His penis pulsated unexpectedly hard within the tight grip. It was cold but the determined firmness of the phantom grasp made it even harder. The fingers had settled along its rubbery shank. At first delicately then compressing in firmness as the embrace of the member became incrementally even stronger. That same old feeling of a heavy emotional displacement from below spread upward from his belly towards his heart. He could almost feel that same old vortex of building warmth rekindled from that now ancient youthful vitality. A companion tugging sensation encompassing the region around his anus. Like an old car too long in storage revived by spark of a new battery he felt feelings and emotions that were hard to recall since the last sign of their age old disappearance. It had seemed like ages since his organ has been touched by another. He felt as if it was being resurrected from a long period of death.The sharp edge of the scalpel caressed the base of his tight scrotum as the hand still in tight embrace of his shaft used it to lift the package of his testicles skywards tugging them tautly away from his pelvis. He could not seem to account for the occasion that had invited this renewal of a taste of forgotten sensation of anxious animal desire. The incision slowly commencing around its base with a long studied circumferential cut around the base of his sexual apparatus. As the blade cut deep he seemed to sink back into the stupor that he had been found in before this unanticipated episode. A deep and unchartable period of rest that he felt would be hard to awaken once again from. After much care and professional ceremony, the organ was fully detached and lifted away from the cadaver. It was laid carefully into a clear container of Formalin to be studied at a later time by the student for her examination of the male reproductive system the following week.
In a backwater border area somewhere near an African frontier a tiny mud brick box shaped shanty stood. Long abandoned. It now served as a covert military installation. A bunker serving as a forward looking enemy observation lookout post. Central Command had decided it would make an incursion through bombardment by using this location as the operation’s covert base and ready eyes. They set up a gigantic booby trap per their orders in the adjacent quadrant near the enemy. A killing field that the artillery barrage would subsequently drive them into. The well-hidden structure was manned at times by three or four paramilitary and agency types, half of them women. An unlikely combination of personnel considering the immense level of physical danger in holding such a position after the fact of the disclosure of their presence in the region. They had to attempt to make the second part of the mission look as if it was simply a happenstance occurrence that did not reveal the fact of their presence in near proximity within this structure on the ground. Theoretically the distance between them and the ambush they set up would be far enough. They prepared their end of this exercise from the cover of the tall grass that cloaked their location from view. When it came to initiate their end of it by setting off the explosives, much to their surprise and dismay, a woman’s frantic voice sounded outside revealing their position. Someone that had panicked and not followed the directive of leading potential pursuers away from their disguised base. Small fists pounding furiously on the outside of the structure’s only entrance. This fugitive’s opposite number giving her entry inside just managing to close the heavy wooden beam door before the enemy arrived to lay immediate siege to their structure. A contingent of troops that had been just far afield enough to manage to avoid being annihilated and now burning white hot for a quick and brutal revenge to be levied in kind. The rapid assault on the sturdy timbers saw them pried from their jamb and uprooted in an unexpectedly swift manner. The small room filling quickly with many sets of eyes bearing expectant expressions searching for victims upon which to visit their impending evil intent. Their festival of the application of vengeance would begin in a round of torture of the men and and build slowly to a crescendo saving the women for its finale. Tasking their imaginations to kill everybody in the bunker in the worst way possible. Their collective efforts seeking to provide a fit level of retribution for the ambush.
