========================================================================= Date: Thu, 23 Dec 1993 08:55:55 -0600 Reply-To: Future Culture Sender: Future Culture From: "Randy E. Welch" Subject: REALITY DU JOUR (1-18) InterCluster MemoFax March 27, 1993 From : Dr. G.I. Guodchef Department of Technocriminology University of The Desert To: Dr. Blaise Highwater Histiogragrapic Archivist Ministry of Accuracy InterCorp The manuscript enclosed was found among the contents of a late Twentieth Century model customized "Greyhound" bus believed to have been the travelling H.Q. of a gypsy clan of popular techno-mythological outlaw / anarchists helmed by the notorius renegade prankster, "A=92las Da=91tura." = As you well know, InterCorp has expended much futile time and tax-money tracing the "reality and viability" of Mr. Da=91tura, an dapart from rumor,= legend, and a plethora of abstract hear-say balderash, there have been no= concrete records found regarding this "non-person" to date. This de-coded testament, written presumably by a colleague and/or fellow ex-patriot, offers at least a marginal explanation as to our profound difficulty "unmasking" this mocking infidel... Of course, this mss. could have been "planted" by these troublesome "embarrassments" as another of their infamous "barbs to the corporate back-sides"... In other words, if this stuff goes public, our collectives= "butts" are on the line. As a so-called "prime" authority on criminology in this area I am, as are= you, well paid and highly expected to act on these findings immediately. = As a survivor and a somewhat "sympathetic" human being, I say we "lose it".= .. What do you think? READ RESPOND AND DESTROY RRRRRRRR EEEEEEE AAAAAAA LLL III TTTTTTTTT YYY YYY RR RR EE AA AA LLL III TTY YYY YYY RRRRRRRR EEEEEEE AAAAAAA LLL III TTT YYY RR RR EE AA AA LLL III TTT YYY RR RR EE AA AA LLL III TTT YYY RR RR EEEEEEE AA AA LLLLLLLL III TTT YYY dd jjjjjjj dd uu uu JJ oooo uu uu rrrrrrr dddddd uu uu jj oo oo uu uu rr rr dd dd uu uu jj jj oo oo uu uu rr dddddd uuuu jjjjjjj oooo uuuu rr autologue of a.minor prophet by Hermeneuticus the Exegete Last night while climbing up the stairs I saw a man who wasn't there He wasn't there again today God I hope he goes away... *Preface* uno cinco quatro tres con.trip.ulate wisely with inordinate heed frequently forego... go for the inevitabley peculiar this post.toastee paradise goes... as far as it goes BEWARNED!!! BEWARE!!! thou weak of art ye skittle.fish twitched none shalt pass beyond this conjecture ill.prepared and armless ye who doth proceed without combat/issue day.glo umbrella south/african pith helmet & swiss army knife will most certainly perish.eth ARM THY (baddest) SEPHF !!! HEARKEN and hear all you neo.frijole fud.duddy sumbuddies.... you may pose like a local but eureka tourista you make plenty.denari & have intimate relations with skinny.ankle thoroughbred blondroids nightly but... your rubble floats and stinketh still.... this cliche.it.tiety this sub.normate dia.tribal rant is not meant for you it speaks odd tongues Eclectic Dialectics way up beyond the vernacular it utters vague verboten Electric Truth to very nearly Nobody * in particular * INTRODUCTION Fireflies flicker beyond the pin.holed blackness Headlights shine beyond the cracked cranium of intolerable despair Heat migrates downtown... white light pierces the ether LIFE terminates just short of pale jaundiced gloom We have become the bounty hunters of barking madness the emmisaries of the great and glorious illimitable Jongleurs de dieu Proceed with extreme caution: (Flatteries not included) Chapter.one It was a cool full moon slow jazz dancing amongst the stars type.o.night it was... a chest full of passion spray paint & sweet ambrosia The thing is Alias Datura was restless... out in his jeep.with.the.top.down ready for anything prepared for nothing He was on his way out into the wilderness urban night in the mood for some kinda establishment burn your basic mid.class destruction baaaby impatient impertinent rarring to go he went main street u.s.a. He came to a building one of those mirro. reflecto. erecto. multi.story jobs 28 floors of gold bold mirrors the kind that make you wanna puke In Dallas it was springtime equinox chicken pox fever make a boy insane ready to smelt in horny expectation confused in righteous indignation He was ready willing & a.roaring to die for it Alias flipped on his nacamichi portable played Moby Grape's first album bootlegged from the Rhino archives He psyched psyched jacked hiZself up Alias climbed determinately with rubber suction soccer cleats nylon pylons a 300 foot rapeller rope & sheer dopamine will Up up uptopia up to about floor thirteen he painted pristene nuevo sistene chapel.like michaelangelesque red black yello.green the ugliest eyesore you ever did see of greed possum rubbing paws with the Whore Of Babylawn... a technicolor apocalyse right there at 250 ft. an unprecedential endeavor of awful awful Genius & then it was dawn After his descent the grafittiste made tracks He went north then east then south again ending up at his humble abode Twas a stark lofty experience in the land of ancient blues of mance lipscomb toons too old to pronounce Deeeeep Deep Ellllum a legendary off.ramp in a forgettable century Alias called it home He made espresso extra.strength as was his custom & waited impatiently for Adrian to wake up Alias could hardly stand it Adrian would appreciate this Now Adrian Diffrient was a well.taught square.knot An educated hyper.cowboy scholar mutant egg.head reborn though his natural gravitation leaned heavily t'ward the far.mid.right he was a freeman in.cog.neato dilettante non.chalant Genetically he was a Jackson Pollock work in progress of hybrid stock his mama was a deposed Armenian ballerina & his daddy a French Huguenot episcopate Adrian was a son of a Bish.op However waspish & ivy leagued his appearance Adrian had more than a bevy of emancipated bolts in his lineage baboon butted primatoids loose in his familial eucalyptus Sort of a radical Rory Calhoun type He knew his computers wyooooh he knew the hack an ultra.techno.pomo.modemite.type ya know He was BIG trouble to the government at large a definite problem to the powers that be Obviously he was a Real nice guy Anyway Alias met Adrian at the University of New Mexico Albuquerque in a physics class of all places They talked quantum.sociology Between them unbeknownxt they solved all the myriad predicaments of the new world order and remained compadres for life despite in spite for spite their professors wildest dreams That Virginia is the whole future enchilada It was still dark when Alias punched the garage beeper command central controller He parked the renegade snorted the fumes fumbled for keys & hit the door In short He made it back to his squat without the cops It must have seemed like hours waiting It was difficult given his notorious impetuosity but Alias gnew his friend's intolerabilty in a snooze.looze situation He was pondering his own quasi.mojo Indian desert past when Adrian's alarm clock rang mercilessly the way it always do Adrian could tell right off the bat that Alias was anxious "Nothing new" he opined "Alias is almost always keyed into Cray 2000" "What has he done to us this time?" Alias fit to burst exclaimed "You gotta see it Adrian before they hose it down" Still in a grog all Adrian could see was the tell.tale black. yello. green & red spray paint spackled on Alias's bearded face "So where did you Van Gogh last night Alias?" Adrian quipped yawning "The Central Tower" Alias winked Adrian chuckled "You always did go in for those she-she venues didn't you *Stick*?" Chapter 2 Stick was a nickname you see one of many perhaps his most innocuous but Alias's #1 nom.de'.plume none.the.less He was christened it in college after mostly playing roller blade hockey in the deserted cafetorium of the student center lounge with the dean of students 19 year old henna headed daughter at 2 a.m. Alias lost.... Her name was Tamara not to be confused with Tammy Call her that & you would inevitably lead a long unbearable extinction (needless to say she had no nickname) But her part in this movie comes a little later Meanwhile back at the scenario Adrian and "Stick" climbed aboard their jerry rigged 1963 harley panhead <> & returned to the scene of the alleged perpetration discreetly disguised of course as madras.clad tourists from Beaumont Reconaissanse was already underway They had the firechief out in plaid underwear directing traffic jelly & the dog catcher en route with petroleum jam to alleviate the unwarranted color in the neighborhood <> <> But it was still there looming all those stories high the hoses just couldn't quite reach The Whore was alive... (God bless latex) Chapter 3 When the boys arrived there had developed quite the parking lot hooplah Office plebes & general managers stenographers & the occasional men's room attendant had stopped to gawk.a.doodle.do... It was all too much for Alias at large the situation was ripe as a three.day odd banana hangin' above the lava lamp He jest had to preach yeeeahs a situation for pontification indeeeed.uh Alias lept atop the hood of a non.descript lemon yello turbo carerra Twas the sermon mount "Woe whoa" Alias began "the evil possum is alive & greedy right here I said heeera in the belly of the bahble belt" "As you can well attest by this apropos angelic albeit slip.shod work of an.on.enemyty hovering above us the greed.head with brief case double.breasted heart eagerly embraces the lizard.lipped prostitute illy spoken of in Revelation 17" Alias paused momentarily awaiting any one with a spontaneous hip.pocket gnu.testament to rebutt his improv.exegesis unsurprisingly fortuitously there were no arm.chair seminarians in attendance only just the usual num.dum hum.drum peacock.tied bow.headed free.market bourgeois corporate.mass Alias continued thus "If you ass.ume.uh correctly you with ears to see I'm.a.talking 'bout U 'N me We are the collective rapacious marsupial & this maize.ball voluptuous mammon suckin' harlot is this and every other gno.wheres.ville built on the shifting sands of avarice greed & prideful turpitude.uh" "Come out of her" he said roaring now "Pull out the bawdy courtesan & taste the liberty of simple enterprise of quantifiable Quality terra incognita life liberty & the hot pursuit "we must all become exceedingly kewl serve the Ahhhmighty the earth a foot our brethren & sisteren to boot & the common path trodden by all AMEN" Whew that was tough...!!!! The whole discourse was delivered in approximately 119 sweat.soused seconds At the vortex of his convictions Alias had accentuated his conclusion with the