Section 6
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[edit] "And Now a Word....
"I couldn’t believe the episode of my soap today", one of passengers on the train said to the woman next to her. "A real horror show (My favorite movie is Clockwork Orange too). That poor bloke in the club was confronted, subdued and cut up like a carrot, just like that!"
Jessica shrank a little into herself. She had been reading far too many thrillers, spending way too much time with self-obsessed men. She needed to get back to basics, to read something about people who were relaxed, living a normal life, family people. She wondered if Jim's novel would be like that. He'd been very secretive about his progress. She was a little hurt when George had been admitted to his confidence. Though it was true, she supposed, she had been wrapped up with herself lately. Yes, she had been melodramatic, over the top but her thoughts rarely strayed from that tragedy! She realized she had been thinking out loud. She blushed and pushed both her left index finger into the exposed foam of the seat. The woman next to her said , "You could try Alice In Wonderland." "Hmm?" said Jessica. "Well it's not really about family people and normal life but I find it put things in perspective." "Oh." This was her stop. The station was in view. "Thank you." she said.
It came as somewhat of a shock to her when she tripped over a stray dog and landed face down in a cake. The cake was brown, and looked rather delicious. Well, that was before she had tripped over it.
"Why would anyone put a cake there?" she wondered, only to find that the dog she'd tripped over wasn't stray. She had inadvertently wandered into a small child's fifth birthday party and now she had just ruined the kid's birthday cake. He started to cry, wail, bawl while the parents still sat there in rapt horror that this seemingly insane woman had just wondered into the house and nose-dived into the party.
No one but the child moved for a few minutes, until Jessica finally pulled herself together and climbed to her feet. This broke the silence and the father said, very patiently: "What are you doing in our house, woman?"
Jessica could think of no excuse good enough to satiate the residents' growing disgust, so she left all the money her purse contained in the table and slowly walked out, cleaning the cake from her face with a handkerchief. This was slowly becoming a rather bad day for her.
She had enough of the weird life that would confront her whenever her irises took off from the pages of her book - and tripping on the dog was proof. But that was hardly weird compared to the day before when someone had his face painted orange and was knocked out with a harem of dancers.
What was his name again? Corry van Gorp?
Jessica shook the image of the mountain of a man being wheeled away out of her head as she hastened her steps back to her adobe. Spinning round in her footless tights, she slammed the door almost in hope of shutting off the whole world outside.
Slumping into a bean bag chair, Jessica grabbed the cordless and punched a number into it.
Corry was back in his home again. Or was he? He glanced around. The policeman was nowhere to be seen. He was no longer a duck. However, the wings were still reluctantly attached to him, refusing to disappear.
Curious, Corry tested out his wings, and, strangely enough, they were functional. He flew out of (what seemed to be) his room and headed to the noise.
His ears told him the noise was nearby, but his wings told him otherwise. Like a plane crash landing, he skidded on the floor, landing on his tail.
Tail? Since when did I have a tail?
He looked up at the mirror. What was human 2 minutes ago was now and orange as the fat man's face in the news. His nose (or snout) was protruded from his face, his ears expanded.
If he wasn't standing up gawking as his reflection, he would have sworn he was a lion.
A voice came from the crowd. Corry recognized it as Jim's, who was always sitting next to him during class.
He thought he saw a rubber man hugging Jim, with the latter muttering random nonsense about feminist radicals.
"Corry!" Jim shouted, instantly recognizing him, despite him looking like an anthropomorphic fox/angel, "nice to see you in here!"
"Jim?" Corry replied. "Who is that man hugging you? Why are you in my dream anyway?"
"Funny, I am about to ask you the same question." Jim slid out of the man's grasp, wiping orange juice off his face. "That guy says he's some Chad Thompson or what not."
"How can 2 people see each other in their dreams, anyway?"
"Let me explain." A voice boomed from the end of the hallway. The television froze, and so did Jim and the rubber man. Out of the corner a black something holding what appeared to be life itself appeared.
"Who - WHAT are you?" Corry asked.
"I am a Penguin, obviously." Came the reply. "That, too, happens to be my name."
"Sooo... Penguin?" Corry sighed. "How is it that you are in my puzzle?"
Penguin frowned. "The question you should be asking is why, but I will explain it anyway for the sake of completeness. Puzzles, as you humans call it, are part of a plane called the Suspension Bridge Of Belief. We Penguins have access to the Bridge and all its happenings."
"Ok... What's a Penguin? And why have I not seen you up to this point of time?"
"Hmm.. a Penguin. It's a bird that lives on the South Pole."
"Well, we are related. But I digress. A Penguin is an intelligent species from the future, trying to save mankind from its own destruction. However, out reach is only limited to people with dreams at the moment."
"WHAT?" Corry shouted, obviously more confused then ever. "So what does this all mean?"