A Portuguese speaking backwater community in the middle of nowhere in sight of the coast. A haven for old burned out Hippies. A truck driver of a big box panel job doubling as a cab driver offering rides through the tangle of tiny causeways and dead ends that served as the town’s central sprawl. Navigating congested city traffic in the oddest of spaces. In one instance actually bumping up and down going up over the roofs then bouncing across their closely stepped flat cousins down finally into a bone jarring impact upon a dusty street. Smashing a large granite serpentine Augustine head with the back of the vehicle’s carriage. Revealing its true character as a faux stone maquillage for hiding drugs in their liquid form. The immediate result of such a spectacle finding the thoroughly rattled passenger now extent on the other side of town. The driver reveals a young adult daughter whose birthright has cost him his chance at fortune. But he is not a vindictive sort. If you treat him nice then maybe next time take the ride and you can have his daughter maybe as a wife? Maybe to prove yourself? The young girl being the next chapter of the tale being spun. That old story of a Tomboy tough exterior camouflaging an otherwise good heart. The mood of the scene set off by the transport of Italian architecture many centuries past. Though these people are not Italian they are living in an old town. The tourist comes back by the stable of the pensione eating a leg joint of chicken finding the young woman naked in the corral tending to the animals. A big brown and white Guernsey cow backed up against the rails where a horse formerly stood. He tosses the piece to her and she tosses it back on the ground. Then quickly picks it up and throws it back out of the corral at its sender with a look of disgust. “I don’t like chicken!”, she snarls. She’s a willful spirited lass. The man reflects as to what a strange, strange, strange world it is realizing he is currently amidst a dream of his own visiting other simultaneously slumbering people’s lives.
Fall descends! Displacing warmth with slowly biting cold kisses upon the cheek and over one’s extremities. Young Black sedan driven man’s Toyota music rediscovery ‘esplanade’ pounding out a decades old beat. The decades old constant drumming bringing back that other salt shaker in line when the inadvertent listener once knew that particular tune by rote. The volume pushed up so loud before the static traffic lamp that it buffets one like Jackie Chan kicking their ass! His thoughts have been laying down flat for the bulk of the week. A fucking living skeleton still aping human existence. Dead for all intents and purposes to the outside world. Chanting his Asian mantra barely audible. Nearly indiscernible. Trying to escape that ever tinier box called life. Strumming chords and PC chord progressions, trite and dated, having been forever played. In the shadow time of this era, it was not just the wooden puppets that wanted to be a real boy. Little girls trying to take that away too! Identity! Uniqueness! So fucking important! The more artifice applied like makeup to achieve it, the further into a faceless crowd one falls. Tourists in their own lands! Marveling at the falsehoods that they have been told. The magic box of elementary poisons. Nothing to wear! Not a single thing to believe in any longer. All used up! The empty cases discarded. These fucking ‘broads’ are all think they’re boys! There souls have been stolen and now they are just part of the furniture. A dead stick between their legs. Who will put this world aright? Certainly not its enemies that have been working overtime over generations to topple it! No longer that paucity of former friends on the other end of that warm piece of plastic blistering their palms. Hoping for the purring wetness bursting forth within the inert coldness of their extended hand. Modern Relationships. “Girls get what they want!” Boys get their unending frustration. CIVILIZATION? “Game Over!” Nothing left but King Rat! Jump head first into the bore hill and breath the shit into your lungs for a fast exist out. Who was originally accepting the proffer of, “Everything you ever wanted or dreamed of delivered to your door on a silver platter?” That yellow belly low down dirty rotten snake? Or the man who tended to the maidens? The world is your Apple TM. But sooner or later, it rots. That constant pound of jungle rhythms. Who would submit themselves to that? “You should!” You slave bitch! Both sides now scared by a rabbit.
Where am I? It is so gray and misty outside that I can barely see about a quarter of a mile before the mist begins to dematerialize the horizon. Please get me the volume down format the shelf and tell me in the numerology section what the significance of 2049 is? Thirteen? Change? Where am I? Chicago? Or Los Angeles, the cardboard two dimensional cutout of Indonesian shadow puppet play? Well the current rule is the bigger the movie franchise the more exotic and unique the effect’s treatment for the distributor’s logo must be! Someone just dropped an ancient big leather book volume down the middle of a stairwell and its echo is booming across the room! Oh, that’s the film! Slow over modulated sliding trumpets? Coronets? Horns! It must be the Blade Runner sequel I went into this movie auditorium to view!