heel.toe waffle.stomp of his steel.shank luft.waffe boot cratering indelibly the sunshine gleaming hood of his porsche.top pulpit The day janitor Johnny Lyon winced & instataneously forgave the indiscretion He KNEW this overt enthusiastic ecclesiastic they had done more than a coupla roadhouse mad.jams somewhere back in the froggy yore Chapter 4 Now Johnny Lyon was an impeccable drummist a different conga Deep brown.o.skin tone given to humility dreads ilie Sallasie zen.vacuuming & sweeping up behind bureaucracy jah's own janitor He was eager to form a Gnew combo one that'd manifest the One tight loose simultaneous spontaneous Jah.warship.full unfathomably wanton wonton abandoned on the brink of ecstatic normalcy Johnny felt correctly the opportunity dreweth nigh He cruised perused pursued the homefield advantage Alias dwindled his verbiage & took the leap of fate off the scuffed & dented ride he hit the ground running swift & calculated t'ward Adrian's revving cycle The world bblluurrredd before the "stick" man in adrenelin & nutso.subtle ennuendo rasta.root boy before him certain peril behind Alias opted for the vague familiar dark face at hand Chapter 5 The overall reaction of the crowd was one of markedly ambiguous bewilderment stun.gunned cattle.prodded the air reeked of burning synapsis & bar.b.que cerebrum This kinda happening didn't befall this predominantly suburbanite crowd every day.... Johnny Lyon was ek.stahtic Mon He were I n'I jahmmin on the positive vibra.shuns He was most(es) impressed with his rude.boy brutha.mon He was High (He had just quaffed a do.yas spliff of Kingston's best on da way to his 9 to 5...) Alias embraced his natty.head friend & failed to dread it Johnny appraised the damage to his waffle.stomped soul.scuffed sports car at one point five kilo.bux American (& said not a word) Later when Alias learned of his costly faux.paux he was utterly filled with heart.felt remorse He immediately donned burlap rolled in piles of charcoal briquettes took a vow of frowns called his travel agent & booked himself on a three.day guilt.trip (as was his way) Any.who Adrian extended the invitation "Come over Johnny we need to chat" "Biznezz stuph ya see" "I have heard" Adrian drawled "that you pound the skins unmercifully" "Kinda like... uh..Keith Moon on a good day" Back at the bunker Johnny queried "Who'z daht bahd draummer you tawk bout brah?" "Irie I ne'er sounded he mout" "Is he rasta or baldhead?" "Neither... he's dead" Alias answered (still frowning) "Both" Adrian countered (sly-dog like) It was time for diplomatix Time to cast his impenetrable net.1 (Adrian wanted this guy bangin' in his band badd) It was like... Like trout fishing in British Columbia in the heat of the spawn Before they knew it twas a twiddly.done deal... Most immediate they'd crank the Jahms But.b.b.b.butt f.f.f.first THE SEAL (then & there they cut the deal with cadmium steel) Yes folks that's right this is THAT pagan ritual It was a Kodak moment... made for the blade ripe for the knife Honest Injun (much) Much more binding than a cold.fish handjob or a chic.key faggo peck on the whiskered cheek A simple crossing of palms A covenantal mingling of silent flowing crimson Adrian dug closure the mostest.. footnote alert return space. ditto. road hump comma. ok... this is it 1 What Adrian's net don't catch ain't fish Adrian's interlude a byte > & plenty rom to boot> exclamation - I'm going HOME period - back to my dank forest shift - a hollow log to make my own tab - I know! delete - I quit scroll.lock - Boss kiped my keys print screen - Guess I'll have to release those blackmail glossies after all shift - where to start option - full of em undo - you can never go back page down - far.far away caps.lock - I WILL make it home - I miss my mainframe delete - Forget it, I've come way too far option - Maybe I'll find another end - frostbite, on the last leg, the first freeze of a long cold winter close - The end draws nigh shutdown - my lifesigns negligible offfffffff - Dead.dead.dead ......................................... ....................... ...... Diode cool mother board protect virus spread delete all JETTISON ROCKETS - ascendent spirit HOSE DOWN THE local magistrate - one last monkey wrench on the way out pick nose =3D I had no idea one could do that here disappear - home free re.format - These wings ARE kinda clumsy re.boot =3D shalom LINK UP...GOD'S GOT ONE HELLUVA SET.UP HERE THINK I'LL STAY AWHILE... beats the heck out of that gnarly oak think I'll surf the continuum this millenium ascii & ye shall receive Chapter 6 Alias Datura was born a nobody in a world of somebodies the first and final offspring of a coupla' aging beat farmer hipsters residing in sedate solar seclusion somewhere in the pinon perfumigated raggedy jagged crags of the northern GNew Mexicali badlands His folks it seems were retro.spectors hangers.on of ideologies & utopian notions peculiar but not limited to the late.mid.twentieth century They were of the woodstockian wunderkind the eternally blissed summer of love.ites who made The Trip & never returned (Basically biologically Alias Datura sprang forth from a pair of hip.hugger bell.bottom genes...) The child was conceived incubated & conveyed into this world in the back of a multi.colored 1967 VW micro.bus camper semi.permanently stalled on the acreage of a