"I will tell you in due time. Meanwhile, find these people. Jim, your friend over here. Carlo. Chad Thompson. Big James. Mikhael. The rest I will tell you later."
"One last thing."
The Penguin cleared his throat and looked up to Corry.
"Find Eva."
The room shook as the sound of a phone rang across the hallway.
"I believe it's time for you to wake up." The Penguin pressed his fin against Corry's neck, and all went black.
[edit] Bear and Rabbit
Mikhael and Eva met at the bus stop on 23d St at 11 AM. They took a cross town bus to the Zoo. Eva was only working as a prostitute to put herself through art school. She liked to wear odd socks and ear muffs and talk about Deleuze and Guattari. Her current project was lyrical performance art. "It sounds more complicated than it is" she had told Mikhael on the phone, when arranging their meeting. "All I do is act out Paul Simon lyrics."
Eva and Mikhael rode at the front of the double-decker bus because Eva said she liked the feeling she got from looking at the tops of people's heads. Mikhael wondered if she was also acting out Belle and Sebastian lyrics without telling him. "Riding on city buses for a hobby is sad." he said underneath his breath. "What?" Eva asked. "Nothing." He said and smiled brightly and pointed out the top of someone's head to her. She was clearly a bit of an odd fish. Neither of them noticed the two suspicious characters sitting two seats behind them. One of the suspicious character's had a handlebar moustache, the other was wearing horn rim glasses. When the bus pulled up in front of the Zoo entrance and Eva and Mikhael disembarked, the suspicious characters got off too.
Eva and Mikhael went straight to see the polar bears in the glacial zone because Eva said she found them enchanting and at the same time a little sad. The suspicious characters followed at a reasonable distance. One was humming the theme tune to the A Team. Mikhael was about to ask her how she would act out 'The Sound of Silence' when the suspicious character in the horn rim glasses, letting out a throaty cry of "Geronimo!", sprung at them. The second suspicious character was hidden behind a palm tree. He appeared to have some sort of electronic device pointed at them. Mikhael thought he recognized the handlebar moustache, yes someone he'd known back on the mean streets of Riga. It was too dangerous with Eva here to stay and find out. Mikhael didn't want her mixed up in any Underworld business, hell, right now he didn't want to be mixed up in any Underworld business. He grabbed Eva's hand, "Run!" he shouted. They shot past the gaping children with ice creams, the unconcerned woman cooing at the penguins, skidded round the corner pen where the walrus was napping and out the exit of the glacial zone. The suspicious characters were right behind them. A bewildered zoo keeper tried to intervene. "Look here!" He shouted, "No running at the Zoo." The suspicious character with the handlebar moustache knocked him out.
Eva and Mikhael ran through the nocturnal zone, a fossa woke up, a bush baby cried. The suspicious characters were keeping pace. They were in the tropical zone now, pursued past the orangutans who looked duly skeptical, the insincere giraffes, the kindly elephants until they came up against a dead end- the crocodile pool. "Ha!" shouted one of the suspicious characters. The pair advanced slowly, backing Mikhael and Eva right up against the railings. Eva was shaking, "What do you want?" she asked in a quavery voice. Before the suspicious characters had a chance to explain, Mikhael scrambled over the railing and frightened Eva followed him.
[edit] True Story 2
Jim sat facing Mikhael. They were at their own table in a very trendy new bar. Mikhael had a little water weed in his hair and his shirt was still damp from the unwanted swim he'd taken in the crocodile pool earlier. They were both sipping mojitos.
Mikhael was speaking softly.
"It is not as if I have had no offers."
"Really?" Jim sipped his drink. The mint leaves stuck to his teeth.
"They spoke to me the other day. Asking me to come and work for them."
"What did you say?" Jim was intrigued and a little frightened. Who were them? Virago?
"I said no. But guess what they said next..."
"What?" Jim said as casually as he could manage. He hadn't imagined it would be this difficult. He'd heard of "the character's taking over" In fact he'd just read an interview recently in which the novelist talked of how pleasing it was when his characters finally took on lives of their own. This was not pleasing at all, Jim wished he had someone to talk to, someone who he was 100% certain was not a figment of imagination (his or anyone else's.)
"They asked me what was stopping me? And I didn't know. To tell you the truth Jim, this is a terrible novel, the plot is incomprehensible, my character is half formed. Jim, I'll be straight with you I'm unhappy. I've just come from an entirely meaningless scene in which I and an art student/prostitute with a love of Paul Simon are pursued around a Zoo... this is not the kind of narrative I'm into."
Jim almost choked on his drink. He went quite pale. It was very hard to stay calm and pretend not to be utterly shocked and exposed. He'd put everything he had into this wikinovel. "Uh, uh... it's a work in progress. We'll edit and re-edit. It's a rough draft."
