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, ____, ( 04/08/01 anada406 ,
/ \ ,_____ (--|_\_,,_, _ _| _ __________ ,-.______ _,---._ __ _/ \
/ \+------ _| ) | |(_|(_|(_|_ .net------/ )----.-' `./-/ \
/ / ( |__, ( ( ,' `/ /|
\ / \ `-" \'\ / |
\ / "A Timmy Production" `. , \ \ / |
Y-------- ----------/`. ,'-`----Y |
/ by AphexTwin23 ( ; mEoW!@/| '
i________________________________________________| ,-. ,-'_______/ | /
| | | ( * | /
|____________________ Anada is cat-friendly! __) |__\ `.___________|/
`--' `--'
"Where ya headin' Buddy?" spake a nervous voice from within the
filthy station wagon. A tall skinny man of 20 years or so stood before him
with choppy clumps of brown hair that ranged from shoulder length to 2
inches with no apparent order or form. He walked upright as a man of the
Earth with confidence and no delusions about society. He carried himself as
a stray mercenary warrior from the old world of barbarians and honor. He
knew his capabilities, but did not strut with false pride; instead he "spoke
softly and carried a big stick," so to speak. One could tell he evaluated
every aspect of his situation with great care, taking not the slightest bit
of comfort that the world may be so predictable that he wouldn't be shocked
or unprepared if the very tip of an eggplant the size of the moon were to
touchdown a block away.
"West," said the passenger while pretending even to himself to know
just where in the hell he was going. Our driver wondered what cosmic force
had possessed him to pick up this hitchhiker. The man was strange to say
the least, and out of place in every way possible. Strange yes, but harmful
no. "Hop in," spoke the driver.
As the passenger managed to stuff his overly large backpack into the
back-seat, the driver caught the first glimpse of the giant yellow lightning
bolt symbol appearing on the back of his red jacket. "Great, he's a frickan
tripball." The car pulled onto the highway and immediately picked up to
cruise speed.
"My name is Bob," said our driver in an attempt to break the tension
while offering his hand.
Our new passenger looked at the details of his hand and face. He
reached his hand out and gave Bob a good firm handshake. In an instant Bob
felt an electrical tingle through his hand. Like pins and needles, he felt
the cold sensation spread up through his arm. With this his arm was left
feeling light, mobile, and numb. The best words Bob would ever be able to
describe the experience would be, "It was like when your arm falls asleep,
only reverse." Bob got the chills and let out an "ugh!", but not without
explaining himself. "Ugh, I think I pinched a nerve." The passenger smiled
heartily and thought, "yeah you pinched a nerve."
"I'm Fao," he said. "Pleased to meet you Mr. Faw, Fau, Fao, right?"
Fao didn't feel like answering that question. Bob didn't really want to
know the answer, he already knew it. He felt somehow stupider every time he
answered a question like that. So he didn't answer it.
Of course, a brief uncomfortable silence ensued, but Fao reasoned
that if he even had a duty to make social relations move smoothly with this
driver who was technically doing him a favor, than his duty did not include
nor extend to insulting his own intelligence by answering questions that
someone else was not interested in, just to make them feel more comfortable
and avoid ackward moments. "Fuck it," he thought, tilting his seat back and
throwing his feet up. This thought was a sick note completely excusing
himself from social bullshit with the driver; in his own mind anyway. The
best thing in the whole world that could happen to Bob is an uncomfortable
silence. Perhaps then he'd realize that he's a creature monkey-man in
clothes traveling at breakneck speed in a metal chariot across the surface
of a giant ball floating and twirling mindlessly in circles.
He was having a fun time talking to himself, perhaps he could get Bob
into the conversation and relate to him on some level. Bob got out a
cigarette, lit it and left his pack on the dash. The pack of cigarettes sat
on the dash talking to Fao, telling him how easy it would be to "borrow" a
cigarette from Bob, and how it may actually unite them together in the one
thing they had in common. No. Not this time. Smoking messed up his groove
and he hated it. Bob puffed his cigarette just enough to make sure Fao was
aware that he could borrow a cigarette at any time. Smokers were evil like
that. As soon as they thought that one might be well on the road to not
smoking, they would consciously or not, do everything they could to make
that person want a cigarette. He had seen it before. You would find an
entire group of fumbley bastards who hated their job and their life and
maintained the minimal level of energy possible, all mostly due to their
cigarette addiction. You walk to a place like that, hating everything about
cigarettes and somehow they'd make it seem like smoking is the greatest
thing. Amazing evil spin doctors they were. Like vampires they spread to
others through cigarettes, and they usually will not out right ask you if
you want one, you must invite them. Fao thought about all of this and
wondered if it might be time to throw up another shot at some superficial
conversation starters. He felt bad that he was having all of these great
thoughts and Bob was being left out.
