The Rain (kap. 4)

Wait. Something’s not right. There should have been more of a commotion back there. If it had been just one on one, he could have taken him, just one guy, just one guy following a hunch, from a little girl no less, I need to be on top of this. To stop drifting. The past is in the past, if you see the Buddha at the side of the road do not offer him a ride, but rather kill him, as he is not the real Buddha for the real Buddha resides within us all. Stop and listen, to listen, no footsteps, no sirens, only the traffic in the rain somewhere far away, too quiet, like the movies, like that ridiculous seriousness, there’s always someone dying somewhere, some army moving forward, some world shattering event about to take place, it is coincidence whether or not one is involved in any of them, and, more importantly, which one of these events or wars or deaths that happen to come ones way. Wish I knew who the guy down there was, maybe he’s led the cop somewhere else, faked an emergency, something more urgent than a little girls tip-off. More likely he’s been subdued, taken down, out, away, spilling the beans right now, maybe this will be the last one, absurd thing to say, every time you do something new then the previous time you did it was the last time, guess it’s got something to do with the word ‘latest’, etymology was never my strongest suit, words are what they are, what they were is purely academic, ivory tower trivia. Other-end-of-the-line had better be ready to pay me quite a bit extra, if everything works out. I’ll be alright, never let anyone know of my hideouts, just nod and say that I’ll use theirs if worst comes to worse. If worse comes to Lisbon. Have to learn from experience, once bitten twice shy, fool me once and you can’t fool me again, have to make sure not to repeat patterns, kidnap victims, there is nothing more dangerous than stagnant knowledge, true wisdom does not lie in knowing a lot of things, it comes rather from not being afraid to throw out all that ‘knowledge’ in the quest for better information, quality over quantity. Any day of the week, very fitting philosophy in our profession. We’re a delicate people, to not treat us as such is an insult and we don’t take lightly to those. Wish we had better unions, sometimes, not often, got together for ballgames, hung out around water coolers, talked about cars and loans and the dresses on the women from accounting. Still have the rooftops and the rain and the never let anyone and the police and the lists of priors but also have some sort of tethering point. Other-end-of-the-line is no good at that, Cochlann, Langley, basic training never includes all the basics, so much stuff you have to figure out for yourself in the situation, been doing this for a while now and I bet there are still five million things that I have not yet been faced with. Tonight might be one, only way to cope is to relate to some other incident, oh, this is a 37b with extra lettuce and hold the mayo. Same sandwich, different nuances, food goes in mouth all the same, bitter or sweet. But I guess freedom is what you get in exchange for the water cooler, I’ve snapped back, haven’t I, circling myself down the drain, liquefied like that guy on the garage door. Freedom means getting away, that’s all the freedom we have. This nothing left to lose business eludes me. There were a few loud noises. He hasn’t done anything stupid, can’t work like this, well, homeless people don’t get traced back to us, he’s just some Doe going postal, God I hope he isn’t, okay, let’s walk through it. He stops the cop with a request or more pressing issue than following a picture, like I thought, but that wouldn’t create, I should have been more attentive back there, make do with the facts at hand, he stops the cop with a threat, that would account for the commotion. But what kind of threat, with what kind of repercussive actions and what end results. If threat A then most likely response A with result A. Right. Then there’s Lisbon, then there’s the worst of the worst, lady outside was undercover, even the gaggle were probably in reality Russian spies, someone has to be, and due to her being under a cover mine is blown with other-end-of-the-line possibly having sold me up the river and my contact down there, my bodyguard, having been captured. Where did I want to kick? Any sounds in there? Quiet as the grave, just another transition. From outside to inside, from inside to even further inside, penetrating deeper into the building, boxes inside boxes, like the hot air hitting you, a sudden boost, adrenalin, such a passé word. The faster the body moves, down the drain now, the slower the world appears, LV could be anywhere in there, prepared or unprepared, time to earn my money, time to be the servant. What happens behind me is only interesting if it catches up to me, I move away from the blast wave, never ensnared, always in motion, never standing still still stilly still still, been still so long, unmoving, trapped, caught, please, free myself, life is made up of all the small things, yes, but the small things have a way of fitting into larger patterns, three life periods, none of them memorable, not to other people anyway. Repeating myself, stuck in holding pattern in front of this door. All I have to do is lift up my right leg and then put it down somewhere new.

Ready.

