A FABULOUS FABLE
Given my age, immaturity, and undeveloped sense of style and voice, the result is a purely sophomoric endeavor leading to some laughably unsophisticated writing and preposterous storytelling. But I hope you find it a fun read, given that after all it was written in a state of utter non-reality in a single session without a single edit, exactly as it was originally typed and partially hand-written (when the ink ran out) in 1974. It is a literary relic time-capsule reflecting my mental state and a glimpse of an inkling of my creative writing acumen and potential at an early stage in my life, when it was very easy to deceive myself that I was already a good writer. Could it be, I must have thought, that writing under the influence of a mind-altering drug could propel to ever greater heights? (Ha! Maybe ever greater highs!)
Who was it first told me that there is no story that is not
true?
I am
indebted to him.
To all poets, writers, beings, naturalists, and level headed
carpenters.
This is the kind of story that could go on and on forever
and when you
read it it will probably seem to do just that.
“We must all
go insane before it is too late.”
let us
begin our tale
ohmmmmming
to the
cryptik chants
of
the
grateful dead . . .
Libere
me, Mota, ab vitiis meis, ut solius tuae voluntatis mihi cupidus sim, et
vocationis . . .
Enter here a portion of a human being,
a creature not in the least grateful for a most humble existence.
Say, who was it who first called this place a global insane asylum? I can’t remember his name right now but I am certain of one fact about him: he was definitely a very insane individual who allegedly had a very twisted view of reality what was real and what was not. I didn’t really know that a demarcation line existed. Forget it. Reportedly, that’s why this dude was banished to this not-really unbearable place. But hell, all that was so long ago that I couldn’t possibly arrive at an approximate date. Time means nothing to me anymore, as you shall soon learn why. Faded photographs of yesteryear.
Since the time of the man with no name, there have been around 300,000,000,000 or so twisted insane people who have been deported to this place, and here it is imperative that I add that these deranged ancestors of mine had virtually no choice in the matter whatsoever. At any rate, I, Thomas M. McGuire (XXX?), 5th incarnate of the Lord God Mota past present and all futures, and current inhabitant neo-denizen number (➰🔱➰🔱➰🔱➰), am now officially categorized as one of those 300,000,000,000 or so twisted insane puppets who has, against my frugal pleas for reconsideration, been sent here without really knowing why. Reader, don’t be so fucking gullible. I really do know why, as you soon will, but I shall refrain myself till the appropriate moment. Where would J. Susanne or Irving Wallace have ever gotten if they revealed all the answers right away?
I am lying on my stomach with a laconicandleslowing disappearing at my side. Candle wax, purple, coagulates on the green table top and I see the ubiquitous reflection on the walls of a monster in the making. Metaphysikal atavar (avatar) says he is vulnerable. Now that’s reassuring. On with my story.
I’m trying to decide how best to go about composing this. I want to do it in a such a way that I inform, perhaps influence, you as well as entertain you. But all you young virginal aspiring writers know how that one goes. Damnation. Where was I? That’s what they say the trouble is with being insane. Crazy people always get sidetracked; they start rambling about some of the most foolish things. For instance, one time my sis sent me some goodies via the postal system. I told ole Ron that I was going to save at least one and stash it away in some hidden compartment of my billfold in the event that an emergency should arise. And since the mathematical probabilities of unexpected arising emergencies are pretty great for us perverted inhabitants, well, you guess right – an emergency did actually arise. One rainy spring eve in the Season of the Witch I happened to be stranded in an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Council Bluffs, Iowa. For the sake of avoiding undue embarrassment and humiliation on my part, I shall most ardently refrain from telling you why I was spending my time in one of the great cultural centers of the world. It’s a long and tedious story, one which I refuse to relate at this time because I’m already wrapped up in this side-tracked one. Where was I? Yeah, with me and my amazing ability to recall trivial tidbits of information, scattered data and the like, I miraculously remembered having stashed a goodie or two somewhere in the obscure depths of my wallet. Lucky me. Needless to say (and I don’t know why I’m saying it) with an hour and two inches of rain later, I was no longer in Council Bluffs, Iowa. But that’s another story.