OK, I am not going to try to not make too many snotty overly clever snarky comments from this point on. I saw the original in the theater on June 25th 1982 downtown when I was in a suburb of Chicago. The first theatrical version. I didn’t like it then! Too bizarre for the tastes of my time. Crowded, claustrophobic, morally dystopic? Lacking the level of adventure or positive forward thinking of a future that I personally wanted to participate in. And the heavy emphasis on what would eventually thirty years become state sponsored Politically Correct race guilt transposed in such a cumbersome speech plagued manner to what essentially would be called surrogates for what is now commonly derogatorily referred to as ‘whitey’ left me flat. Does it mean anything that Ridley Scott had to reedit some seven different versions until he got it right? The last one blissfully absent of the PC preachy narrative.
But! Here we are! Hundreds of space opera’s and post-apocalyptic scenarios later the viewing audience is in the same place. The ‘white’ viewing audience, of my people, I should say! For given the current crash in the fortunes of big budget overruns in Hollywood productions over the last five years plus, their stilted PC morality tainted big screen products all seem to die a still birth. Thank God the studios say for the Asian market! But in fact with the exception of two persons of the classic negro persuasion, who play their race at its worst, the world as re-imagined by its Canadian director and typical Jewish hegemony approved production team, is all ‘white’. It seems that the script writers must have jumped all over the less savory portions of “The Man In The High Castle” also penned by the same original author [that ‘Dick’!]. Phillip had this thing in big time for bashing Nazi’s. That obviously impressed the bigwigs in Hollywood since day one. Since, of course, Hollywood has a hard-on to disparage anything ‘white’ these days, he furnished plenty of anti Aryan seed material at that nice price that Jews always love [posthumously]. Gone are those star studded clever fast talking stage talent ridden musicals from the genius of their great-grandfathers who were ever ‘hat in hand‘ waiting for entrance to the all ‘white’ country club gate just before the mid-century! Now they seem to want revenge on all those of European descent bashing the progeny of their all ‘white’ audiences. “No blacks or Hispanics in the auditorium . . . “my God! I can’t recall a time not hearing a single cellphone conversations throughout an entire film!”
Without threatening to disclose what is a very, very, very, slow motion ‘onion‘ style unraveling plot that routinely drops plot points like more massive 18th century library volumes solidly hitting the echo chamber floor, it is enough to say that one is expected to sit back and test the mettle of one’s eyelids. Not for the Voight Kampff test to determine not if you are in fact a replicant. But rather if you have almost fallen asleep several times in the course of the Turkish taffee-like flow. I think that I just saw a caterpillar crawl by at top speed. The overly ear crashing Blade Runner sounds are unfortunately a very poor ersatz imitation of the original score composed by Vangelis. One of the few big flops in my opinion for composer Hans Zimmer. Who must by now still be in therapy from becoming hooked on over-driven “Bwaaaah” sounds. The endless super loud echo chamber choking out long horn slurs and reverbrant canceling shoe drop echoes cannot compare with the original genius of the man who tempered the mix of his arrangements much better. I have to say that what was drawn out over long in overall running time could have been neatly approached in literally half the time. Unless one wishes to participate in some mass downer. I haven’t been so down since wading through the interminable “Intersteller!” The character highlights include an unstoppable super maniacal robotic Wallace Corporation version of the current chairman of the National Organization for Women. Her son or brother or something sporting ‘uber-sized’ eye cataracts having an unshakeable serial killer fetish. A cluster of very street tough and mean tiny Borstal lads that seem to be on loan from the last gritty version of ‘Oliver’, And, of course! A very very old duopoly of two of the originals stars. One who now passes for ‘white’ yet retains his prowess in Origami. And the other that ever irascible Jewish adventure hero wet-dream being one of the tribe himself, “Introducing for another victory lap, Mr. ‘Indiana Jones‘”. “Hey! It’s Harrison Ford folks!” “Cheer up!” “You know how great he always is playing himself!”
