Whiskeytown

At Whiskeytown aka What Washington? What Orders? And the New General

It’s like Phunkytown, but without all the coked-out idiots.

Gotta make a move to the town that’s right for me.

Sarge. My only creation thus far. He was in Chicago last I heard, and is quite enjoying not inhabiting a human shell.

“Right, you Limey has-beens, I’m going to say it country simple, sweet potato pie-like: YOU HAVE BEEN TAKEN OVER LIKE A BANANA REPUBLIC. Hello, your Hollywood stars are nothing but a holograph picture projected by the C.I.A.”

“Sir, are you saying that my governor is actually a holographic projection created by the Central Intelligence Agency? What is its purpose?”

“One question at a time son.”

Nadeanna pipes in, “Fuck this! Call a story conference, stat!” PEACE. PEACE. PEACE. PEACE. The real END GAME is taking place on these screens. Namaste motherfucker. Shine PEACE. Sorry luv, I re-scripted the story boards. Please come fuck me hard, fuck me like you mean it, like it’s the last time you’ll ever fuck, before council tonight. Then we’ll make love at the break of dawn, and I’ll lightly touch your face, arch to kiss your lips in ecstasy. I’ll tell you things I long for you to know. Within and throughout your being you love. You!

“Mutiny in the ranks?”

Calling… the line is dead again.

“It could come to that, “ Nadeanna muses. Baby, please come home!

A small grocery shop sells ‘ecology equipment’ or perhaps it was milk cows.

The Real Life Hilton heiress, “say I’d like to fuck her. You want to watch me fuck her, don’t you? Admit it luv, you think Paris Hilton is hot! I so already dreamed you dreaming me fucking Paris Hilton, licking her delightful pussy. You’ve memorized the way her face looks when she comes. I remembered, then wrote it down. Stop looking at porn, and I promise to put this book down so you can do me proper. I’m wet from your Paris fantasy. Baby, you know I’m sorry, but I think you like this game because you couldn’t believe it was real before. I can’t wait. And still, I wait. Where were you at the wolf moon? I’m coming home. Filthy in Whiskeytown, I’ll be on my way home to you soon. What’s a moon or two? A year?

“Why, they all get knighted in the end one way or another.”

“Don’t you think there is some limit somewhere to what people will stand for? Suppose the ‘ecology equipment’ doesn’t work? She has eyes for flying saucers.”

“For Chrissakes, we’re building them up, not down.”

“All right, call in the special effects boys and give them supernatural powers,”

“Never too far in any direction is the the basic rule.”

“I tell you, anything that is not going forward is going out,” Nadeanna irritatedly insists. “You know what we can do with special effects and electric brain stimulation: some joker gets out of line, we press a button, and he shits in his pants at the site of her. That at least, would be a step in some direction.”

“Say, leave it just where it is. It will stagger on for another five or ten years and that’s enough. We get smart at this point, and the Republican Party will jump out at us.”

ERP. ERP. ERP.

“Basically, it’s an alien symbol. Those who need such symbols to keep positions of wealth and privilege. Look at them.”

“That’s right. We got a good strong thing here, why muck about with it?”

“Why the whole stinking thing could blow up in our faces.”

The laughter is building behind Nadeanna’s yellow-stained teeth.

“The word that made a man out of an ape and killed the ape in the process keeps man an animal, the way we like to see him. And Obama is just another prop to hold up the word. Talk about the power in an atom! All hate all fear all pain all death all sex is in the word. The word was a killer virus once. It could become a killer virus again. The word is too hot to handle – so we sit on our asses, waiting.”

Pick up, damn it!

It is too late fuckers, we are Gods now, at least some of us, even the kayackers.

“It’s a slow process but we’re coming up. Even the real estate market hasn’t bounced back, but if I can bounce back before the market does, CHA-CHING: farm in Missouri and Art House in MKE, betches!”

I was there. I saw it.

“Aren’t you going to do something?” I demanded.

He looked at me and yawned. “Well, you have to take a broad, general view of things.

“Oh, do I?” Com’on! It’s time! Wanna boogie motherfucker?