See what I man though about how insane people like myself always manage to divert their attention from the reality of what is actually going on? My little anecdote stands as visible testimony on my behalf.
So where was I again? Yeah, I was discussing the organization, systemic or otherwise, of this manuscript. I will probably tend to side with “otherwise” since I never was much of an organizer. But I will at least aim for a halfway coherent account of the subsequent events.
I am told by my metaphysika atavar (avatar), who exists 5000 conscious light years deep within the framework of my cheap bio-nuclear atomik internal structure, that I am the chose one whose preordained duty it is to relate the story of how we are here, and why we are here. The “why” part of the latter statement should be painfully obvious; the “how” part is the foundation for this story, and I shall be the unique specimen selected out of the myriad of depersonalized sociometric units who is capable of accurately telling the story, building up from the foundation if you will, of life here on this appropriately named global insane asylum.
Hunky Dory, Old Glory: III
Okay Reader, let’s get a few things
straight before I continue writing this essay on the esoteric theory of
molecular disintegration. That’s one of
the first items we must get straightened out before this can be understood in
its complete form: this is not an essay
on the esoteric theory of molecular disintegration. I’m glad that is confirmed. The second thing we must get straight is
this: interpret everything literally,
cause all the adventures you encounter in the following pages did literally
occur. They still are as a matter of
fact. And the third thing that is just
impossible to get straight is me. I’m
always stoned in one way or another. (Sotto Voce.)
With those things in proper order now
I believe I am prepared to commence my story.
In order for you to enjoy this to its fullest, here is one word of
advice: elevate yourself to sub-orbital
proportions thru a large dosage of you-know-what.
Without further ado, here is,
faithfully reported, an accurate account of everything you’ve always wanted to
know about life but were too dumb or too stoned or too apathetic to ask.
What Kind of Fucking Mess Is this Anyway: IV
Life back on my old planet is
primarily the same as here on this planet except here on this planet everyone
is crazy whereas back home the state of mental health for the average
individual is superior. The children of
lord god mota cannot tolerate people with questionable mental health; that is
why we – you and I – are here today.
When I was 5 or 6 years old, still too
young and naïve in the cosmic knowledge to know any of the answers, chieftain
supreme alfred the second issued a manifesto proclaiming that all insane
asylums, mental institutions and the like, would heretofore be abolished in
order to rid society of the rather uncomfortable burden of quote looking after
unquote those particular individuals who were supposedly not capable of quote
looking after unquote themselves. Later
on I found out that I had been singled out as one of those very unfortunate individuals. What can I say? But all that will come later.
Well naturally when SCAII announced
his outrageous edict members of the civilization became concerned. Something had to be done quick. An ad hoc committee was selected that week
and on the following thorsday a meeting was held to discuss what exactly to do
about ridding society of insane asylums.
The meeting was held in the mushroom
dome hear the sea of ozone. One by one
the ad hoc committee members filed in, followed in the rear by the CSAII. When alfred approached the podium in the
center of the room, he took off his robe and surveyed the audience for several
moments. Content with his thorough
scrutiny he proceeded to formally address his ad hoc committee.
“Citizens of my domain, children of
lord god mota, we are gathered here in order to discuss an edict that I issued
several days ago.” Here alfred paused to inject into his arm a rather long
needle with an opaque-like fluid inside of it. “You know as well as I that if
our civilization is ever to progress forward and make giant leaps in cultural
and intellectual revolution, then our goals simply cannot be hindered by
inferior individual such as those currently inhabiting all mental institutions.
We are a proud people, a superior race in this infinite cosmos. We must remain a proud people, a pure
people, and the only way to achieve this goal is to annihilate anyone who does
not fit the superior specifications of life which I have set down.” With a
confident lick of his lips, he concluded, “There is no place in our
civilization for those pitiful beings who do not or cannot conform to our
mental standards. We are on the threshold
of a new era, citizens, and we cannot as a collective group cross that threshold
until we are relieved of the unnecessary burden of looking after unfortunate
insane people. Only when we rid ourselves
of these inferior people will we intellectually, culturally, and most
important, spiritually advance.”
There you have it reader. The ad hoc committee members applauded until
their hands were crimson with pain.