But as is the case with everything Hollywood these days, it is the special effects salted liberally with a little ‘tits and ass’ that shines above all. The current penchant for that failing fleet of “Titanic” overblown ledger book expense big budgets is to cram every audience memorable scene of old reconfigured, effect, chapter and verse. All into one overloaded carriage that is savagely whipped till the ‘horse meat’ posing as plot along until it drops a load in the last reel. [Hey pal! No reels anymore! This is the digital age!] Quite frankly I got tired of Ryan Gosling ‘larping‘ about before the first half. Robin Wright still remained the studios ‘poorboy ‘ answer to Sigourney Weaver. The other two dames might best consider a career as secretaries in the front office. The meaner one on the fast track to becoming a studio executive head. The fact that the setting of Las Vegas shown ‘grittily‘ destroyed in the past tense make a good case that the entertainment industry is connected somehow to the banking industrial military complex’s false flag ops given the immediate timing of national events. Was it bad? Wast it Good? I can’t judge! It is no longer my era. And what I desire in the escape of several hours within a darkened auditorium is I am sure completely dated by current standards. There are no such things as real heroes these days in popular fiction. Just losers and malcontents that shake their fists and cause further destruction. Just endless uneasy relationships with indifferent sometimes brutal parenting. Why else would such a dysfunctional world exist? May be that is the key to it all! Bad parenting creates monsters. And it sure seems that we are in no short supply of those these days!
Today he moped around. Making imagery that few if any seemed interested in. Exiled in public amidst others of my generation. Leached of all resources. Caught like a mouse in the same old maze. “My friend turned into a skeleton. Given up for dead. My other friends beset by useless trivial pursuit while the worst of humanity lights a fuse.” All this was on his mind for most of the week! The complacency of the children who just want to have a childhood. Mean man hating women who despise their own kind. What kind of society is this? There had always been talk of sorcery through the ages. Little could one imagine that it might come in the form of what was denoted as technology. Evil intentions of a few to capture the attentions of the entirety of their own species and control it like they might a lesser one. Directing the mind with images and sound to believe in things that weren’t there. And that had never existed. Myth built upon myth until these tales were lodged in the collective genes based on. The entire scheme demonic. Based on fear and envy.
Lighting the light to civil rational discourse comes at a price of being the eternal victim. You can’t have both! You can’t count on victories without encountering that unexpected defeat. The platform is waiting and the gibbet has you number. Grin and bear it and help others enjoy the show by playing your part. They had started as children and had ended up as adults. Substantially unchanged throughout by the process. Perhaps a little quieter without all the raucous? Who could tell. Now he was alone. A little more alone. His friend given up for lost. Just another face disappearing into the crowd of all the others that had been bustled away by the great healer of forgetfulness. Lost by the dark waters of exhausted imagination. Dispelled like a face in an angry pond. These were childish notions. He was a man in spite of all that. A man defined in the old sense of same. One whose armpits smelled and liked to sweat and wasn’t afraid to skip a meal not because of the look of his waistline but because some needful task demanded that it was necessary. Someone who wasn’t embarrased to put on three day old dirty work clothers without further comment. To crawl into that dirty world that no one else wanted to think of, much less be touched by. The world was run by the dregs of that part of general humanity that still considered itself human. Buggers and fairies and those with a sap in their back pocket who loved to hit a ‘square’ from behind just above the temple of his skull. Venal loathsome creatures that years of payoffs, graft and corruption had allowed to burrow past the back door screen.
He opened clogged drains in a manner of speaking. Rodded the sump of the worst that the culture could offer. One shot. One kill. One moment to completely disappear. And absolutely no remorse about it. That was how far down the evolutionary ladder the nation had fallen. The land had become a killing field. Those who harped about sporting raiment’s from the toil of others pretending ownership over all. The same old time worn game. Sooner or later left dead and half naked in their broken chariots several hundred kilometers lost int he wilderness. Left as an offering for the new conqueror. In the meantime, while their paltry necks rested outside the noose, seeing how much fatal mischief they could punish the planet with in the name of their own vainglorious avarice. Some lasting a month. Some lasting a century. All fallen into the hell fires of perdition fanned hot by their nearest rivals. There was no law for these worms that called themselves immortals. And no law to prevent them from being dispatched. King for a day after a night in the grove. Ambition and fame burned in the next harvest!