And that’s what I have been doing luv, which you would know if you ever came to council meetings anymore. What’s up with that? I’ve been pretending to take a broad, general view of American troops raping and murdering helpless civilians while American officers stand around and yawn, which is really a metaphor for this whole fucking mess that’s fallen to the Guardian Alliance. The Sirians, Pleiadians, and archangels are all like, “Oh, Obama is going to disclose us, soon. There’s no need to be that messy. Remember, you agreed.” The G. A. keeps insisting, now. Too much time has already passed. This was supposed to happen forty, forty-five years ago. We are getting pissed. You think I really would have chosen this life if not for this mission? I want the war to be over, but even after setting up the transmission towers, too many are still sleeping. ARGH! Always politics, politics. Politics is for pussies.

Old Sarge bellows from here to eternity. That’s ma boy, although one wonders why he ever left Chicago. I guess the club scene’s been pretty dead lately. It just ain’t the same without Amato. We made another Cali boy.

“What the bloody fucking hell are civilians for?”

“The war is over. We are the peace.” Gee, I can see why this hasn’t been working.

Just ahead in a middle-western town on a river, thirty thousand civilians. Eau Claire? Hmm. This one’s a shitter anyhow. Go ahead and take it out.

“Now just a minute boys, listen to Old Sarge. Why make the usual stupid scene kicking in liquor stores grabbing anything in sight? You wake up hung over in an alley your prick sore from fucking dry cunts and asholes your eye gouged out by a broken beer bottle you and your asshole buddy wanted the same piece of ass. No fun in that I tell you. Why not leave it like this? They go about their daily tasks and we just take what we want when we want it cool and steady easy and make them like it. You see what I mean?”

The young lieutenant from camouflage sees what he means. Precarious governments march in anywhere and take over. City states fortified against foraging crowds from the starving cities, power cut, reservoirs blown up.

“Wait a cotton-pickin’ minute here! That’s why the G.A. was in support of separation. What you’re doing here is just perpetuating the mess that got us to END GAME scenario in the first place.”

Crowds are looting the museums for weapons: stone axes, Fijian war clubs, Samurai swords, crossbows, bolos, bommerangs…. LET’S RUN AMOK DUCKS, IT’S FUN! They hit the streets in loincloths. A World War I tank with cheering doughboys is driven off a museum pedestal.

It is all raging through cities of the world like a topping forest fire. In the glow of burning cities strange cults spring up. Nadeanna laughs. You see, the Gods knew this whole time. What a fucking hilarious trip. The vigilantes sweep up from the Bible Belt like a plague of locusts hanging every living thing in their path.

Back to the matter at hand, seeing red. None of them could articulate a word. There was a ripping, splintering crash as the walls of the shed gave way. Good-bye agents. Hahaha! Like electric turtles, the piper pulled down the sky.

While listening to Lincoln Park, we dreamed the doctor putting money into his pocket, screaming, “I’ve had trouble! The people have been around! I may lose my license!” So we decided to start a pot farm. Fuck these narcotics.

The doctor insists, “I can’t write you a prescription!” He jerks open a drawer. “That’s all I have left in the office!” He stands up. “Take it and get out! After all, I’m a professional man, and I shouldn’t be bothered by people like you.”

He didn’t want any juvenile connections, bad news in any language.

My ice skates…

“Wait for me at the detour,” you whisper.

River, snow, someone vague in a mirror…

You make out a filigree of trade winds and water under the trees in the mist shadow of flesh and bones withheld too long yes sir

There is the last map, which you had incorrectly oriented by my calculations, and since this error, I had given up on maps all together. Whiskeytown Lake… a canone…

You in your own body, the shimmering link dead for months.

And maybe, you could find my heart, like a pearl somewhere beneath those dark waters, but you had already decided months ago. The door was shut and now you are trying to weave a new web, a new story, one I already dreamed on Panther Meadow….

I first set foot in San Francisco in July 2009. My old friend, Mike Kachel, was diagnosed with colon cancer. But you and I luv, were bound for Boulder, Colorado.

Later that summer, they went to Chicago together. I scarcely had time to unpack before it was time to go to Boulder. With no visible means of support, I made an unplanned dash to Santa Cruz, California, before moving to an apartment in Denver. Timothy Leary was a tsunami. We traveled to Santa Fe, playing to punk rock-club audiences across the Midwest, bringing deadly pillowcases full of diamondbacks. We were happy with the somewhat primitive conditions of the Stone House.

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