veggie.fueled dead headian ad hoc berkenstock commune incoveniently located atop mountainous terrain thirty miles from the nearest public restroom Consequently there were no "professionals" on hand to supervise Alias's debut performance only just "Suzy Creamcheeze" the cynically dys.enchanted former candy.striper & "Oat Willie" who had somewhere in his infinitely more lucid past been awarded a first aid merit badge from the boy scouts of america (It may be accurately stated at this juncture that Alias's mom & pop were definite victims of "mid-wife" crisis) Fortunately unbelievably despite possibly due to the inept simplicity of the slip.shod wanna.be surgical staff there were no complications in the rear.engine multi.hued maternity ward Mother and child lay naked and safe bloody & sorely content while complex strategies for departure & descent were hastily formulated by the men.folk anxious to get the new born down the hill back to civilization registered officially on the governmental dole rosters The proud parents awoke before dawn they put his diaper on & they walked on down the hall... Out to the field that the bus lived in... After some difficulty firing up they cranked the rusty air.cooled beast & headed on down the dusty red clay descending... to the black top on past maggies farm across the rainbow bridge out to highway 51 (revisited) Chapter 7 On the long spiralling two.lane down to town the mood in the micro was one of mirth and merriment Mater & Pater Alias's rookie procreators exchanged coos of enchantment over their new.born progeny they just couldn't resist sneaking prolonged glances taking far more chances than the incline allowed how 'bout them rusty brakeshoes They never saw the pesky Peterbilt looming large 'round the oncoming curve never even felt the v.dub crinkle and mash on impact into a smoldering heap of tin.foil leatherette shatter.resistant glass \\\!@#$%$#^&&*((((*&^%^&^&* crushed like a beetle Fahrvegnugen indeed The panic crazed trucker peered dazedly out the cracked windshield of his jack.knifed logging truck his cargo spilt & scattered almost a quarter mile along the asphault He didn't even check the wreckage before c.b.'ing the state troopers He knew there would be no walking away from this one In about fifteen minutes the parade of emergency vehicles began to arrive at the scene howling & flashing in a manner befitting a major castrophe It took half.a.hamlet's public servants & a beligerent wench mob the better part of the morning to mop up the muck & mottle & make the hiway scenic again One of the troopers tossed off 'tween spews of snuff "it's a downright shame two young fokes freeks tho' they wuz cut down in tha prime.o.life slick as a whistle like prob'ly on sumthin don'.cha.gnow" Back at the municipality the bureaucrats swarmed pencils were pushed reports were filed data manipulated & notifications made By mid.afternoon the tragedy out on 51 was old news & that was that Nobody saw the baby fly No one saw him crash Noboby found his scraped and bruised tiny little baby body lying unconscious in the jimson weed 150 feet from the wreckage almost nobody knew he existed Someday almost everybody would... Chapter 8 Nathanael Nahir Brunswick III was a heavily I.Q.'d egg.head genius type.... a think.tank unto himself He was one of the elite handfull of high dollar top echalon laboratory quantum physicists in the free world Naturally the government had snatched him up early right out of Cal Tech some thirty years prior & buried him in nuke.work up in the Bandelera highlands Up in Los Alamos he was a household word Up in the labs he was top gun At some point though Dr. Brunswick came a wee.bit unglued Not so much that anyone around him noticed... stratospheric intellect breeds extreme eccentricity & on the surface in his gang of gigabiters he was merely one of the boys It was something much much deeper than that Something vague & totally unscientific Nate had a glimpse of God It all started I suppose when Dr. B met Rolling Thunder the Anasazi "witch doctor" down at the local pub They talked for hours over pine nuts & mystery tea spectrum analysis the electromagnetic wave cosmic implosion... all the pertinent topics in at least three languages concluding it really is a small world after all... They left the place arm.over.shoulder & went down to the thunder man's domicile a cave in the cliffs about a thousand feet below Dr. Nat's plateaud place of employment The good doc skipped out on work the following day an occurence which had not transpired since he lost his gall.stones to the surgeon's blade some eight years prior This day however he didn't even phone in ill A W O L Brunsy was busy getting well It was truly amazing the commonality shared these two seminal sages While they were from seemingly adverse parallel realities they proved to be two slices from the same loaf of toast congealed tight aroundst the peanut butter of time & gravity They were battered & fried in the same ethereal surreal saute' When Dr. Brunswick did return to work he did not shave or don his cuss.to.mary grey bow tie he didn't switch on his UNIX check his phone.mail fax or his daily agenda He merely sat in silent contemplation twiddlin' a pencil in his cubby hole orafice peering through the porthole at his expanding zuni.verse watching the paradigm shift By 10:45 it was all