---

First kick down door shoots up comes back immediately just how they bounce off closets too close to the entrance bathroom on the left bedroom here woman drinking liquid have to remember to say the words LV if this is my last if the wave catches me then at least I will have taken you with me my God this is going well already all the way into the room and in control of the situation and she has yet to turn around to investigate what the loud sound from her door was there her shoulders shudder silently but she does not turn around it has to be a trick if this is a trick then what she has no firearm up there behind her front or whatever you say this is getting awkward can she hear me was I this expected must have been if she knew then everyone else will how old is she around thirty more maybe she should be higher up than this well this is how they fire people in her profession I suppose all I do is someone else’s dirty work think I can slow down now think the thoughts I have to think would do better coming at a normal pace, wouldn’t want to forget anything.

“Vilhelms”

Should I have posed that as a question? She stays silent.

“This is your severance pay”

What a truly horrible line. Oh, wait! How am I going to do this? Too much drama, too film noir, too much atmosphere, Venetian blinds, drenched windows, onehandsippingglass, slow dialog.

“I don’t care what they say, Laikin stepped right into that searchlight. I taught him a lesson”

Vocce, vox, what a voice. Like she’s already dead, like I’ve already killed her. I’m ready now. Won’t let myself get freaked by this, I’ve tried freakier. She’s drawn breath to speak again, I’ll let her.

“What are you waiting for”

Nothing. I wait for nothing. It’s not the way things work in my trade.