Alfred’s rhetoric hit them hard, convincing them that his solution was
the only logical alternative open if his civilization was ever to progress to
the level of perfection.
Being a technologically-oriented advanced civilization, my people were already
familiar with interstellar space travel.
Expeditions had been made on all 5 of our sun’s planets, plus the
interstellar space commission had launched a manned probe to our nearest
stellar neighbor, Antares, not more than a year ago. My people were very busy preparing to
colonize the cosmos, but thus far only experimental expeditions had been sent
out to explore the vast unknown regions of outer space.
Do you see what I’m getting at,
reader? Our glorious leader alfred II
had a plan, an ingenious scheme if you will to exterminate that portion of
society deemed mentally inferior. Well,
not really exterminate in the literal sense of the word – rather banishment.
The clapping stopped after alfred raised
a staff above his head, an omnipotent gesture.
The room echoed with milky silence as alfred then continued.
“Citizens of my domain, I have a plan,
a scheme if you will, to exterminate that portion of society which I deem
mentally inferior. My plan is to send
these people to another planet, an uninhabited one, where they can live in peace
amongst themselves, be free, and not hinder our goals here at home. I propose that we board these people on the
first available spaceship, chart out a trajectory course on the ship’s
computer, and send them as far away from here as possible.”
A man sitting on the front row saw fit
to comment: “Instead of a leper colony
the people constituting this group will be an insane colony. Is that the general idea?”
Alfred II almost smiled. “Exactly.”
The meeting was then adjourned and
preparations immediately were made to carry out Alfred’s mad stratagem. I suppose it’s ironical that I’m passing
judgement on the condition of his alleged superior mental health. Maybe not.
At any rate, a starship was procured and the first group of insanites
were dispatched to their new home in the heavens.
This Is Where I Come In: V
This is where I come in, Reader. I’m somewhat older now than I was when
Alfred first issued his edict. Not much
older on the geological time scale but on human terms I’ve aged say around 15
years.
I’m just biding my time here because I
know that sooner or later (probably sooner) I am going to be rendered an insane
person and subsequently I am going to be deported to that insane colony a long
way away from here. Really I’m surprised
that they haven’t stung me yet. But
they will. And I’ll be ready for them.
To be declared an insane person, one must fit the specifications and limitations laid down by the deceased CSAII. What follows is only a partial list of the requirements to be considered an insanite – a menace to society – and truthfully I’m shocked that there are still people left on my old planet who are still considered “sane” or “normal”. To be categorically labelled as insane, the following perverse behavior must be detected in the quotidian activities of a citizen of the planet Electranik.
(1) Any one who rejects totally the values and/or mores of their culture is insane.(2) Anyone who willfully advocates the overthrow of current existing government is insane.
(3) Anyone who has different opinions, theories, ideas, philosophy form those of the state is insane.
(4) Anyone who knowingly subjects themselves to subversive activity; i.e., reading material not in conformity to state standards, writing material criticizing state policies, advocating literature and other such modes of communication which influences the minds of others or speaks out against the state policies is insane.
(5) Anyone who does not willingly alter the bio-chemical composition of his/her brain 3 times a week through the use of artificial stimulants, is insane.
(6) Anyone who de-emphasizes the value of the “work ethic” is insane.
(7) Anyone who is different in any way, or anyone who does not totally abide by the 5000 articles of faith is insane.
(8) Anyone who is sick, crippled, disabled, physically or mentally, is insane. (I myself always thought that #8 was somewhat redundant.)
(9) Anyone who does not think the way that the chieftain supreme thinks is insane.
(10) Anyone who does not adhere to AII decrees to create a pure race is insane.
As I have stated, this list is only written
here in partiality, but the ten which I have listed were the Top 10 that were
posted on doors, on all buildings, bulletin boards and store windows.
Each day these
rules were methodically broken. Each day
more and more people were exiled to their new cosmik residence. I was no different.
One fine day in the
year of our lord I was sitting with my dog beside a taciturn stream, with the
clouds resting on my skull and the aquablue atmosphere magikally refreshing
me. My eyes were closed, corporeal
reality no more, concentrating in a transcendental stupor. 5 light years flashed by when my dog
barked to tell me I felt a light tap on my shoulder.