over He penciled a memo to hang on his hallowed door -Gone Fission- is all it said Then he crashed his hard.disk torched his files & on his way out hurriedly tossed his security badge at the flippant front desk receptionist He walked... easterly smiling into the glazed donut of the warm New Mexican sun Off to see the Shaman Chapter 9 Dr. Brunswick adapted very quickly to his habitat amongst the heathens He found himself an abandoned hogan about 2 stones throw from his witch dr. homeboy & just hung out awhile attempting to blend From the women he learned to skin a sheep cook fry.bread work a loom & milk a goat From the men he delineated the non.linear life of a clansman From his former employers he absconded a solar.powered mini.generator & a lap.top SPARCbook jacked into the lab's mainframe Dr. Brunswick was good to go Before long he had earned a squat among the elders a turn in the sweat lodge & a prestigious seat in the peyote circle He became kind of a kinsman (pretty cool for a paleface) Now everyday the good doctor & his crony the shaman would have a nice long walk & talk among the cliffs & crannies surrounding their hidden valley hide.a.way Nathanael learning the lingo the herbs the mystery mantras & the ritual dances of the old ones & Rolling Thunder soaking in the psych & science of Nathanael's post.modern techno song & dance Both were enamored with the other's brilliance both expanding & expounding on the other's expositions each a pure crystalline cathartic catalyst to the other's combustious catechism What they both wanted more than anything they collectively concluded was an heir an apprentice a neophyte acolyte... ... a guinea pig what they got lay helpless & whimpering up around the bend Chapter 10 & so it happened that the renegade nukeguy & his necromantic chum meandered into the neo.natal existence of a technically non.existent no.baby Lying unconscious shivering in the shadowy glow of the Sangre' de Christo sunset the child awoke whimpered then bellowed from his jimson weed nest a good stone's throw from the tar & gravel thruway The two men rested in rumination on the red rocks above... hearing the fracas they climbed diligently down down down curious & concerned toward the commotion Finding the little guy battered in the bush they immediately checked his vitals wrapped him up in a frayed woolen SEARS poncho & rushed him back to the village for further prognostication After a consensus among the women & elders that the healthy lunged tot was in no mortal danger Dr. Brunswick & Rolling Thunder surrendered the boy to the loving care of the lady folk & retired to the sweat lodge to smoke on the whole affair It took about five western minutes & two long draws from the medicine pipe for the council to decide just what it was the Fates were driving at After all wasn't this remarkable discovery exactly the answer to all they had been praying of late? Wasn't this the godsend they had hoped would become manifest? hmmmmmmm & so it was that a green.eyed ruddy.faced redhead was unanimously inducted into an ancient clan of "extinct" Amer.Indians The good doc dubbed the child Alias because he enjoyed the concept & the shaman tacked on "dATURA" because that happened to be the mystical herb in which they had found the boy so recently enshrubbed Alias Datura had found a home The child was gracefully reared up the Indian way with a healthy twist of Thunder.Gramp's neolithic majick & daily doses of Doc.Doc's sagacious anglo.philic grace Alias had direct access to the best of the gnew west AND the omni.precious gold of the old tutelage par excellence In the years that followed Alias became robustiously multi.dimensional mischieviously brilliant mildly handsome & very very crafty As a fleet footed adolescent Alias's flaming mane could be seen skittering about the cliffs with the agility of a wild goat His speedy digestion of the secret mythos & the arcana antiqua were unrivaled in the annals of Anasazi lore Alias could spot wild ergot at fifty paces & knew Cobal as a third language by age thirteen He was coddled & revered by all in his elderly barren clan of dwindling lineage Alias was their collective shot at continuance the heir apparent of their entire race By the time they were through he would have to know a little of everything they knew about anything By the time he was finished he would graft a new rung in the ladder of their evolution Chapter 11 Call me Junta... My quest for Alias Datura began a few deadlines back a last ditch kamikaze effort on my part to remain gainfully employed as contributing editor for an horrendously trendy slick & sleezy corporate behemoth rock n' roll tabloid gazette gazundtheit You know the one I figured I'd hunt down this humongously hyped myth.illogical hooligan maybe shoot the shit chit chat a bit & nail the 'zine an elusive exclusive that would rocket the revenues & decorate the magnate's mantle with pulitzer pabulum At least that's what I told the boss Anyway he bought it... A terse memorandum from the penthouse & I was back in the saddle the accountants frantically lifting the curse on my extensively abused expense account & sub.leasing for my use a 4WD gun.metal grey GhostRider cruiser The corporate machinery skittled & whirred rattled & hummed decrypting files unblotching credentials re.instating my iteration de.excessing my American Express In a Yew Nork Jiffy they sent me packing lobbing the ultimatum "six.months.