Take a souvenir, no. Leave a calling card, no, and now for the dilemma. Count heartbeats, footsteps, stairsteps. Okay, Lisbon is officially off it’s top spot on the list, considering the simplicity of the act and the insecure position I’m currently in I almost feel set up. Like I need that kind of stress. Shouldn’t call this a failure before it’s failed, didn’t fail down south. Just slowly see what happens and try to react and change what you can. It’s a beautiful world we live in, greater poet - or an even more failed librarian - than me once said that he loved the country but couldn’t stand the scene. I guess this is the scene. Guess this sprawling offering to the gods won’t be made holy any time soon. Out of the drain, circle, anything else here, window that won’t open but that’s fine, it’s facing the wrong way anyway. Some of the windows in the hall weren’t, shattered exit it would seem, racing through city streets in the rain at night. That time in Lisbon, crawling back to the van, unseen, knew I had to, no way we could have outrun anything in that. Langley would not be proud of my current situation. I’m still fairly okay I suppose. Steal some towels for my wrists and to make sure I didn’t bleed on anything, never let anyone know. And back into the hallway, no one heard you, you are fine and you are leaving. Cochlann would be proud, unyielding, like Tsunetomo in his cave, dry and safe and scolding the ronin for not dying with their master, for not dashing into it headlong, for making plans, that old ex-samurai would love my current situation, I made plans and now they might all come to nothing, this part of course has come to something, so old ‘tomo would call it a success, rather live to see another day myself, no reason to commit seppuku just yet. Wonder who would win in a battle of ideologies, Sun Tzu or Tsunetomo, guess that was all that separated Langley and Cochlann. Are you under siege or are you attacking planlessly, to think someone would actually laud planless action. Probably a Zen thing. Hallway still empty, no one heard the kick? maybe they didn’t, don’t know, seems odd, too much seems odd right now. Maybe I’m odd, that’s not an impossibility, far from it, feels like every thought is coming to me twice tonight, archipelagos and rainfall, was there noise or not? The past is in the past unless it’s the wrong past in which case the true past is very much in the future. Not wrong, misunderstood. Even the crocodile has to eat. Wish I could see the car from here, if they didn’t hear the kick then maybe they won’t hear the smash, the glass hitting carpeting and concrete, me hitting concrete for that matter. I could just dash for the downstairs exit, right into a mine-field of unknowns, right right, there’s no fire escape? they set off alarms but that would be just as well here wouldn’t it, slip away in the chaos. Except there might not be any chaos, ThreeTooth down there might be someone and that might mean that they’re standing by the bottom of the stairs. Blast my way out, done that before. Which is probably why they want me so bad, if they want me, never bring real people into it. Didn’t, just enforcement, multitude prefers you take down the protectors, enforcement prefers you take down the sheep. They all wear their hearts on their sleeves. Doesn’t matter what hand is where, time’ll pass, it doesn’t matter if I do it or if it’s some cancerous blob in your colon. Memento mori. Three steps back, no room for four, deep breath, breathe deep. Hands first?, shoulder first!, good firm overcoat, picking glass out of flesh would take time, disrupt driving process. And I’m through in the first try, ground coming up to me coming down to it. Glass is just sand, sand is just rocks, I just smashed through a boulder. Somewhere in New Mexico there must be a glass desert. Fury of fire and flame, melting rocks, she reads Attreidies, in front of the place with fire - fireplace - we drive for an eternity towards mountain ranges, things certainly fly fast when you’re flying fast. So much time spent in mid-air, like a racehorse, legs never touching the ground, speeding ahead, whipped, reaching my goal, getting the flowers draped round my neck, all to be turned to glue. Glue is a useful product, cemeteries are overflowing with well fertilized flowers whether or not I’m part of it. Should tell them I want to be cremated, no worms eating at me, might as well burn the body as well as, well, you never know, science might be right, tell who actually? not like with donor cards, my tell-tale heart beating ever onwards, my tell-tale liver forever turning wine into water. Time isn’t flying, it’s standing still, Einstein look look, I’ve done it, I’m moving at the speed of light at the speed, look, I’ll be still, stilly still, just look. Asphalt, bend down with it, mustn’t get hurt, need to get to the car. Before I can even think of driving I have to think of driving, be in the mind of driving, no childish outbursts, my knee is skinned but I don’t care, won’t cry, iodine. Not my time to be burned, not yet, not my time to become spare parts. To catch the blast wave, to reflect the light to drench those left behind. Not my time. Cool it. ThreeTooth can come after me if it wants to, but there will not be given any reasons here, not in a generous mood, no probable cause, suspicion. Look alright, look like I’ve just taken a piss back here, look like I’m a little off my usual game - whatever that might be - but better days are around the corner, maybe I’ll kick the booze or I’ll finally call my son or maybe I’ll get a new job. Not quite a bum, definitely someone with the key to a place to live, his own place, but not someone who has anything worth stealing, the backbone of any city, Citizen Suffering Apathy, why they suffer differs from sufferer to sufferer but apathy they all share, same kind of heavy blanket, dreamless sleep, same kind of despair at the back of the throat, coming out only as heavy sighs, same kind of, well, I’m one of them now. That’s how I look. Could lecture on the subject of appearing to be a generic social class, people would probably love the theory of it but most likely only very few would go far enough to truly understand the image-enhancing qualities of jumping out of windows. Slow trot, what would I be doing here, in this neighborhood, must be bars here, I’m forced to cut across due to lack of public transport, only true public transport walking, only right and real and personal way for the public to get around, so that’s what I’m doing here. Being free and cheap. How can it be cheap to be free, language fails us sometimes, ow leg ow, idiomatic expressions clash head long into foreign words and millennia-old failed translations. That would be my only question to God, or god if that is the case, whatsoever we hold true on Earth, your popes included, is that what You hold true up there? Is Miriam a virgin now, does the Lord of the Flies ever miss his castle? Part of the reason for my lack of faith in anything but myself, faith is admirable but religions are ridiculous, even more so if they’ve realized that fact and are desperately trying to fix the content of their books while still outwardly remaining faithful to even the most obvious lie and deception. You get enough of that in day to day life, no need to institutionalize it. Maybe I should rant and rave, maybe mutter, no one comes close to an insane person, then again they do notice the almost-sapient, too inconspicuous, I was