Meanwhile, the smoke off the end of Bob's cigarette was floating over
to Fao and tickling his nostrils like in the cartoons. Fao got a quick
mental image of himself grabbing the rope hanging from his pocket, pulling
it backward until the oversized padlock on the end of the rope flung back
over his right shoulder, then he would pull and guide the padlock on a
collision course with Bob's face. He'd then grab Bob's smashed jaw open and
force him to eat his own cigarettes while hearing a short sermon Fao's
trials and tribulations with quitting smoking.
Bob turned to him as if thinking for the first time, "You don't mind
if I smoke do you?"
"No, not at all." What the fuck was he supposed to say, "Yeah, I
think you shouldn't smoke in your own truck because I'm your passenger and
you're doing me a favor," or "Nah, not if you don't mind having a smashed up
face." It was going to be a long ride.
They now encountered the worst kind of silence. You could hear the
motor whizzing, but Fao was facing a silence of the mind. It seemed that
now his thoughts were being censored by inner or outer social forces. He
had been able to laugh, giggle, wonder, think erroneous creative patterns of
thought and generally be a weirdo in his mind just minutes earlier. It was
as if he had been pushed onto stage and was forced to participate in the
improv play they call life. Now he had to watch him self. No dirty words,
no dirty thoughts; he had to follow the script. Time to pick a character.
He probably should have done all of this before he got into the car. He
hated to have to act. He liked to be free and be himself and do whatever
he wanted. While walking along he may stop to do cartwheels, throw things,
or tie some twine around his ankle. Most people didn't like or understand
any of this. Most people would only think in linear (sometimes faulty)
A + B = C logic. In their life they did what was necessary, moving from
point A to point B as fast and efficiently as possible. If there was a way
to make money, they did that. They ate because they had to. They kept
themselves from contemplating their existence, getting any creative
inspiration, and generally thinking complex new thoughts they had never
heard before from watching television. This was also the place where most
of their unnecessary ideas came from, and none were ever developed much
upon.
Fao smirked while he imagined Bob and the majority of the American
population watching prime-time T.V. while using the highest extents of their
mental ability to develop that all-too-inevitable conclusion: "I want to be
a millionaire!" These people never thought outside of mainstream simple pre-
approved thought patterns, and Fao called them cardboard people. He didn't
know just yet, but he did not rule out the notion that Bob may be entirely
cardboard. Darn, and he had thought perhaps he could be fortunate enough to
make it through the night without having to create a projected self image of
himself and start acting.
Then out of nowhere, "Ya hungry?"
Fao quickly answered, "I sure am!"
"All right we'll stop here at this truck-stop an I'll buy some chow
if ya ain't got the cash."
"Thanks... I don't know what to say."
As they pulled up, Fao knew that he needed to get himself into a
character before they went into the restaurant. He knew what he had to
choose from. If he had nicer clothes he could go as the surprisingly
eloquent and intelligent professional dude (complete with all of his shit
together). Nah, right now he was going to as a blend of a fun loving
prankster discordian (comes with unlimited ability to confuse, entertain,
add fun to situations, cause chaos, and could remain exempt from social
regulations). He would blend this character with his wise-man-shaman of the
earth who didn't need to adhere to social regulations but was much more
controlled, discerning and wise about his decisions. The wise-man-shaman
would sit behind the other side of the curtain, listening and interpreting
just what the hell was going on in case his cue should be sounded, or that
he may need to hint, warn, or advise the discordian on stage, who paid
little attention to virtue, wisdom, or reality for that matter. The
discordian would go on stage to entertain everyone and play his part.
This is what Fao was doing consciously, but he needed the old man to
keep him in check and make sure that he didn't do anything stupid just as an
older brother may be lurking nearby in the bushes to protect the little
brother lest someone should pick a fight. All the same, you didn't want
other people to know your brother was lurking in the bushes, and people
looked down on having the "real you" anywhere around, so the old man behind
the curtain had to be very subtle.
As they walked into Busy Betty's Cafe Dinar and Truck-stop, Fao made
sure the characters were in place and the stage was set. He scanned the
discordian down into ones and zeros. His mental computer now had a digital
image of the discordian, which it could manipulate like a digital photograph
on a computer. He then projected this image all over himself and all over
the resturant when he walked in beside Bob.