&.I.want.it.on.my.desk. &.don't.even.think.of.rearing.yo.ugly. mug.round.here.again.if.you.don't.get. da.scoop....period" "No Prob" I muttered beneath my breath I had No idea In my biz under ordinary happenstance a seasoned professional such as myself can most generally skuffle & skam just about anything be anyone go anywhere on the planet I've got this old shaving kit faux.vinyl quite ordinary to the undiscerning eye it's contents a veritible treasure trove of credibility legitimate & otherwise kiped or finagled A dossier of desirable distinguishability In my magical bag.o.trix I have at my disposal credentials to kill for: permits press passes proclamations pronouncements even the much coveted Playboy photographer's badge On an effortless accessability level I am proverbially loaded for bear Unfortunately bear was not what I was hunting So began the goose chase It took me three long months of arduous investigation just to locate the general vicinity that Alias & his tatterdemalion throng of vagabonds were purported to approximate At this point in his illustrious career as cavorter of the corporate caboose the Alleged One was already a happily harbored fugitive a 21st century robin hoodlum pranxter saint loyally protected by the proletariat who loved & revered his audacious hi.jinx & his genuine benevolence to the great unwashed To the societal suicides the artists the poets the craftspersons & humanities majors Alias Datura was the epitome of creative anarchy the patron saint of cool To the poverty stricken shelterless the ravaged & discarded the A.man was a laserbeam of hope & glory of life beyond the ever.tightening reign of the gnu whorled hors d'oeuvre In all my sojourns travels & travails I had never encountered such difficulty such bumfuzzling frustration... The no.man was no.where to be found There were no squealers in the ranks no bribable bozos amongst the brethren I had never felt so disheartened & inept as it became queerly clearer with each passing day that Alias Datura was destined to remain... pseudonymous Chapter 12 The curtain closed on my journalistic career via an impressively impersonal facsimile from the HQ A preditorially prognosticated notification of creditary cancellation & posthumous per diemic rescindance The disclosure appeared quite clear... That I was washed.up & floundering as a hot.dog news.hound Deep.sixed flatlined & floating i.e. the olive in my seventh double martini This would not look good on the resume' Three months on the far side of a covenantal deadline is sixty days too long in the majors... Patience in the rag biz is best known for it's brevity the communications industry a callous cold.hearted conservative bastion of wanna.be libertines Mediae Pachydermatous I spent the first evening of my avocational spontaneous combustion in pitiable self.deprecation wallowing in woeful blatancy hunkering in the shadowy extremities of a flagrantly hip in.crowd local yocale on Mustang Island amidst the Gulf of Mexico Where do you go when you've gone too far? Twas a fit setting for a coup de grace' the last stop on a dead.end ferryboat to nowhere The ultimate destination my investigations insights & finely honed intuitions had sent me scrambling across fourteen states to find... So it ended... so I thought... The great snipe.hunt for the manic mystery wizard.king lay beached & bloated in the sultry sun bleached sands of a shrimper's paradise Chapter 13 Bleary eyed & beaten in a vodkate vermouthian stupor I slithered from my roost to beg of Jack the barkeep yet another goblet of "hemlock" As I had been here in the Port a week or two I had successfully earned a bit of a celebrity rep among the native islanders my past journalistic gibberish having been widely read by the lunatick fringe types who uninhibitedly inhabit haunts such as these When I get plastered I get cocky & it obviates in my whole demeanor In a man whose self.esteem is evaporating existentially by the inch his arrogance grows with every swallow After 8 martinis he either passes into the netherworld or becomes an embarrassment... an egotistical monster who craves unequivicably the adulation of all around him I am such a man at least I was that night... Three sheets to the wind I whirled about the bar like a dervish on amphetamines mingling with this table cavorting with that boasting braggadoccio raving rhapsodacious a blithering dunderhead on parade... After tooting my own tuba to the point of obnoxiating toxification I grew weary of sport & flirtation & slinked on back to da' boof for another shot of solitude As I approached the two.top I was startled to espy a stranger inhabiting my domain a dark dreadlockian brutha in a suit of fine white linen encroachfully crouching my bailiwick I swaggered hastily to inform the man his obtrusive intrusion Two steps from the table his piercing brown eyes stopped me dead left me staring at my sandals blubbering like an idiot 'neath my sotted breath There was something very very powerful puzzling & potentially menacing afoot I don't scare that eazy "You petty lawge faw yaw trawsas newzmon" he said directly "ba chu kno na da meenin uh 'cool' til u fine de origin uh da wind" "huh?" I stammered "what wind?" "Tha wind," he rebutted pointing at the window directly behind