Mikhael did not look convinced. Jim was nervous, this was not the kind of novel he'd planned at all. Things were wildly out of control. He couldn't have Mikhael making these kinds of demands on him. He had to stay calm, pacify Mikhael and then get back to the office and write him out of the story. Chad Thompson could terminate Mikhael. Yes.
"Look Mik," he said trying for the calm voice of control, "Here's what I'll do. You and Chad Thompson can go on a mission, we'll make it James Bondesque. You can fly business, wear a tux, meet a girl. It'll be great, just great. Okay..."
But it was obvious to Jim that the problem was twofold: His characters were wandering in search of a plot, and he was a living, breathing human being wandering around within his own life, having lost the plot. Was this some kind of divine joke? Yes, he still believed in something bigger than himself, but he was a little disturbed by the idea that was now germinating in his mind. Jim was berating himself for not taking charge of his own characters and forcing them all into a plot of strict proportions. He had, so far, steadfastly refused to do this, as it was limiting to the credibility of his characters. Yet, how many times has “God” been blamed for not taking a more decisive role in the violent ‘screenplays’ of life that world history keeps dishing out (complete with leads, supporting and cameo casts of countless players),.
[edit] Tomorrow Is Here
"Tomorrow is here", he thought to himself, nodding meaningfully. He often thought such deep thoughts after smoking dried banana peel. He checked his stash - he had plenty left. He breathed deeply, letting the banana-scented smoke fill his lungs. He begun to hallucinate, bananas with legs running across his vision, chasing each other, squealing madly. Reality and imagination, his writing and his characters were blending into a clump of madness....
A dog yelped when the driver grabbed it, and bit viciously into Antonio's fleshy lap. Curiously, there was no show of pain from the man. Whining, the dog put his tail in between his legs and ran away. The driver apologized incessantly, and motioned toward the limo parked at the side. "Sir, your car is ready." With a curt nod, Antonio went into the passenger side. Behind him, in the shadows, the smooth mechanical motion of a robot ninja was unseen, as it silently slid South into the Stygian, sultry summer sagebrush standing stiffly about the stark scene.
Antonio's mobile started beeping insidiously. Without even reaching for it, he sighed instinctively and boomed. "Accept." Immediately the 3G screen flicked and a snowy backdrop appeared. It was from the Penguin Camp. The long whiskered Penguin Chief appeared, his bald spot all the more obvious as the camera phone took him from top down.
"Antonio, meine Main mann! Long have I asked to find the deserters. But failed have you. Fish have eat. Snow have melt. Wo ist Fishtwoeyes? Wo ist Blackandwhitestripe? Fail you to capture Tango Prisoner. He will tango longer if let him go you. Tango spell is harmful! Tango spell cannot let to take over WORLD!" pausing, the Penguin Chief panted and squinted his tiny eyes. " NOW I have important information for you. Fishtwoeyes and Blackandwhitestripe, now they call Jim and Jessica. They steal Tango Poison, MORE THAN TWO CARTONS! Und also, wo ist Wally? with Tango Prisoner? FIND THEM, FIND THEM OR YOU DIEEEEEEEE..."
Lost in a sea of fuzziness, Penguin Chief finally disappeared. Antonio started mumbling about pressing deadlines and killer penguins when the car screeched to a halt. "Claudia, what the hell are you doing?"
"Sorry Sir, I just saw Mr Bill Gates. He's the IT guy who holds the key information to the Tango Thief’s aka Penguin Camp Deserters. Shall I chase him for you?"
Antonio hastily fumbled with his holographic device, the black-and-white tuxedo clad mammal disappearing into a round man clad in a Hugo Boast clad suit. "Turn on your holo Claudia, and seduce him."
In a jiffy, the driver became a sexy Tango partner in an ugly black mink coat which ended at her knees and siren-red high heels. She stepped out of the limo and sauntered over to Mr Gates, who was buying 70 cent coffee at a lousy coffee shop and looking furtively left and right for assassins.
"Mr Bill, what a pleasure to see you here," Claudia ingratiated, causing Gates to spill his coffee, assassins completely erased from his mind, at the atrocity of a... woman(?) standing in front of him.
I wonder if she's trying to seduce me? Mr Gates thought, turning to buy another coffee, as the black-and-red lump sidled up closer to him. "Yes, yes, it's uhm, nice to see you too. Are we acquainted?"
"No, but I've got a message for you!" Before Bill could ask what it was, a fat orange hand landed on his face and swept his glasses to the ground. The coffee fell from his hand and landed next to the now broken spectacles.
Shit! That's a freaking dollar forty down the tar! But Bill had other, more pressing matters to worry about as the hand began to move around his face, smothering him with thick orange goo.