Many people turned to look. Lights, camera, action. The beautiful
blond haired waitress quickly took them to a corner table from which they
could see the whole restaurant. Bob felt uneasy being associated with this
goofy looking fruit-loop kid. "Coffee, and a coffee, anything else for now?
Okay I'll be back to check on you."
She gave them a sweet smile and asked if they wanted to keep their
menus. Her name-tag said Trini. "Yeah, we'll see if we can't get some meat
on this kid's bones," said Bob, before adding, "thanks Trini." She walked
off.
Bob loved sweet waitresses and wished the women in his life were so
sweet. He wished that he came here all of the time, then he could call her
Trini and she could call him Bob and they would really know each other and
could have honest conversations about anything. If a Bob lives and dies in
the forest and nobody notices, did he ever really exist?
Ugh. He felt a blackhole whirling inside of him and he wasn't sure
if he should jump into it. He looked down at where his coffee should be,
right in front of him, giving himself something to do other than fall into
depression or talk to this weird bastard.
"So do you work?"
"Nope."
"Going to school?"
This was another one of those stupid questions that Kao knew Bob
didn't want to know the answer, he just wanted to categorize him so that he
would feel better knowing that this random factor was in a nice package with
"College Student" written across the front. He was either going to have to
blow Bob's mind and have a lot of friction between them, or he was going to
have to water-down his weirdness into categories that Bob could understand
and be comfortable with.
He blurted the name of his community college like he had a million
times before and tried his best to make it sound like it was really very
irrelevant which college, or that he went to college at all. Fao thought,
"Going to college is something I do, it is not something I am."
The waitress showed up in the dead silent moment with their coffee.
They thanked her. What was it about coffee that made conversation run so
much smoother?
Bob asked, "So do you know what you wanna do?"
"You mean with my life? Yeah, I wanna do whatever I feel like
doing."
"I mean like a job."
"Nah, jobs and money are not very important."
"Well sure they are," thought Bob aloud. "How ya gonna put food on
the table?"
"It's not the food that's the trouble. It's the table. I don't need
the table. Food is all that I need, and if that's all you need, it's not
very difficult to fulfill one need."
"So you plan to have people like me buy your food?"
Oooh. Not ranking up any points. Fao quickly answered, "No, I
really appreciate you buying me food, but I do have other means."
"Like?"
"Like eating out of dumpsters or getting temporary jobs to save my
money for a month, then roam the Earth for three."
"Eating out of dumpsters!? That's disgusting."
"Hey man, my freedom is worth more than the absolute guarantee that
my food is good and fresh. I can determine that myself. Besides...
bacteria make you tougher."
Bob wondered why he was hanging out with the type of person who would
eat out of dumpsters.
Fao was very saddened that the poor bastard in front of him would
judge him on the basis of a few words that came out of his mouth which
indicated where he sometimes got his food. Somehow this idea made Bob think
that he was somehow superior to Fao. Fao was disgusted and thought, "In
these wretched times, by what shall we judge the worth of a man? By the
place where he gets his food? By his occupation? By the contents of his
wallet? By the contents of his urine? By the make and model of the metal
chariot he operates?"
Fao sipped his coffee and was very sad, because Bob's reality may be
parallel to reality. Fao would like to think that most people were
inherently good and thought for themselves. Bob assumed most people judged
by the same system he used. Bob may be closer to right, and it was a very
sad world if most people were more akin to Bob's ways.
Bob walked off to buy a newspaper. Fao sipped his coffee and looked
outside. It was night. Fao liked the night, and felt that he could think
more clearly. He attributed this to the fact that less cardboard people
were awake driving around all over broadcasting mental static. The doors to
the cafe swung open for a confident man of 30 years in a suit and matching
pants. With hair slicked back and a bad attitude, he approached the cafe
section. With a delighted smile, the waitress promptly seated him seven
booths across from Fao. He walked past a table of googily teenybopper girls
and made it a point to not look. The waitress disappeared to get him some
coffee. He lit a cigarette, blew the smoke from his nose slowly, and met
eyes with Fao.