him... In my various preoccupations throughout the evening I had not noticed the cataclysmic goings on mounting outside the alehouse The wind whistled the rain pounded tumultuously on the walls of the tavern "Who are you?" I queried... "Jah will kno' when ya fine it" he whispered grinning Confused confounded suddenly sober I hurled the spent martini glass against an imposing wall & stalked out the door into the deluge... wherever the wind would take me... Chapter 14 The rasta's absurd challenge was the impetus of my propulsion into the utter chaos awaiting outside in the elements inside my psyche & cynically besmudged soul I somehow intuited that if I wished to transcend the malevolent maelstrom of my rutted yore I would have to hedge this dreadboy's ridiculous bet risk all that was left of my sanity the whole kit.n.kaboodle t'ward the attainment of this vague seemingly imbecilic notion of "finding the origin of the wind" How would one go about such a gambit? Out on the coastal gulfway I faced the howling gale trudging forward onward thru the squall... The rain & sand pelted my face bruising my eyes The mighty tempest pummeled my frame pushing pushing unrelentless discouraging forward motion antagonizing de_mobilization Onward I forged DOWN the center stripe into the blurry highbeams of swerving oncoming sedans obsessed with a notion a riddle at best a rattlebrain stroll through the valley of death a meander toward the intangible... a brush with myth... Tears streamed down my bloated wind burnt cheeks sob.suppressed.screams spewed forth betwixt chattering teeth I walked the white line teetering on the tipsy brink of nihilistic despair All at once a fierce thunderclap shook the sandscape illumining the dunes revealing in it's shimmer the Electraumaton TransMorpher... InterCorp's bawdy.badd inter.coastal power.sprawl xxx CAUTION xxx xxx HIGH VOLT'AGE xxx xxx xtreme.danger xxx (especially in this clime) Mad.dog.rabid I ranted & raved running t'ward the tall 3.meter cyclone fence surrounding surge.city "olly.olly.oscillator reddy kilowatt here I come" gate.crash body.thud sand.slam T.K.O. After a 'phew' moments of dazed silence I picked myself up back onto my haunches & climbed the chainlink hedgerow encircling the powerhouse Dropping to the other side I lay in the weeds staring up at the webbed mesh of voltage above praying beyond the NET for freedom or annihilation liberty or lifelessness the origin or the end... Chapter 15 Horizontally daunted hauntingly static I lay gazing the chaotic meta.pho.real landscape Ricochet vizions holographik sensate swirlz cachophonik symphoniez of corneack Matizzeian riptide phantazmagoria (I'ze trippin' like a mofo) twas then I espyed a Van Goghian glow engulfing the seaward dunes a lazerlyte orb of spiralling luminance lithargically flittering beyond the horizon beckoning... With dwindling pluck I perservered hauling my wobbly bulk up & over the metal palisade agasp aslither across the road t'ward the glister gleaming Hands & knees ascending the throne of sand t'ward the prince of light reaching the pinnacle collapsing in the solipsistic stillness of Perfect Peace... I awoke in the morning on the cold cement floor of a semi.built beachfront condominium Naked wrapped in a canvas dropcloth staring up at the faces of four smiling Chicano construction workers... & requested a cigarette Port Aransas 7 Kilometers the roadsign read as I sat on the shoulder smokin' a stog soakin' in the warm rays of sun up thumbing my way back to stilt.town On my face I wore an immutable smirk In my chest a heart of churning bliss in my mind the name of a gnew.found friend & on the rest of me nothing but a makeshift heftybag breechcloth purloined from a tidepool after a quicksplash in the surf After an hour or so I caught a ride back to Aransas in the backseat of a search & rescue squadcar the red cross guy scoldingly informing me my foolhardy providence letting me off at my request at the delivery entrance of the "Gilded Clam" an earlybird breakfast shanty right next door to the blown down tourist bureau (no.shoes.no.shirt.no.problem) Sprawling in the naugahyde tuck'n roll booth marty robbins twangin Old El Paso on the tabletop juke I'ze waitin' on Gladys to bring 90 proof seafarer's coffee sludge stale donuts & 30 year veteran waitress wizdom I quadrupletaked suddenly on the only other patron in the dinette There right there slinkin' on the formica chromeplate counter.top was my wide.eyed snake.haired ganjamon sippin' wormwood tea & diamond.tooth beamin' in my general direction... "Hello Johnny" I slyly stated... "Ahhh... Mr. Staumson" he recointered winking "I-an-I be sooo very pleezed da may yer `quaintence" "Cum" he said Drenk de java mos' quik mi bruthamon he mos ankshus ta parlay" Hurriedly I gulped my cup of scalding joe ecstatic knowing for once who I was & what I'd found... Chapter 16 Outside the eatery Johnny Lyon hopped astraddle the black leather n' foam seat of an anti.diluvian albeit meticulously maintained harley.davidson pan.head scooter With a sylphlike nod of his mighty locks he motioned downward left t'ward the sidecar hitched... Clumsily I clambored into the cockpit as he rooted the hawg spittin' gravel as the torque kicked in... Chuggin' North we head up the pike up My Road via delorosa path of turbulence sorrow resurrection redemption last nite's