“I thought I’d find
you here.” It was Cindy.
“Hello. Sit down.
I just thought I’d come here today and be alone. I am afraid.”
Cindy sat down next
to me, gently stroked my dog’s hirsute cranium. We kissed, I was somehow shocked by the
affection she displayed to me that day and I felt good. A frog jumped into the water in a splish
splash of embarrassment.
Cindy said, with
her comforting I love you eyes: “What
are you afraid of, Tom (??)”
I paused for what
must have been a full thirty seconds before replying. My mouth formed a sickly crippled
smile. “Cindy, they’re going to send me
away. Send me away. I don’t want to go.” Words, partial phrases rolled off my tongue
in uncontrollable spurts. “They say I’m
not natural. They’re going to send me
away.”
“How do you
know?” A woodpecker tapped an alien
morse code on a distant tree limb.
“Apocalyptik
vision, Cindy.”
She looked at me in
muddy confusion. “What are their
charges against you? I mean what exactly have you done to satisfy their
criterion?”
“More like what I
haven’t done. Since I refuse to abide
by state’s doctrines of total conformity – “
I didn’t quite know what else to say or how to say it.
Cindy looked me in
the eyes. I couldn’t turn away. She gently uttered, “I won’t ever leave you,”
and then she quietly left.
Apocalyptik Visions: VI
5 days later I was
apprehended near my abode by two plainclothed agents. I went quietly, trying not to act too shook
up. But still I think I was visibly
upset.
I was taken to a
medium-sized establishment somewhere out in the country. There I was meticulously interrogated,
questioned and re-questioned, and going crazy.
A man with Jackie Gleason proportions stood over me the entire time, and
each time I failed to deliver a satisfactory response to their inquiries, I had
injected into my vein a substance known as lysergic acid die. Those fuckers were gonna get me “normal”
before the evening disappeared.
Article #5: LSD - - - this was the main charge against me:
failure to submit myself to false pretentions of a wonder drug which supposedly
made everyone super creative and intelligent.
And normal. I refused to have
anything to do with any process involving biochemical
metamorphosis. Don’t ask why cause then
I’d have to lay this big spiritual moral psychological rap on you as to why and
that’s the last thing I want to do.
Just take an expert’s word for it: that shit is bad for you.
Well with this
philosophy drilled into my structural atomik brain, I was soon imprisoned, a
prospective nominee for the loves saves flight # 108, and brought here, where I
currently am.
The ridiculous
interrogation lasted 5 hours. When it
was clear it was over I was carried to a cell and dropped in a rat chewed
cot. I regained consciousness around 5
pm the next day. My head was aching, my
vernacular mind adjusting once again to a familiar reality.
I saw an obscure
figure, shadowlike, approach my cell.
It was that fat man who delighted in torturing me.
“You are to come
with me.
We have apprehended a companion of yours. A Cindy.
As of yesterday she terminated her daily injections of LS die.”
lovesaves . . . or die . . . i quarter-wondered in a dazed state of mindlessness.
My eyes were
glowing saucers. “She is doing this
because of me,” I thought aloud. The
fat man unlocked the cell door and the next thing I knew I was standing next to
Cindy, with a proverbial real sword of Damocles hanging above our heads. Judgment was passed; I was indicted on 10
counts of insanity and Cindy on 1 count.
Our spaceship was scheduled to depart in one week.
“I love you, Cindy,
for what you did.”
“I love you, Tom
(??).” We were led to separate cages,
silently morose unattached.
Departure: VII
It was a cold day and the world was dead except for a few stray humans and one gigantic metal structure called the love saves. Cindy was by my side I was by her side, when we boarded the vehicle. Upon entering each occupant was rendered unconscious by a process known as suspended animation. I’m not too sure how long we were in space but I do know that I was extremely groggy when the colossal vessel LS drilled through the seemingly adamant boundaries of the universal hyperspace, and then magikally reappeared on another perceptibly diverged hypersphere, that of the one Cindy and I currently co-exist in with numerous other beings like ourselves.
An uninhabited
bluish-green planet christened earth lay dead ahead, the final destination
point of the love saves.
posted by Gambolin' Man @ 11:26 AM
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