The average American is quickly offset by eye contact. Surveys have
shown that Americans fear public humiliation worse than death itself. These
men were not average Americans. Both wanting to dominate, our newcomer made
fast to detect any insecurities. He knew his smoking did something -- it
made him look cool if nothing else. He perceived Fao as a dirty worthless
bum kid who could never change the way things are, no matter how many
lighting bolts he might embroider into his jacket. Fao felt his look, and
it did unease him a bit, especially just getting the whole garbage eating
rap from Bob. Although this was one of his bigger insecurities, it didn't
affect him half as much as he imagined Bob might worry about his haircut,
mortgage (whatever that was), or whether or not his socks were of the same
color.
Fao held his ground and dirty looks. He purposely perceived the
stranger to be the worst kind of evil bastard that legitimately functioned
in society. His look did not cease to have a powerful impact, mostly due to
the fact that he happened to be the worst kind of evil bastard that
legitimately functioned in society. He had come here to re-evaluate his
life as an evil bastard. Did he need to make a fool out of someone
everywhere he went? He gained a sense of respect for Fao, having lasted as
long as he did. He smiled and looked down. Fao smirked. A clear victory.
Mr. Supercool knew what Fao was thinking, and it wasn't like that.
He just wasn't in the mood, and if he was, he'd just flip the switch on the
little black box in his pocket, and Fao would succumb to his version of
reality and quiver like an Asian Pug's pecker facing Arctic winds. Life
sure had became easier since he had gotten a hold of that little black box.
It had always been easy. His father was the president of a major
soft drink company, resulting in his never needing to put any effort to
accomplish anything; this in turn resulted in him growing long hair, smoking
pot, and desperately looking for some purpose in a world that he didn't need
and did not need him. Then one day his father to have a little talk.
"Spencer," he said in a solemn tone, "Most kids have to plot, plan and try
their damnedest to climb the ladder of success made out of everyone else's
backs. You only have to decide whether or not you want to be on top. I
belong to a very special organization, and membership is your birthright.
All you have to is let me know you want in, and you can have all of the
money, power, women, anything you want." It was a simple one way
conversation that had left him fascinated. As much as he hated authority,
and the idea of a ruling class that could not be overthrown, he could not
help but want in. He gave his father the word, and a bunch of cloaked
weirdoes met him in his room. They gave him the little black box that they
called a brain wave amplifier. It ran on three nine volt batteries and
needed to be charged every night. It was like magic. All you had to do was
flip the switch, and if you ordinarily exuberated a lot of sexual energy,
you would exuberate 10 times that sexual energy. If you usually were full
of love, this would make you love 10 times that amount.
He learned incredible things. He learned that everyone had a certain
amount of pull on reality. Whatever they thought, believed, hoped for, or
feared was that much more likely to happen. In his case it was 10 times
more likely to happen! They warned him to be careful, that it would amplify
his fear as well; but it was easy to lose fear when you had the 10 times
advantage to start with. Needless to say, he had his fair share of fun. He
used to always have a good surplus of women who would quickly drop anything
to do dirty things with him. He had also seen and done his fair share of
weirdo dirty atrocities. When attending the secret Illuminati meetings he
was astounded to see not only how many people were present, but how many
people would wait their turn to engage in their bizarre pastime ritual of
rolling around in human feces.
He would talk to the people afterwards and ask obvious questions
like, "wasn't that embarrassing?" and "Why do you do that?" They told him
it was embarrassing, but they feel so much better now. They said it takes
away all of their inhibitions and makes them feel free. Eventually he took
his turn. He clearly remembered standing naked before an entire auditorium
full of cloaked figures seated in concentric circles around him. He jumped
into the turd pool and shook all over at having felt slippery turds sliding
against various parts of his body. The 500 people in the auditorium all
stared at his frail disgusting body, all with the intent of sending their
best energy to heal and cure the most disgusting shameful parts of his
being.
At first he felt gross and ashamed and wanted to get out as soon as
possible. He stood up, covered in shit, before the auditorium as he had
seen many do before. A figure in white in the inner most circle held his
finger in the air to signal that all was not done. It didn't take long for
him to feel a warm penetrating blast of love and ecstasy. His legs shook
into jello, and he let go. He felt their powerful love and energy permeate
his most hidden feelings of shame, guilt, disgust and inadequacy towards
himself and the entire world all being replaced by feelings of warmth, love,
and security. He raised his arms into the air and smiled and giggled at his
being covered in shit. His warm stomach convulsed uncontrollably. He
couldn't believe this was really happening. He looked at the cloaked figure
with his finger up. The figure removed his hood to reveal his father giving
the biggest smile he'd ever seen him give. He looked into his father's eyes
for what seemed an eternity, and they seemed to say, "I bet you never
guessed I do this sort of shit." They grinned.