dark nite du jour Slow.mo like we glide past the powerdrome on past the point of roundabout starboard down a sideroad t'ward "The Ruins" hmmm I had oft heard it mentioned in quasi.reverent tones during numerous murmerings & overheard tete te tetes amongst the locals The place was in fact a broke down ramshackle motel - grogshop forced inland off its beachfront tentaculared moorings some years previous for reasons at that time covertly vague and jurisdictional "The Ruins" allegedly abandoned was in it's prime "Cody's on the Beach" a fabled mainstay getaway on the freebootin frontier a jackson holian sanctuario for swashbucklers techno.shamen & the occasional rhymester raconteur I had intended on several occasions to investigate the hearsay I never made it past the notion `til now chuggachugga.thunk.thunk down.throttle clunk the harley rolled to a halt outside the antique swingin' saloon doors of our apparent destination dismounting the bike perusing the premises I was stunned at the un"ruin"ess of "The Ruins" someone certainly spent some sap fixin' up this dump stone & seashell walkway gardens bodhisattva gouache Zendo walls Navajo adobe claypot kilns tye.dye tabernacle tent n'awnings... quicksilver chrome trekker bus... a multi.kultured celebration a damn sight more carnival than carnage "The Ruins"... hrruuumph... Mesmerized spellbound soaked up in the scene I was suddenly startled at the squeeze of a firm hand on shoulder left Clumsily stumbling spinning around I fell to the sand blinded in the morning sun glaring into the silhouette scruff of a stranger struggling to set me straight Once righted I gave this laughingly apologetic auslander the once over not tall not short not skinny not fat short.stop full.back rugby.esque untamed sun.baked auburn hair scrimshawed braid danglin' past his chest pirate hoop n' emerald stud teardrop spyshades cayenne beard silken scarf n' paint smeared smock madras paisley thrift.store vest khaki cut.offs ox.blood doc's infectious jester gap.tooth grin instantaneous recognition ex de facto apparition I looked the ghostman square in the sun.bespectacled face & smugly iterated my well.hashed journalistic dream.greeting "Mr. Datura I Presume" feigning flabbergast he snorted then sniggered his retort "Elementary my dear Staumson" With that he threw his sinewy arm over my sunburnt.sore scapula escorting me up the creaky steps through the squeeky see.saw doors of "The Ruins" Chapter 17 Into the sanctum Alias lead through the narthex corridor velveteen tapestries cobalt & crimson the atmosphere wafting smoldering sandalwood & hydroponic sensimillia brass censors on stone kiosks neon candelabrum Inside the grotto Johnny stopped to flip on the jukebox a kitschy old retooled wurlitzer gutted & digitally enhanced Thelonius MONK n' Coltrane John squawking bebop beatitudes from high.fidelity suspended sensurround subwoofers The place was a paradoxic marvel an astounding amalgamate of the very old & the very gnew tres kewl yet soberly stately... handmade craftmanship n' techno.frankensteinien doodlebuggery a teaspoon of order & a shooter of chaos Neo.expressionist frescoed walls magnesium alloyed mahogany bar mosaio deco neoprene tiling circular fireplace seashell & stucco subterranean shakespearean soundstage NET connected terminal decks on polyurethaned cable spool tabletops a hangouters hangout a lunatics fringe an architects shroomscape an iconoclast's shrine not quite anywhere you've ever been above the bar a simple sign: "Church of the Coyote" "Enquire Within" odd awe struck cosmically familial I felt I'd discovered a new continent a Temporary Autonomous Zone Alias emerged from the kitchen bearing hot latte' and baklava He motioned Johnny and I to join him at the bar "Enjoy it while you can" he quipped "We'll be pulling stakes in three days... after the saturnalia..." Chapter 18 Over the course of the next three hours I was unbegrudgingly granted the interview I had gropingly grepped for so long... In retrospect I s'pose I'd earned it emerging triumphant through the thorough douching of my scatological soul The whole schemata reeked of aesthetic subversion & trickster shenaniganzia This was no accidental encounter no coincidental happenstance Alias had found Me... He had scripted this scenario en toto & I had somehow aced the screen test shanghaied hurdy.gurdied larry moe & curlyed sabotaged into submission by some fixional pomo.wizard & his merry. run.amokers scrupulously subdued & requested to serve as court scrivener in the kingdom discordia litt=82rateur le Jongleurs de dieu you won't find this job in the classifieds I accepted the promotion... ----------------------------<<>>-------------------------- copyright 1993 Randy e Welch ========================================================================= Date: Thu, 23 Dec 1993 09:09:54 -0600 Reply-To: Future Culture Sender: Future Culture From: "Randy E. Welch" Subject: ooops I was intending to send this huge bandwidth devourer to some folx by special request as a reply to some inquiries and accidently replied to the group at large... If it's too big... axe it... If you read it, let me know what you think.... I'd appreciate the response... Sorry to all on FIXION for double posting... peace luv & nexis randy e welch la'bop =========================================================================