that you are in a deep meditation, no outside distraction can break your link to your memories. much like Anakin when he was too far gone and deep within the purple bubbly ocean of his hate, drowning in it...except the other way around. tell me what you see.

Cotard (without opening his eyes): my mother, that beautiful woman. that woman of which i know only and only know. she is woman to me. i remember toward the end she would enter my room trying on various dresses and blouses for church and seeing which one i liked best. it was like a cheesy '80s montage but it wasn't bad, it was sad. she would ask me after each dress, "how do you like your mother?" that made me cry, don't know why, i was still in that liquid state of tears, drowning in it. "here, ma," i'd tell her, "here are some pins, your clothes are getting tatters and holes at the hem there." "thank you darling," she'd say, "don't want to show anything. blessed are the poor, huh?" "in spirit" i silently finished her sentence about me in my head. and then another time when i was feeling myself, hopped up on my new education and i remember telling her all about the glorious tenets of atheism as if i had invented it, i was flourishing in my praise of a book i picked up at a college table that had a cool cover of that Michelangelo painting with God instead smoking a blunt with Adam. i spoke freely of freedom and with each of my mad pronouncements a little bit of her soul crushed inside, you could see it on her face, she was trying to understand but her brow furrowed but she was happy for me but confused. she was being held together with pins.


Wolf: honey please tell me how to do this.

Cub: what's going on? hey is this Baleen's account? it's private, though, how did i get access to it?

Wolf: sometimes you push the wrong button, or the right one. his latest entry is indicating that he plans to off himself. how do you send a warning to him or instagram or someone, y'know? this man has kids, i've seen his previous pics. quick, i'm trying to show i care, Daughter!

Cub: Daughter? this must be serious. um, here...

Wolf: let me do it, *push*

Cub: yeah, that's it. an emergency email was sent, drone triangulation in process, an ambulance is speeding on its way right now to his house.

Wolf: i'll pay for the speeding ticket. who is this guy anyway?

Cub: Baleen? think Cobain but like if he were the third guitarist of a bad struggling local cover band. i only know of him through Follow Friday.

Wolf: and who says social media is a cancer on society?

Cub: you do.


Codrus walks down the long silver hallway of the office, his hand firmly on Atalan's shoulder.

Codrus: let's walk and talk.

Atalan: are you okay, boss? i'm not sure what happened to me. i don't remember what i did but i remember it was big. did i make the news?

Codrus: of course, you're the next big thing. but you are the current big thing, you're in the middle of the cycle. don't take any calls for interviews, you are mine, you are this company's, i'm protective of my workers. did you get the Stones i sent you?

Ata: about that...

Codrus: shhh, i know, keep them hidden, DON'T show your coworkers. you're special, my friend, i saw that from jump, the yellow stuff is just a way to take the edge up, to accentuate your native talents. i don't give out my stash to anyone you know, it's precious. i have to slap myself sometimes, i can't believe how much progress i've made in so short a time. also i slap myself to keep me from partaking, can't blow the profits by blowing it up my nose, gotta keep a sober distance. i'll make you a deal, stop doing what you just did and i'll give you all the money you want. you can pursue your artistic and athletic dreams worry-free. you'll be more famous than me, and for something much more noble. whaddya say? think about it for a long minute. i've wired the money to your ATM downstairs, the one on the street. what's your PIN number? haha just kidding i know it. i know all your passwords, too.

Ata leaves taking the stairs.

Codrus (calling Bump): thought those terrorists were a sure thing, i paid them enough to be.

Bump: they did their job, they burned the tree, i was right there, maybe like a minute late, i stopped for lunch, but what happened? who is this Attila the Hun guy?

Codrus: Atalan you numbskull, don't you watch the news?, we make it after all. i'm keeping him closer. there's a lot of air in that big head of yours, huh? everyone thinks you're playing dumb but i know better. you had one job. this was supposed to be your moment where you saved the tree and we marked another defining moment in the death of religion in this world.

Bump: yes, there's a lot of hair on my head. what's our next move?

Codrus: MY next move is...i dunno, it's been harder than i thought to orchestrate world events, too many damn variables, the final solution is to eliminate all variables. he's been paid off but what do i do the next time the next Atalan comes around? i'm still in training, i still can't quite yet get into someone's head and control them. and torture is so uncivilized, so old-world.

Bump: that's gonna be so fucking awesome when we can all mind-read. instagram will look silly then. okay, boss, good talk, i'll see you later, Serena is serving for history. (as an aside to Cameraguy): the CNN mics weren't on for all that, right?...

Atalan reaches the ATM with no one in line or even in the vicinity. he slides his card in and immediately a neverending stream of bills comes flushing out. the cash never ends, it's eternal. Atalan stands there motionless for a very long short minute as the green pile quickly reaches his head.

Ata is drowning in it


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