built for this, I was built to blend in, even without a crowd. I was built to go from ice-cold businessman to CSA in just one simple application of gravity. Nice to have a purpose, one man can serve many masters though, there’s lots of other stuff I could be I think, lots of opportunity, many roads to turn down, like this left turn here, round the corner, not round the bend, and there’s the scene, just like I left it, CellPhoneArgumentPinstripeMidAgeMan’s still at it. ‘Tooth is where it used to be. Where’s SunglassesAtNight? Where’s the Contact? They might still be inside, there’s no car here, no sirens in the distance, right?, right, no sirens, not even in the distance, just some traffic, just the vital signs of a city, echoing unheard reaches, the park is quiet, it’s meant to be quiet, it’s locked off at night, full of junkies and homeless and outcasts and ne’er-do-wells. Unlike a CSA like me, we’re too weak and subdued to do crime. Really is quiet, quite, quit it, fence is too tall, no jump-ambush, not for you, me. Traffic kind of light for a Friday. This is a Friday? Sweep of days. If this is going south then it’s the smoothest and most detailed journey in that direction ever. How much would that, am I that much, maybe they think I can unravel, caught Jakob in Atlanta, he never cracked. Until now maybe, long time to sit in a basement being punched and kicked and covered in freezing water or whatever they do in the real world. Simple basic rules, you hold out, you hold on and then you lie, Dantooine, any resource wasted by someone not of us is a resource gained. Never unravel. Counting steps, lessee, another twenty or so steps, opening the door, key turns ignition, back up and go forth. Doing the speed limit, maybe a little less, like I’m looking for something, from denizen to tourist in one easy step, it’s all in the appearance, servants in uniforms, we don’t have uniforms, I’ve never owned a trench coat in my life. Some with uniforms. Just so you’re sure. Some with their profession shining out of their eyes, some obeying prejudice, cardigans and pipes, jeans and t-shirts. Some uniforms. Fifteen more steps and I can forget about that which is mentioned but never appears, that which resides somewhere real - that much is certain - but that somewhere real place is not here, not now, not ever here, actually. They search for me I search for a way to not be found. Games we play. On company time. At least we keep active, we don’t just stand by trees at roadsides debating whether or. On company time. Ten more steps, Occam was right after all, there is no great conspiracy, no unseen hand stretching its fingers around you, snatching you away from all you know and care about, thank you razor. No rule of thumb functions if you’re not ready to beat your wife in the first place. Prepared to follow the basic idea. No wall-crawling yet. A single leap of faith, sure, but no shambling scrambling don’tfallnow. This time it’s an exercise of the mind, which is kind of worse, pathetically obvious as it may sound. My mind is always up there, alarms always ringing, even off duty, walk down the street, know everything knowable, from handedness to address, part of my training that. Conflicts inevitably arise, three more steps, told to forget and told to recall, told to put away and told to retrieve at a moments notice. She was sitting on a bench at the edge of a park where we used to be like everyone else and do like everyone else, I hated so much about myself and she was herself indifferent, I don’t get around much anymore. Associations are so very important. Never let anyone know but I never truly forgot, not until I did anyway, and I had forgotten what I was trying to remember, why stir up memories, and bam park and she didn’t even recognize me, made eye contact like an idiot and still she couldn’t see it was me. Almost spoke to her, recalling some pent-up apology speech, vintage stuff, meaningless, wanted to let her know that I thought about her once. But there was nothing of me in my own reflection in her pale brown eyes. Been invited on dates, might have gone, but what for, not like I can offer anything but sporadic comfort and suspiciously large amounts of spending money. There is nothing of her in me and nothing of me in her. I’ve forgotten again, recalling her image is even difficult for me, everything ages, everything gets ravaged by time, no escaping, no standing stilly in the corner. Door remains unlocked, key remains primed. Explosions, preparing for the explosions. That was about all we talked about, feel so grownup with the asphalt under your wheels and the beers inside, but all we talked about was cops and robbers, armymen, fisticuffs and explosions. Tried to imagine what that must have been like, failed, human imagination only works up to a point. It works excellently up to that point but after the point it begins to work against itself, it neuters expectations and makes expert witnesses of illogical ideas. Mustn’t put myself down, experience creates paranoia. Limitation of the shared consciousness, inability to grasp the entire world, every nuance, every pain and joy, every exciting experience, every dull one, like ads telling you that while you sit down in your couch to watch TV a child dies of hunger. The message doesn’t get through, you hear the words and see the pictures and know what death and hunger and child mean but there’s nothing inside to make sense of that outside. Sometimes that kind of disconcertedness can be forced, oh yes, if you prick me do I not bleed, sure but what is this blood and how do I know that your ‘pain’ is like my ‘pain’? and thus one is protected from the rather uncivil aspects of ones job. Someone on the list, number five I think it was, asked me, before he/she/it knew that their time was up, asked me what I did for a living. I told him/her/it that I ran from the police, oh, because of something you did? kind of, but mainly because of what I’m going to do. And I did it, so it wasn’t theatrics, it was just conversation, yes, I did it. Number five was easy, there was no cleanup, no roadblocks, no rain, no lying in wait, no contacts, just a classic contract. Amazed at how many variations that can exist on a simple theme like mine, sometimes you’re competing with others and no one pays you for getting rid of those, Langlann, Cochley, job one for us is always the medical issue, any personal requests are secondary, we explain this to costumers. Tell them, always, that if they are out to humiliate or drive insane then they are looking at a far more expensive job, one which we will not be able to guarantee that we can perform satisfactorily. And satisfaction is what I’m all about. Linger? No, let them catch me on all fours, my hands on the fifth, transmissions automatic, I don’t even have to shift. Wonder where that couple went, like looking down from a high place, like wanting to fall just to see what that would be like, feel like going back to see what actually happened, unlikely that other-end-of-the-line will ever tell. The truth. The truth is only what is seen, weaving tangled webs is not that hard, maintaining them, not falling through gaps, that’s the hard part. And as long as you keep it simple then divinity is within your reach, grasp, easily, the world is yours for the shaping, just tell the small lie, avoid propaganda tactics, never adding too many zeroes. Never doing three actions when one will suffice. The best liars are trustworthy types. Like me.