You see, the Tangerine Terrors had decided to up their game after Antonio took the pogo stick away, and turned to a hybrid-fusion mix of corn flour, water and glue (plus food coloring, of course, but that's their secret ingredient so no-one's supposed to know) and resorted to more extreme tactics - such as completely covering the victim's face - when springing upon their unsuspecting prey. Claudia had defected to the Tangerine Terrors Team (a.k.a the TTT) and, unbeknownst to Antonio, had decided to exact her own unfounded revenge upon the IT billionaire.
"This is for Bob!" she screamed, kissing him wildly.
[edit] n-u-m-b-e-r n-i-n-e
"Don't you get it?" Claudia persisted. "Listen again"
"All I hear is number nine, number nine, number nine!" Walry insisted.
"Now, mess with the rpm settings, and play it backwards."
Fumbling with his over sized flippers, Walry did the best he could manage. He scratched the album as he accidentally bumped the arm across the vinyl.
It took a minute to find the spot again, but with walrus determination, he finally got it.
Eerily the phonograph began to scratch out a different message "...turn me on dead man, turn me on dead man, turn me on ..."
"That! My dear friend, is what this novel is all about!"
[edit] Cooking Up A Plot
Suddenly, it all began to come together. All the disparate threads combined, much like spaghetti cooked without salt often combined together in a gluggy mess unless hot water is poured over it. But there was no hot water available, at least, no literary equivalent of hot water. And so the threads came together - but in a clumpy, messy, annoying way.
Mary realized that she was a new character and that it was perhaps a little late for new characters - it was chapter 28 after-all. She stood, stretching, feeling her back creak in protest. She had been playing computer games since the wee hours of the morning. The wee hours being when she had needed to go to the bathroom but couldn't stop playing Super Mario Bros III. She would wipe it up later, she decided. She needed something to eat. For some reason she felt like spaghetti. Mmm, spaghetti!, she drooled, in a homer-esque manner. Not homo-sexual manner - that would have been quite different. She spilled it all over. What a mess! If only Mom was here to clean it up.
[edit] PostModern Writing
| It Ends | Tomorrow | Is Today |
|---|---|---|
| Yes | No | Middle |
| End | Begin | |
| bottom row | ||
[edit] Noonday Sun
Jim paused. He was more than halfway through his text. To say it was 'an unorthodox text' would be an understatement. He was feeling an inexplicable sense of melancholy. Perhaps it was just that Jim had always felt like a spectator in his own life. He was always a writer by nature. So much so that in a few amateur films he had made, even though he also appeared in the film as an actor in it as well as the primary writer, he would always refuse to be 'credited' as an actor in the play, (no explanation would be given as to why a major player was not credited) as if he didn't exist - just as he felt in his own life. He was truly 'the invisible man' - but hopefully not always though. He was happy with the 'stream of consciousness' progress of his novel - To Jim, the test of a 'text that works' was when he would naturally laugh out loud as he read (not that it was always funny, but, as Homer Simpson would say, 'it's funny cos it's true"). needless to say, Jim had laughed out loud several times. He had been moved, he had laughed, he didn't think he had cried over it (except the part about "all beauty was vulnerable, because beauty possessed neither weapons nor goals" which, ironically he was planning to position in the text in the second half of the novel). Jim thought long and hard and concluded that his melancholy was the result of what the 'desert monks' described as 'the noonday devil' the lowering of the spirit caused by the halfway mark of exhaustion and doubt. Jim pushed on, he would finish this text, because it was an expression of him.
Jim found himself alone in the night. He began to walk but aimlessly. At the moment his characters were silent. The story had gone ahead in ways that were even beyond the control of their creator. All over the world people were speaking the same language. They were tirelessly speaking of their life story to each other. The story had a tremendous topicality.
Jim was in a melancholy mood. As he walked he heard the distant sound of a police car. To him, it was strangely like the mournful mating-cry of a far-off whale.
He thought to himself many things: Today one does not carry out an idea, a plan, only in his own neighbourhood. Life is constantly 'on the move' and in those rare moments of stillness arise fantasy and aspiration projected everywhere. Conflicts are global and results the results are too. Sometimes, fortunately, one expresses one's best feelings. However one needs a lot of culture to savour these feelings.
Virgil wrote: 'Omnia vincit amor' ('Love wins everything'). Let's accept it.
This night, the earth was perfectly interposed between sun and moon. Enclosed in the cone of shade - the moon was no longer a bright disk. With its eclipse, the moon had become a wide confused stain of tenuous suffused light. At the peak of the phenomenon, the moon stood in sharp contrast to the black sky. The big star stood out, illuminated in its new, pale, cold, red light.
After some hours, this lunar eclipse would pass and all would return to normal. Tomorrow everybody would be busy again pursuing their own ends.