His finger went down and a figure across the auditorium hit the gong,
indicating he was done. A wave of laughter, whistling, and clapping took
the room. He threw his head back, shook his fist in the air, and did a
goofy dance all the way to the showers with the highest confidence. He felt
light-weight and light-headed. He felt incredible like nothing he'd ever
felt before. He felt he was free to act on impulse without checking his
restrictive-super-ego, "is-that-a-good-idea" self. He did a cartwheel. He
smiled at his delightful memory. He was so grateful to belong to the
winning team that had a clue. "Yep, yep, yep," he thought, "in the kingdom
of the blind, the one-eyed elephant is king."
He took his two liter of liquid air out of his bag. This was another
fun toy he had that most people didn't know about. Form-tech had developed
this product. It was water that had enough oxygen chemically bound into it,
that they figured out that rats, cats, dog, and the like could actually
breathe in it. It didn't take two many rats living in glasses of water
before they figured that a human could too. So they started filling giant
tanks with the stuff and having immediate burn victims stay in it for 48
hours until their pain was dull enough that they could handle a dry
existence. The funny thing they found was that, in burn victims who smoked
a lot, the liquid air in the tank would quickly become clouded with tar.
Upon reading the article, his secret order realized it was a safe way for
smokers to get the tar out of their lungs. He could smoke all he wanted
with no bad effects, to his lungs anyway, as long as he used the liquid air
daily as lung-wash. He didn't know why the average person didn't know about
it, and he didn't care as long as he had it. That was another reason he
loved being on the wining team. If worst came to worst, he could go door to
door selling the shit for $100 a pop.
He strode past Fao and the beautiful girls on his way to the
restroom, and gave them a good smile that revealed his big white teeth. Fao
eyed him with contempt as he strode by. What was that guy doing with a two
liter of ginger ale?
"Ginger Ale, my yin yang," thought Fao. If it was booze, then great;
Fao despised being around drunks when he wasn't. Where did Bob go? He
hoped somewhere far away. Fao decided to meditate. With an angry grunt, he
clenched together all of his anger into a warm fireball in his stomach. He
deeply breathed air into his lungs and transferred the excess air-like
energy into his stomach to feed the fire. After a few deep breaths, he
managed to get this fireball feeling the size of a basketball. He shook and
breathed out. Taking several seconds to gather his intent, he grunted and
forced the fireball up into his chest. He felt all of his body gaining
depth. All of his aches, pains, and not-so-good feelings rushed into his
heart to be consumed by the fireball and replaced with purified feelings of
warmth. His mind gave up all of his sarcasms, and bad out looks of the
world to the fire. All of his frozen crystallized feeling in his mind
melted and rained down into his soul. He tried to stay steady and not
appear like a total loop-head to anyone around. He looked around and caught
the glimpse of a blonde girl who gave a quick wave and giggly smile. He
slightly nodded, and looked elsewhere. He was losing his focus to this girl
and trying to be polite. This angered him. He drew in a final breath, let
out a primal noise and allowed the fire to consume all of his negative
feelings; he fed the fire until it blazed throughout his entire body.
Two girls flew over to Fao.
"She likes you!"
"Shut up!"
The dark haired pale skinned girl introduced herself as Yali. The
blonde girl introduced herself as Georgia, and she talked like she was from
Georgia. Now Fao felt all of their bad feelings moving into him. They had
tried to do what most do when first meeting someone; they showed him the
image they kept of themselves. They were shocked when he would not look at
their images, and instead they fell into the oblivion of the fire he had
conjured. After a silenced moment of awkwardness, Fao felt like
apologizing. The dark haired girl moved to his side of the booth.
Mr. Supercool stood looking at his teeth in the bathroom mirror. A
flush came from the stall, and Bob wobbled out only to catch Mr. Supercool
pouring the entire contents of the two-liter straight down his throat.
Spencer breathed parital breaths in and out, swishing the liquid air around
in his lungs. Now the fun part. He held in his breath and placed his two
palms on the counter. With one swift move, his legs flew up in the air, and
almost kicked Bob in the head. Spencer now stood on his hands with his feet
on the ceiling to hold him in place. For ten seconds he made awful pukey
gurgles and hosed out a barf blast that poured greyish flem containing
discolored wads of white and yellow lung-butter and hack into the sink.
Bob's jaw fell and left his tongue hanging out.