And I’m off.

The Rain (kap. 3)

And bright. Why do they make them this bright? Like that blast of hot air when you go into malls. Adjust. Always adjust and adapt. Christmastime window-shopping. Look up and the whole world’s gone darker than dark. 9 to 5. October. Get to work while it’s still dark. Get out after sundown. Could never do it. Never say never, except for the letting know of anyone. Boy is that ever in there, surfacing all the time. Must be all the focusing I’m doing. Other-end-of-the-line was right, is right, it’s been a while. Like riding a bike. Why all these stupidly sentimental flashbacks then? Adjust. Eyes are fine. This isn’t that bad, must have been looking straight at the light. Good thing I didn’t sneeze. Big lungs make a lot of noise. Used to be praised for my adaptability. No matter what they threw at me. Younger. Had to make some comment, idiot that I was. Turned that smile upside down. Destroyed the mood. Younger. Smarter now? Is this the last time? I’ve been asking that since the first one. Stupid question. Should be up to me, but, only human, all the same, always. You mean you couldn’t?, I said. Idiot. LV. Don’t want to go through the list now. Need to save it. Gold and red. Oak? Think it must be. Nice chairs. Couches. Tables. Smells good. Clean but not clinically. Human. Humane? That’s what they call a mezzanine. I think, architecture’s a mystery to me. All those boxes filled with all that stuff, all those people. Designers did good work here. No gaudy statues or anything. Quick check. Not exactly crowded in here. Slow evening maybe. Someone wants to come in. I’d better move a bit.

DeskKeysYouth. Is that a he or a she? Column. Must be a good job right now. Hardly anything to do. Minimum wage. When it rains we all get wet. When it rains on the rich the poor get a little fog. Or foggy words. Not one to talk. Youth is keymaster. Responsibility. Does Youth even care? Perhaps responsibility remains unregistered to make it easier to cope. Big responsibility. Lots of keys. Open lots of doors with lots of rich things behind. We’ve all got to start somewhere. I was damn good when I was his/hers/whatever’s age. Credit cards, paperclips, brute force. Only took stuff. Things. Items. Possessions. Wall-crawler. Freshman friends. I paid for that trip, every last thing. Small shiny objects command quite a bit of not only attention but also financial clout. Why the past? Just a lobby. Just a key handler. Uniform. Less so than TopHat. Still obvious. Red and gold. It’s a girl. Probably packing mace. Trying to make her German mate with their English. Only bastards coming out of it so far. New Latin. Hard being a former empire. Must be. Time they realized it, got to fitting in. Synchronizing, what’s that about? Direct show of weakness. Admittance. We don’t know, we don’t educate well enough. I’ve tried filling out one of those job applications, her German ought to be better too. Used to be strict about that. Manager must be off duty.

GermanCouple. Or maybe they just don’t care. Acceptance. They look rich. Well, the opulence of this place has been pretty well established by now. Rich attracts rich. Move in different spheres. They’ll see a far different country than their poorer tourist counterparts. Not that it will be any less authentic. Just different. Lisbon, Elton always complaining about the motel. There was nothing wrong with that motel. Even had breakfast included. Continental. Buns, butter and jam. An egg or two. Most important meal of the day. Start off right. ‘Course Elton never did eat any breakfast. Got up too early. We all do what we do best. Librarian, yes sir, over there sir, no I don’t know why Dewey made it that way sir, yes, let’s. He died. Didn’t slip. He never cared about the rain. Used to laugh at my asphalt observations. It’s just the light breaking. Soft. But there was no east. Streetlamps, alleys, soaked. Poor Elton. Left. Wonder what he’s doing now. You never know. He wanted out. Dry jokes. Gallows. Good for getting through things. Germans. Zhose who claim zat chermans haf no sens of humor vill be taken out back und chot! Stereotypes. So easy. So... start any good wars lately?

NewspaperReadingManWaiting. That’s him? No. Someone else’s. Someone else. We’re all someone else. Bah. Empty words are the easiest. Showing off or serious? Well, who could he be showing off to? That’s one boring newspaper. No colors. No comics. Crossword puzzle from Hell. Vocabulary training. He looks educated. Little bit wealthy. Nothing flashy. What’s the word, distinguished. What’s he waiting for, oh, scratch that, who? Her?