Such was the fate of the world. Blood seeding the ground so new blood could arise. Future generations transfixed by the same plight. The fatted cow of civilization. Ever to be slaughtered at maturity. It was impossible to see how this could be anything but obvious. If the gods had a face then it was Jupiter devouring his own kin. The sweet smell of Lilac and Lotus merely a cover for the stench of older bones long rank. The shovel and not the spear or gun being the most significant man made tool. How many more yet to be buried? The worms forever on holiday in this paradise! The ultimate folly of all those who believed millennia after millennia that anything had progressed. Nobility a dirty toga forever washed only to be soiled yet again. The willingness to embrace this simple fact making the difference in terms of those who lived on and those who disappeared as if they never were.
“Had I known ten years before!“, the expression goes. “Had I known?”
Life now so hopeless
and yet too incomplete.
The ruins of it laying
about my two feet.
Something called marriage
gone so far awry.
Something called family
starting that old long goodbye.
It’s all in the past,
and it is empty right now.
Death after death
the potter’s field’s been plowed.
The days that are a’ spending
and I don’t know how.
All to some noble purpose
that I cannot explain.
Pissed off away on dozen’s of Sundays
that I can no longer name.
Empty, empty jest
the same old thing.
This damnable emptiness
in hollowness bring.
The gray on my temple
and the ache of my bones.
The change of the desk set
to a little hand grab-able portable phone.
The old places closing
all once known.
The clothes safe for delivery now
by robot and drone.
No place for the wicked
or the likes of me.
What remains of new life when finished
to the bottle cap sea.
Dumped far out in the ocean
you file and forget.
A trail of incidentals
you pitifully net.
It’s all for the young now
and those who want ‘free’.
What it took others like my forebears
hard years to foresee.
The old places dwindle
and I’m barely alive.
That last of my lineage
to barely survive.
This new world supplanting
it’s made me a jerk.
For try as I might
this is no more work.
So float like the jetsam
and travel the web.
Nostalgia in miniature
A visual ‘eleve‘.
The exercise of existence
an empty ‘cœur creve‘.
The process of life
an eternal door.
Dragged over a ditch
Interred with in a plain.
The castles I’ve built
to start over again.
Looking over my shoulder
at a lifetime of failures so earnestly meant.
A cold heart full of good wishes.
My feet in cement.
“Had I known“,
as I’ve said when I started this war.
I wouldn’t be standing
where I was long before.
Does the light as opposed to the dark cleanse your mind of the past? Its deeds and emotions, the recollections of attempts gone sour to achieve something of note in society but always fall short. “If I were a king old I would knight you both!“, he said. The two young boy’s enthusiasm in the play of their chess pieces interrupted by the old man’s folly.
Somehow fortune had smiled. Or had it? He had secured a job in an elite ad agency and had arrived to show his manifold talents. A chance encounter of sorts had presented his name to this agencies’ head. A madcap individual who embed with an honored reputation in the industry careened about the floor of his own shop like a Caliph eyeing necks to cut. The young man felt that eye lurking about ready to smight his own hopes and dreams and struggled for something he could do. A reason to be in that place and excel in a manner that he assumed his destiny would lead him. But there seemed nowhere to sit in this fast paced environment? And worse yet, he was unable to recall any exact instructions given by his new employer or anyone else. And so he wandered from desk to desk. His physical being actively ignored viewing pile of work and all manner of pads, and paper and drawing instruments but afraid that if he disturbed the wrong chaotic pile that it would lead to his instant termination. Anything vaguely useful to the cause of providing a creative platform within the dust and jumbled on the floor. All the while the presence of that owner’s watchful eye wondering in disgust why he had invited such an incompetent into his midst?