Mr. Supercool hopped back down very naturally, wiped his mouth and
strode out, as cool as ever. Bob stood facing a filthy gray sink; the smell
alone was an unforgettable stench of cigarette smoke tar and bad breath with
a pukish quality.
As Spencer walked back into the cafe area, he sensed a powerful
presence, and was astounded to find Fao powered up, entertaining two
beautiful girls playing around him like moths to a flame. He wasn't about
to let this punk kids think he was the next best thing since liquid air. A
little friendly competition couldn't hurt. He slid the dial on his little
black box to what he imagined was half power. He instantly felt a surge
move though his bones and come to rest in his jaw. Cool as ever, he walked
past Fao and his new two friends. He looked Fao dead in the eyes as he
walked, giving him the fifth cockiest look anyone in the world ever
received.
His hip crashed into the table causing him maddening pain and
amplified humiliation. Fao smiled. The girls giggled uncontrollably. The
two girls sitting at the booth he crashed into, managed to suck up their
laughter and help him back to his seat. They sat down with him and asked
him in a roundabout way, how rich, smart, and single he was. He knew all of
the right answers. Fao listened to the two girls near him babble and be
fascinated with him.
Bob came back from the restroom. Spattered Bob, "I see you found
some friends," And, "You'd never guess what that dude just did in the
bathroom!" Bob figured it would make amends with Fao to let him know that
he wasn't the biggest weirdo anymore.
Fao needed some food quickly or he was going to lose his power and
pass out. He screamed in his head for the waitress to, "Bring me some
fucking French fries!"
After a moment or two, the waitress did appear and ask if they needed
anything. "Fries and Bean soup." Bob told the story of what happened to the
guy in the bathroom. Fao wouldn't have been interested if it were anyone
else.
The girls tossed questions at Fao left and right. They wanted to
know where he did or didn't work, where he was from, and was hitchhiking
dangerous. "Not unless Bob here is dangerous." The girls laughed and
embarrassed Bob deeply. He shook Bob's shoulder with his hand to show no
harm. Yali sat to his left and listened to his voice while he talked about
hitchhiking and strange adventures. She couldn't find anything wrong with
him. She managed to get her arm up over his shoulder. When she knew she
could get away with it, she even did a swirl-her-finger-around on his
shoulder that she had learned early on. She wanted to talk to him alone.
Fao wanted French fries.
Mr. Supercool chatted on with his own two girls. Their names were
Heidi and Nicky, and he already decided he liked Nicky better. He was
having all sorts of fun ever so subtly blasting large amplitudes of sexual
energy their way while he held a composed conversation. He also sent them
amplified love; but not without some conditions. Within his love was built
an illusional contract idea clause which stated that the receiver of his
love would accept his pile of illusions. The list of illusions included
that he was indeed the coolest dude around, if not in the world, that he was
rich, powerful, important, sexy, and not to be challenged. This was a good
handful of illusions to say the least, but the girls rarely received any
kind of love, and this was some pretty powerful stuff, so they embraced it
with open arms. They bought his illusions like they were going out of
style. They even convinced themselves that they wanted to go home with him,
and if he didn't want both at once, then they'd have a competition.
Spencer lit a cigarette and tossed his head back with a big smile; he
was loving every minute of it. He manufactured illusions left and right.
He even found the place in their minds where they perceived the area, and
made it somehow more his territory than anyone else's. Try and try he
might, but the shadowy illusions had no effect on Fao's side of the room,
being lit up bright with the burning of that little dirt-ball's soul. The
"light" Fao emitted even infiltrated Spencer's side of the room, leaving
people with an alternative to his shadow-world. Spencer thought of this
like kids trying to have a strobe light party while a door is open a crack
allowing light to pour in, so that one would still see the room between
flashes, destroying the effect entirely. That freaky little punk was
starting to become a pain in Spencer's ass. He put a "magnetic" pull on the
idea that he needed more coffee and she came quickly enough, but not before
bringing Fao his food.
Georgia sensed that Yali wanted to get personal with Fao. She took
off and landed immediately at Spencer's table, leaving Fao alone with Yali.
Bob felt funny and didn't want to mess up any jive, so he took a long
walk; a walk where he would shuffle his feet, ponder ex-girlfriends and
wonder what it was about these two gentleman in the room that gave them such
charisma. Why couldn't he be like them. He poked around at a newspaper and
made some conversation with the clerk.