RedDressBlondWoman. She doesn’t look cheap. Better curb myself, married the two of them. With each other it seems. I know not seems. Knowledge is power. But wisdom is even better. Of course they’re connected but they sure aren’t the same. It’s all about gaining knowledge through wisdom. Knowledge without wisdom is useless. Maybe that’s too harsh. But at the very least it’s not preferable. Big yellow, white and black thing in his hands, which category does that fall into? And why is he taking it along? Not going on a date after all. But, oh, yeah, they’re married. Oy. All those jokes. True maybe. Every silver lining has its very own cloud. Like clouds. Pretty. Let it fly. They’ll be away in T minus twenty-five seconds. Hope they have a good evening. No umbrella. Oh well.

Contact. There we go. See you. See me? Hello? Oh, right. The signal. Poor guy’s been kept in the dark. Other-end-of-the-line should know better. Knowledge is power. What was it, uhmm, three fingers. Nods, he nods. Idiotic response. Far too obvious. LV is in what room? Understood. Look at me, hey, what’re you looking at. Someone behind me. I know, when I came through the door, it’s who?, crap, you have him? Little girls are nothing but trouble. Good memory. I owe someone an apology, certain that there was no need for anyone here. He looks young but competent, if a little off, and at the end of the day his age won’t really matter. This isn’t even so bad. One of the upsides of having done this for so long. Endless list of worst-case scenarios. Lisbon. And that was just one. Never ask if anything else can go wrong. Usually get an answer straight away. Other-end-of-the-line’s probably been withholding information from me too. That would explain the ascetic look of the room he gave me. No TV? You’ll only be here a few hours, pro like you can entertain himself, right. Playing on my pride. Clever. Going to have to look him up. Afterwards. My alarms have been going off ever since I first met him. But, then again, they always are - going off. Freshman friends, before I even got started. Freaking desert for crying out loud. Those clouds look disturbing. Don’t eat that. He has a gun, I’m sure he has a gun. Probably paranoia. Probably clinical. Horrible word, that, clinical. Like a mixture of hope and despair. Like this guy. Pray you never need him. Pray. Even I prayed for rain. Thank you, slightly shady character, thank you for getting in his way. No TV, what the hell was I thinking!