Late that afternoon in a palatial hall at a gathering that had the dynamics of a large gaudy overstuffed convention the young man was equally surprised that he was allowed entry and with a temporary companion who had no stated identity that could be recollected swept through the echelons of seating surrounding the speaker’s dais. Both looking for something close enough to hear their big boss who was being honored as an honored guest speaker having taken the microphone. His voice boomed about the Baroque columns painted in exotic greens and gold. Emblems of filigree enigmatic but providing greater beauty through their intricacy evident in every direction. The bleachers at the far corner where the young man briefly took up station being so remote that he thought that it was actually upon a street in the worst part of town. A black face opening up a window on the second floor across peering out to their street engaged by foreign revelers of the very same class that oppressed them. Every corner of the auditorium filled with troublesome angry looking rivals their facial expressions ever at was with the other. The man eventually taking cover beside a twin sculpture of two figures that had been temporarily covered for the event with plywood and a faux grill. Their matched pair of hands entwined in some arcane significant unconscious embrace. He studied this jewel of aesthetics of the past as he heard his boss’s world pounding down from above.
Feeling that he had hit on something elemental suggesting the creative solution to his ongoing dilemma he wandered off to the back of the hall to find his fellow. The hallways was as much a garden marked by rich growth of luxuriant species of plant life. Ever the dreamer had he not been in a hurry it would have become evident his had wandered into his own thoughts. A wedding party, its member’s richly dressed lingered about the men sitting and conversing in a manner that suggested the ceremonies aftermath. Though he was in no way dined, the young man felt that he needed to return back to his own party. That in some way it might end and he not be part of the throng to be counted as faithful. Swiftly heading back but down the wrong path confronted by some strangely configured varieties of birds that by their haphazard physical construction seemed more the pets of demons from another world than species resident on earth. He took the hint and retraced his steps staying just ahead of their flamingo-like communal gait. Back in the entryway lobby heading back to his starting point.
But exchanged for the old reality of a formal ceremonial meeting was another experience completely different. One composed of facsimiles of the same characters yet more in the setting of the lecture space of an auditorium of a college that had been sequestered by rambunctious students hell bent on frivolity of their generation. The mundane uniforms of the grouped young prevailing up the steps in chaotic repose. The young man having been brought into this amphitheater taken by the hand of a comely sylph that had instantly enchanted him. The lingering promise of her equally prompt disappearance being that if he old discover he whereabouts amidst this throng then she would be his. And so he began his performance trying to stay in character without he classic heroes of old. Traipsing up and down the stairs making overly theatrical motions and gestures at every despoiled, “Ahha“. The sly artifice of the moment summoned only to buoy his own quickly deflating hopes of a fading solution. Defeated evermore until out of desperation he grabbed a hose and sprayed the entire assembly dousing all. To equal measures of his shock and surprise lay an old maiden laying unconscious upon her front under the full extent of the flowing carpet of her own long auburn hair. A love of old turned sour, decades past the age of any other in the room. That fairer sylph long gone and his apparent prize subsumed within the indignity of this more ancient example of womanhood. His own shock leading to the fact that he like she was in fact too old for these games of frivolity. The two of them now fully revealed as being many decades advanced beyond that of all the surrounding audience.
The big lanky male Filipino attendant came up to him as he tried to turn into his room. “You not feeling so fine, Mr. P?“, the tall man in nurse’s pajamas drawled in a discernible approximation of English. Perkins turned abruptly distracted and the wheelchair glanced into the door and bounced a bit. The impact jarring the catheter that was stuck up his penis so that he could feel its dourness yet again. The nurse instinctively grabbing the handles of the two wheeled chair and wheeling it to the nearest of two beds. The one by the window occupied by a horizontal form deposed to what barely passed for sleep in the midst of a constant wheezing noise. The attendant now bent over checking around the slippered feet of the chair’s rider checking the clear plastic lead and half filled bag of urine attached to it. “You got ways to go on these one!”, the man stated as he hung the flabby moist container of accrued urine on the hook off the side of the bottom of the bed that Perkins sat across from. “Ya needs some help!“, the man’s blank face mouthed not waiting for a reply but indifferently grabbing hold of the arm of the chair’s inmate. “Don’t run away with that chair Mr. Brown“, quipped Perkins testily. “You suppose ta be using deez walker!?”, the tall figure replied as he quickly wheeled it to the corner by the door out of reach. The man exiting as Perkin’s purloined convince loosely tilted slowly back a foot out of position from a tilt in the floor. “The whole damn place is so out of true its worse off than I am!“, Perkins spat under his breath. The saw tone melody of labored breath rising and falling in mostly regular intervals. “You still alive in their Danny!” The long low sloping hill beneath the covering of a cotton ruff blanket didn’t stir. “Fucking great!“, his equally ambulatory companion thought as he sat inert on the bed’s edge.
