"dry dock -
Superlative Station"
we were on a submarine
train, like a chain of sausages in a tube of jelly on our way to Tuba City
Beach, AZ. how long had it taken to carve these routes?
those deep-gravity
drills they had now, the zero-friction jelly they have. of course, it isn't
zero friction, but close enough to boast. and our magneticity, sensitive enough
to attract an iron flea off the aluminum nose of a distant dog. and our
truth-detection technology, "do you love me?" "yeah."
"mip-mop" "you fuckin' liar! i can't believe i gave you my
virginity!" a two-head in the bench across the way was saying-saying.
"dry-dock - Storm
Drain"
the two-head gets off,
fuming-ignoring. the air coming in here smells wet and sugary. i feel like i am
inside a piece of hard candy inside of some kid's mouth. i hate cavities, the
sub-train starts moving again, 400, 500, 600, who knows how many kmh. you can
get all the way around the globe in a little under 24 hours. a select person
could make it in 7-10. you can stop under the Pacific Ocean, but there is
nothing to do there. this is where they keep the comas and the religious
zealots who pray and enjoy the feeling that the entire ocean is pushing them
down to hell. when the zealots aren't praising something, they got 'em
monitoring the comas, rather monitoring the machines keeping them warm.
"dry-dock -
Pacific Coma Ward and Ecclesiastical Society"
a couple of mendicants
in hospital scrubs hop up and disembark, smiling at the ceiling. the ocean is a
lot of things. to some people it is terrifying churning chaos. to some people
it is the first and final womb of man. to some it is a lover, always in the
mood, always wet (sex-on-the-beach is a ménage-a-trois). to those mendicants it
is all these things, and thus, a god. to comas, it must be more like being a
joey in a mama kangaroo's pouch. comas wake up on their own, walk around for a
few days and then go back under, sometimes they're stuffed back in. one thing
about zealots, they're terrible at learning from people. shouldn't someone be
interviewing these waking joeys? is there anything of value in their dreams?
being a coma is something like asceticism. most people choose permanent virtual
reality, which is rather passive and a waste product of the human engine. so,
they thought it practical to put the ascetics and zealots together, but zealots
are idiots.
"dry-dock -
Western California Island of Pornographic Research"
a couple of scientists
disembark, two females, one male. let me tell you something about pornography,
it never hurt anyone. i don't mean the actual people in the industry, some of
them were whipped to blood or had their buttholes damaged, i mean the consuming
public. people got some working knowledge about the human body, maybe used it
on each other with varying results. the isolation of California made it
possible to paint a picture. access to the island could be controlled,
pornographers identified, profiled. eventually, the industry was destroyed and
then perfected and reinstated. somewhere in the virtual reality/porno
reservations of Kansas, Nebraska and Dakota, a men's choir befouls the wind
with a grunted melody.
"dry-dock - San
Diego, Continental California"
this is our stop; the
sub-train is headed for Cuba. we'll be following the coast to Tuba City Beach
by land-train. i am afraid but i also feel invincible today. i wish i was
traveling alone.
people who ought to be
alone try to team up; that is a mistake compounded when people won't admit that
their own instinct to team up was manufactured outside of their head and
imported. people can't deal with the permeability of their mind. and then they
are more suggestible. then they form a new team to protect them from their
other team, then they turn on themselves and their entire mind is suggestions.
spiders are alone, lizards, sharks. people are omnivores. the habitat of a
person is the mind. a person alone has a healthier ecosystem, a person alone is
a microcosm. then come suggestions; the vilest suggestion Love - Love gets into
every nook and cranny and destroys the universe. the universe. the universe.
the universe. there is one of them and it is you. Love destroys the universe
one suggestion at a time. Love is a weed and an addiction. Love makes the world
go ‘round, ceaseless, restless, tireless, ravenous.
"now arriving -
Tuba City Beach, AZ"
here we are. lots of
people getting off here, but luckily, thanks to Bobbin Ramses, there is no Love
in Tuba City Beach, AZ or anywhere else.