Yali continued to touch Fao in funny ways with her fingers and cuddle
closer and closer to him. Fao looked directly ahead with eyebrows tilted
inwards and sipped the last bit of bean soup. When her fingers would touch
his skin he felt dizzy, and his IQ crashed through the floor in an effort to
make him dumb enough to overlook the countless times his heart had been
stomped on by girls not unlike her. Maybe she was the one for him, but he
doubted it. She brought her pale face next to his ear and whispered, "I
need you." She then did a combination of licking and biting his ear lobe.
Red flag! He knew if he felt for this one inch, he'd be done for.
Fao conjured enough brains to say, "Wait, you're not thinking. You don't
even know what you're doing."
"Yes I do."
"You don't know why you like me."
She made sure her breath hit his ear when she said, "I know I could
fall in love with you."
In a snap gesture Fao shifted so he was facing her and looked her in
the eyes. She certainly was beautiful. He told her that she didn't know
the things that he knew and that she didn't realize that he had an unfair
advantage over every guy she had ever met. Fao asked her, "Let me ask you a
question. What do you think makes people fall in love? Pheromones?
Chemical imbalances in the brain caused by excess consumption of chocolate?
I got news for you girl, there's a world-load of shit going on behind the
scenes that you don't know about. Love is an exchange of energy, and
energy, positive energy, just happens to be my specialty."
He used his hand to cock her head towards Mr. Supercool's booth.
"See that guy? Why do you think those girls like him?"
She replied, "Those girls are my friends, and I dunno, because he's
rich and smooth and cocky... and sexy."
Fao replied, "Close, but no. Whether or not he really is any of
those things is irrelevant, because he is making them think that."
"What do you mean?"
Fao said very slowly and carefully, "I mean that he has figured out
how to change the way that other people perceive him. He's also doing
something strange to the room that I can't quite figure out yet. He's very
powerful."
She looked at him like a rabid squirrel. Fao hoped she could process
what he was saying, but never-the-less continued, "You like me because I'm
radiating a lot of energy, love, whatever you want to call it. You've been
soaking in it for the past hour and now you want more." Her jaw was hanging
open slightly and gears were cranking somewhere in there. Her eyes shifted
around the room past Mr. Supercool and the other girls. He stopped himself
before telling her that she probably wanted to drain his soul and keep that
energy flowing to her wherever she went. "They," he began while pointing at
her girlfriends, "are under his spell... in plain English."
She looked back at him with glossy, innocent, intrigued eyes, and
said slowly, "You are so... different... and amazing."
Fao got the feeling that she still wasn't sure if he was crazy.
"Scoot over." Fao got out of the both and sat on the side across from her.
"Do you want to experience the most valuable thing you could experience
right now?"
Bob came back from having a conversation with the store clerk in
regards to the weather. He sat down with his newspaper and coffee in the
booth where all of the girls were originally seated. He didn't want to
impose upon Fao or that chick, and there wasn't enough room for him at Mr.
Supercool's table. He simply sat in the middle, by himself, to relax and
enjoy his nicotine, caffeine, and read the newspaper.
Mr. Supercool was having fun entertaining the girls. By now he could
tell that all three would probably go home with him if he expressed the
desire. He turned the dial up a little more, probably to 7 out of ten. He
wondered if he could give them an orgasm right on the spot. More fun yet,
he would slowly turn them against Fao, just to show that there's only enough
room for one metaphysical badass in Busy Betty's Cafe.
Yali was confused. "Okay, I guess. What are we going to do?"
Fao said, "Meditate with me."
"I don't know how to meditate."
Fao laughed. He thought they ought to teach the shit right out of
kindergarten in place of reading, writing, and arithmetic. "Just focus on
all of your fears, guilt, shame, whatever; feel them and don't panic or get
weirded out, I'll do the rest."
They stared each other in the eyes. She giggled, apologized, and was
then able to keep a serious attitude. "Open yourself up and let yourself
go," said Fao, with the deepest hopes that she didn't think him the biggest
weirdo she'd ever met.
Fao clenched his stomach together, and formed a silver concave bowl
with his mind; this would curve around the fireball in his stomach and allow
him to direct the "light" and "heat." He blasted her with all her had. He
focused the bowl, and shed light onto the layers of shadows and illusions
within her that plagued her constantly without her even knowing. She
shifted and grew uncomfortable.