And then there’s a staircase. Gotta love staircases. So much easier than ropes. Or ladders. Or just the whole jump and roll, jump and roll, rooftop, rooftop. Probably have a dozen lifts here. With lift-boys. Would hate to do anything to a servant. We’re all just servants. Workers control the means of production. It’s a political struggle. So many meta-jobs. Money for nothing. Nothing tangible anyway. Synergies. Teamwork. East meets west and messes us all up. Better to be in construction. Demolition even. Or this. No one telling you to stay off the water cooler, to get for some tla certification. Document work-process. Liftboys take you somewhere, you could get there yourself, true, but that does not make you any less taken. Lots of stuff that one gets done that one could do oneself. Like cities, shouldn’t be badmouthing all this. Like the ivory towers, much prefer them to log-cabins. Quebec. Had us staying somewhere that wasn’t exactly centrally located. In the woods you can’t see them coming. Good thing they didn’t. So unlike Cochlann. More of a pro than that. Or was it Langley? Well, we got out and on so maybe I misunderstood that situation. My paranoia probably goes deep. Runs. Can’t say that I inherited it from her, but I’m still sure I got it from my mother. She was always scared. Breathing down her neck, three steps behind her. Must be tough. Must be why she did what she did. Shook me to see her fear. Never let anyone know. She wanted to fall but I wouldn’t let her, grabbed her naked arm and pulled her safe. Thing like that bound to leave some kind of mark. Saved a life that day, well, even thieves give to charity. But mostly they steal. Step follows step, upwards, those stairs that lead down into the basement, do they go up also, strangest questions people ask in the real world. Naked arms and staircases. Sounds like a pitch for a perfume advertisement. Like jeans, always too surreal, it’s all just rubbing alcohol. Harsh, too, the difference is there, takes the heart to smell it. Remember her smell, she’s off the list, could just, remember to turn, twist, with the staircase, don’t attract attention. What? Whatever he’s doing back there it sounds loud. Ball rolling. Pfft, balls been rolling since we were all born, we just see it now, I do, it’s not as if fate waits in the wings only to show itself at inopportune moments, never think of a kiss as fate, or a crumpled up hundred on the sidewalk, luck gets those, fate gets this. Body hurries if the mind slows, keep the pump pushing red stuff out to the extremities and away from the brain, I know where I’m going. He knew where he was going back then, he knew what to do with his extremities. Other-end-of-the-line should have could have, wouldn’t, you can’t just give a homeless person an order and a tool, this is business, not amateur night, moving, that motion. All the time I wasn’t in this, all the time before, before time, there were rooms and books and none of this. Well, some of this. Him and Her. And his thumb moving up and down her back, rubbing, she doesn’t respond and yet every pore of her body is on high alert. I know because I know not because I can see, because I knew, saw through the veil, turn off the mind, focus on something else, hotel carpeting, always easy to vacuum, worst thing, he doesn’t even know her, only biblically, only like Oedipus, same kind of oh-didn’t-know, not his mother but she could be an anti-Semite or even a Jew, off it, it’s just his thumb. Contractions, is, was, big machines moving down halls while people are away. Servants. Not like I don’t play games, play so many games, cops and robbers, The Paranoia game - have to stop that one - and the Mind Wandering game. Rules. But. Non-played games, that hunt, the hunt, hunt them down for touch, sensation. Hunt them. Alone so long, must be why I took it, didn’t just leave them, leave Cochlann, leave Langley, the whole motley crew of contradicting orders, life crushing rules. Must have been in grade school, puppy love, federally supported relationship education. Puppies don’t love, do they? Love in animals. Animals. Sapiens. Soft and carapace-less but wielding sharp objects, pointy sticks, supersonic pieces of metal, liquid fire, the glory of The Sun delivered to Asian towns. Freshman friends, brought along relevant school books, whatever we could use to have fun. Pictures in the science book. The wall was still standing but the guy on the ladder had been reduced to less than ashes. Evaporating, leaving a fine print on the wall, the garage door. The unmatched power of the floating fire. In her eyes. And there was his thumb. And she wasn’t walking away. She could have turned me into molecules, made me float away on a little cloud, as a little cloud, of me, raining essence. Her back was unappealing but it was all I could see, and his thumb. I still have that thumb, like I have her scornful laugh. When something ends it lasts forever. The hunt. Fields of grass. A roll in the hay. Know thyself, I was pleased to see them so shocked, scared, surprised. Then a blur and an aimless wandering. Blurry and aimless, so sharp these days. Lucky dog. But somewhere, I know, he continues the slow-motion slow motion. She accepts. Forever. Hope they’re happy. Hope they’ve finally gotten to know one another, conversations. His thumb worn down to the bone, the back of her ribs showing through the remaining rags of her party dress. Forever. Kitchen staff looked for weeks. Stayed for the signals. Rules. The orders might be different but what’s behind them is the same, there’s no mistaking the intentions. Go left. Go right. Third floor, fourth floor. Never let anyone know. If you want me then come and get me. Don’t move that hand that way, don’t give me that look. Put your face farther from mine, let me read the entire message, dyslexic. Never did it for free again. I loved her. Do puppies love? Made it no harder. I’m here for the taking, use, abuse, misuse even. Brief, brief moments are what life’s made up of, lips, grass, roofs, speed, catchphrase. A classic tragedy, how many are there, boy meets girl, girl spurns boy. And the hijinks that ensue. Trained so well her name is gone. Control. Knowing and controlling. Maybe even nice places like this, maybe they have that in common with the other hotels, regular and otherwise. Bet there’s one big place where they all go to buy carpeting. There’s this place’s guy in a butler costume and over there is Pedro from The Craptastic Motel and Grill. What would they discuss? Probably conferences. And war stories. We are all christia... hotel people after all. A little thing like stars shouldn’t come between us. And over there in the corner, next to Pedro, is Candi. All night brothel. This place, bring your own whore. Why did I have to love a girl like that. Not a whore, if only she had been, long long list of lovers, skipped me, I might not know your language but the alphabet is still in here somewhere. Sat up at night with a list of names and numbers. Crossing off. Just your