Perkins felt around under his left thigh tugging at the plastic lead that he was half sitting on. “Could things be any worse?“, he thought. Sequestered in this dank musty little corner of mostly forgotten Hell. The world outside seemed an equal fiction to that of his childhood. He could recall that it had begun to slide away from ten years before when the edema was merely a briefly lasting impression of the fore finger into the side of his ankle. “The family curse.”, he thought resignedly. “A gift from the old man.”, he mechanically mouthed to himself without thinking. “The ‘old man’.“, his mind digested the phrase. “HE was the old man now!“, he thought as his white stubble peppered jaw slowly dropped. His hand rising up to cup and rub his chin and cheek in absent minded solace. Life squeezed out of his ailing frame like an old toothpaste tube. He stared upwards at the top of the far window at some lingering cobwebs. A blank distant stare into a long accustomed void awaiting his drift. The world in the mist beyond it a strange familiar thing that had the trappings of places and things not in familiar reach for what must have been several decades. The trip he had taken to Europe that time he got the award from the magazine in Milan Italy for his computer driven artwork. That old worn out apartment on the second floor furnished half in ‘early American alley‘. The myriads of half-finished dusty articles of his female friend’s loft across town. His mother fussing about the small galley sized kitchen of the family condo some fifteen minutes north in the next bordering town. A thousand equally nondescript recalls in minor details a mundane unnoteworthy everyday existence. That hint of success that always seemed to lurk nearby threatening to move things forward from where they had slowed down to a crawl sometime in the past. How had it come to this? It was as if he was somewhere in a dream waiting to awaken back there once again. That point some several decades before when he still had friends and the hope that one of the opportunities he had hoped for would finally come through. “Hope?“, he mused. “What in the Hell was that to him at this point?”
The wheezing beside Perkins had settled down into a whisper. The bent figure of something approximating human lay inert upon the ancient bailey. Perhaps an offering to some immortal indifferent god that hadn’t got around as of yet to collect it. Perkins reached the catheter kid his legs as he weightily swung his aching waterlogged swollen limbs on the bed. He lay back upon the rumpled pillows that were shoved up against the mattress that was canted up on a slight angle. The solitary spot on the ceiling where the plaster had been chipped off was still there. A small hold that that had several cracks radiating out from it into solid ceiling. The fissure so many times explored in the boredom before another fitful episode of dreaming. “What wonders lurked just beyond its mystery?“, he pondered. Something to escape to? Something not old and tired and used up but wholly undiscovered? The voice from an old movie sprang up automatically. “A new life in the colonies awaits where you can start again!” it boomed in its far off echo. His mind sailing past spinning gas planets and bright nebula. Himself in the chair of a pilot’s cabin of some gigantic space transport hurtling at a tremendous rate of speed. The feeling of unbounded power of the ship and its increasing speed coursing through him. The vistas speeding past vibrant in color and electricity. “It’s time for your pills Mr. P!” a stocky female voice rang out. Perkins opened his eyes and looked over at the obese black nurse holding a small tray mostly covered with small paper cups. Without waiting for him to make a move she took one of them and handed it towards him mechanically. The room smelled of farts. The woman’s nose slightly wrinkled in a mild form of perpetual discontent stared blankly at Perkins as he resignedly reached over to take the cup and bring it towards his mouth. “You need some water with that?” she said holding out a second slightly larger cup. He slowly shook his head closing his eyes as he did so and swallowed hoping inside that it was somehow a mis-apportioned dose of arsenic. He resumed his stare focusing his eyes skyward back up at the ceiling. The ship that he had been piloting was now was far beyond his reach outside of the galaxy. He would have to wait for the next one. If indeed one ever showed up again.