"Just relax. It's good... good, you're doing fine." She melted
inside. Her insides ran inside out and she opened up and realized that
there was a better way to feel than she had for so long and no reason to be
afraid of anything. She felt a warmth growing in her heart, like she had as
a child, and she knew that she must have done something to herself to have
given it up in the first place. Fao focused on her mind and found the
images she carried of herself. Fao watched her face morph through all of
her characters, some that she didn't like but was forced to play because she
knew nothing different. He found pieces of herself floating around that had
once been a sacred bit of her beautiful soul, until it had been frozen,
solidified, and crystallized into an image that she believed. It became
true enough to her that she was a "slut," a "pretty girl," a "bitch," and
"evil". As Fao melted these images, she realized what parts of herself and
feelings she had lost when she decided she would lock herself into being all
of those things. Fao melted her images of the world around her.
She saw the world for the first time the way a cave woman would have.
She seemed to gain a sense of depth she had never perceived. All of the
signs and advertisements were just colors without meaning unless she gave
them meaning. She looked around and saw the people as the creatures and
beings they were, instead of seeing the idea of them. She saw each nook and
cranny everywhere, instead of seeing walls, ceilings, and floors. She was
extremly grateful for what Fao was doing and looked into his face with all
the love she had. The room seemed to be spinning heavenward.
Nicky spat, "What are they doing over there?" Mr. Supercool raised
his eyebrow. They all stared. Spencer eyed them with contempt, as if they
were naked in public. He slid the dial to full power.
Fao and Yali felt their look, but only stared straight ahead at each
other. The room wasn't spinning anymore. It was hard to concentrate or do
anything meaningful with their nasty stares flying. "Shields up!" thought
Fao who did everything he could to create a field to protect Yali and
himself.
The room got dimmer. He felt their look penetrating and creaking
into the field he had created. He started to feel sick. Yali started
looking less and less beautiful. He tried to hone in on the source and
sensed something like small mental viruses flying at them. He captured one
in his mind and knew it would lead him to the source. If he could destroy
one, they would all be destroyed. It stung his mind. He knew that if he
reacted in fear he was done for.
"What's happening?" asked Yali in a sick tone.
He tried to shoot a mini mental laser into the virus. Yali and Fao
both were feeling ugly, heavy, disgusting, and ashamed. The entire room
changed and seemed to shake and twisted abruptly. The box in Spencer's
pocket began to vibrate heavily, and he felt a splitting pain in his
forehead that made him grit his teeth and hold his breath. Fao was gritting
his own teeth trying to hold on to what he was doing without succumbing to
fear. Yali and Fao both were feeling more ugly, heavy, disgusting, and
ashamed than ever.
Fao slowly turned his head, looking at Mr. Supercool and his three
new girlfriends. They all had menacing looks. Spencer looked him dead in
the eyes while blowing smoke from his nose. Fao felt the leverage of Mr.
Supercool's reality impinging on his mind.
Nicky yelled, in a sarcastic tone, "What are you guys doing over
there?"
Fao lost it. Yali said dizzily, "I don't feel so good." Fao felt
the walls closing in on his mind. He felt the viruses taking root in his
stomach. They quickly moved in, multiplied, grew roots, and transmitted the
remaining energy to Spencer and down the hierarchy to his girls. Fao looked
Yali in the eyes. They both looked sick and ugly. He did what he could to
say what he had to without saying it. "I'm dying inside. Come with me."
He grabbed Yali's hand and stood up. She didn't know what the hell
was going on, but she trusted him enough. They got up and fumbled
lightheadedly through the diner. Everything was ugly, disgusting, and
distorted. The lights hummed and flickered an awful combination. It took
what seemed to be years for them to shuffle to the exit. Fao guided her
through the door with one hand, and looked back to see Spencer's eyes. He
didn't need to say it, his defeated look said it all. It said, "You won. I
hope this was what you wanted." He shut the door and left.
Spencer was left with a burning cigarette in hands. Georgia asked,
"What's with them anyway."
He looked around for a long time. Bob interjected the silence with,
"It says here that the Lakers beat the Knicks 17-0 Wednesday. Who would've
thought!"
Spencer took a drag off his cigarette. That punk kid in the red
jacket would probably go off and have wonderful times with that girl. Who
knew, maybe they'd go hitchhiking together or get married, or scour the
Earth together. He had three hoes he could control and manipulate. He
thought, "Yeah, I won... or did I?" Now he had to return to pondering his
existence as an evil bastard.
He frowned and crushed his cigarette out. He didn't know whether to
laugh or cry. "I sure am cool."
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`-.^.-' (c) 2001 Anada e'zine by AphexTwin23 `-.^.-'
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