Tuesday, September 18, 2018

IWBLWY: Clinic Topeka

For someone in Clinic's particular peculiar situation, she's (mostly) modest.  
The way she tells it, after the commune free-for-all, the feds let her ride up front in one of the SUVs.  She didn't get to run the siren or anything, but they were definitely leaning towards her as an info source, rather than a card-carrying member of the cocaine ring that had infiltrated the commune.
I can picture Clinic. 
Five years ago, her hair long, leaning against a door as the sun sets, and the desert landscape peels away outside an SUV window.  Some dreamy introspective shit going on, it really settling in on her that things have changed for good, and meanwhile the SUV cab is filled with the sound of feds licking and slurping the dross of an eerily inexhaustible supply of cinnamon rolls from off their fingertips. 

Sunday, September 16, 2018

It Would Be Lonely Without You

- Have you watched yourself?  Have you?  You should get someone to record you.  And then you ought to watch yourself.  You can't spend more than like 30 seconds without looking at that thing.  Checking on it.  It's gross.  And you should really look at what your face looks like while you look at the screen.  It's half slack.  Your fucking brain is dying.  Eventually, it'll be all slack.  You're just meat that can answer a stimulation.  Buzz.  Beep.  Boop.  And the meat hits a button.  Here's your treat.  Fuck it.  Fuck me.  I grow up and I'm like a hamster pushing a button to get some nibbles. 
- You can say what you want. 
- No.  Anyone can make noise.  I can think.  I can.  Still.  You?  Future-me?  You've lost it.  Which means I'm going to lose it.  You've lost it already or you're hip deep in losing it.  You're just another processing unit.  Data in one hole.  Data out a hole.  You're an orifice taking delight in getting the thrill of the fill. 
- Jesus.
- No.  Truth.  Start of story, middle of story, end of story.  Carved in tablets.  In stone.  

Saturday, September 15, 2018

It Would Be Lonely Without You

 Regarding the ooze scraped off the UFO, Milo's grandfather proposed two separate paths: Oscar-worthy feigned ignorance or duplicity so seemingly honest and upfront other people would process the fact-garnished information as truth. 
Milo could secure the 12-ounces of alien ooze in a safe deposit box or he could carry it for all the world to see. 
The cylinder, the polymer prison, was scratch proof, uber-resistant to stress and strain, and the thick ooze contained within looked no more suspicious than wet undulating coffee grounds. 
Asked as to the actual origins he could alternate responses.  98% fib, 2% fact, then swap.  Make it wet and juicy or drier than a Friday afternoon Accounting 101 lecture.  His choice.       

Friday, September 14, 2018

It Would Be Lonely Without You

He was a test.  I'd been passenger in a car where he once said zero words for 1500 miles straight.  And another time, one long near unendurable Super Bowl weekend, he wouldn't shut up, not even if you put a loaded gun to his daughter's pregnant stomach.