lips would have sufficed. Librarian, why I should have been a poet. Tried for a while. This pays better. Got real good at drawing lines, straight, definitive. Another one bites the dust. Toothfairy, same kind of sleepless waiting, Saint Nick doing his nocturnal thing, crawling around unseen on rooftops, just get me my red suit and I’ll grow the beard. Like I would wake up beside you, you would do your magic and I would know what I was missing. The last piece of the puzzle would be put in. I would nod when they brought it up, know what moans meant. Was not to be. Approaching the party. Noise and heat in the distance. Laughter as I got closer. Last time I did it for free, guess they were the first too, try everything once. Find your preference and stick with it. Do what you love, love what you do, there’s actually a big difference there, well, not big, but it’s there, you can love playing the guitar but hate it if you have to, I guess, if you’re forced to play. Some people won’t get up to press eject but tell them that it’s for the good of the nation and they’ll march mile after endless mile with so much stuff strapped onto them that they could build their own little house. I avoided all that, asthma. I do actually, if it wasn’t for the constant mind-numbingly dull training exercises I would be gasping for air right now like a, well, a man being choked with a piano-wire. Music. Little hammers hit little strings and bam, you’ve got Rondo a capriccio op 129, I don’t naturally, you have to start playing at a young age and we could never afford, what floor is this now, and why always with the hundreds, there are only sixty rooms in the place - not here, they’ll have a few more, just an example - and yet the room numbers may climb well into the five hundreds. False advertising. All in the name of order, keeping it, maintaining it. And off the well, the stairs, out of the well and into the fire, the hallway. But that was passion, can’t count towards the total, can’t be put in the same clay pot as my heart, can it, it can’t be weighed on the same scale, it was all personal, no business. Like the good of the nation, like the thing I avoided I did it anyway and both ways you commit little atrocities to prevent the big ones. Even if you never do get around to the prevention part, even if you stay with the committing. At least you help the average, for every job I’ve done someone out there has not done what I did. You wouldn’t bring a whore here, champagne companion maybe, too expensive, also the transport, not exactly overflowing with ladies of the street down there, in the rain, theaters too close, they can never remove crime, only move it, again and again, probably how some cities got so big, had to be someplace to put the tobacco, alcohol and firearms, and hookers. Lines and sinkers. This is my rifle, never misuse, never abuse, never when drunk, never unless sure. This is my gun, misuse, abuse, better with a little liquor in you, you can make up your mind after. The mystery was solved eventually and I didn’t even have to go see Candi or her female business-partners, Stella! I never cheated on you with any southerners, maybe the guys are right, maybe I do spend too much time with sheets of paper, I never sent anyone to any sanitariums, never any bells in the far distance. And your name wasn’t Stella, but I still shouted it, Stella!, outside your window, I knew you’d understand, you always said I didn’t read enough, you and your friends who became and were my friends always used to say that, right now you’re in front of the big fireplace, curled up in someone’s arms, reading Here Comes Everybody or Attreides, re-reading, and if it wasn’t for the mind numbing training I would remember all this. But I don’t. There is a before and an after, there is a young man in the desert and a somewhat less young man in the rain on a rooftop somewhere. Nothing in between. Choices we make in life. As a compromise, librarian, as a compromise I started writing poetry. Never any good. Not atrocious either, but lacking oomph, writing songs/is painfully simple/if you have/nothing/to write about. I grew fond of that one, like scientists of hypotheses, hypothesi?, like the moor of his suspicion. And growing fond of it I lost all ability to hear criticism, until one day of clarity, 55b 55c toilet ice machine, when I looked at my collected writings and realized that what I do now leaves no space for a paper trail. I killed them both, Iago and my girl, without having to kill myself. Not literally, but I don’t think of that. Onward quantum soldiers, leave no man behind. So after all this, all these compromises and dreams of nothing and loves that are lost and are better than not having ever had them, after all of it I started working out. Buff. Young, angry, planless, loveless and physically strong. They must have followed me, training trains you to train your memory on episodes before training trained you and so on. Got off work at five, I know what that’s like, you can’t imagine Hell, and got home at three past six, like clockwork, hands dragging me through town and time, long and short and longest. Same route. I would have been the perfect kidnap victim, Langley’s favorite thing to shout at you if he thought you were becoming predictable, “kidnap victims always have set paths and routines, live their lives on a train track, no wonder the freight takes them sooner or later” runonsentences. Cochlann liked those too. Always made me think of Vonnegut, until I told them and then they said, he said, never let and so on. Poor guy strapped to a rail, looking at the world through a stove-pipe with mirrors, one way only. And this way is mine, that door over there leads to LV. It will be locked but there are ways around that. No utility closets around here, no ducts, no way onto the wall, front door then. Housekeeping? Food? Wine? Hookers? Not right here, not the neighborhood, call it entertainment and that might work. What did I do last time?, hide in bushes, so still still stilly still still, bored out of my skull, ready for it when it happened, not like that, I’m still one of the very best, but so very bored. Not that again, so far this is even exhilarating. Not that I can let it be anything but monotonous at the very best. Take what I can get. Published on the internet, along with every angsty McAngsty angst poem about mothers who weren’t there and thus some jerk from the Midwest had to dress up in all black clothing, liberate me, rude awakening, I was just as bad, not as horrible, but just as bad. A firm kick right there ought to do it.

The Rain (kap. 2)

Breezy. Little more than I thought it would be. Well, out now, door’s in hand. How fast could I get this up in case, if there was, sometimes there’s a reason to get it up quickly, how quickly could I? Can’t check now, don’t lock it. If need be. Shouldn’t though. Had companions who drove, friends maybe, cost of a friend, risk of a friend, lessee if x is, oh never mind, I’m here now and I’ll be here again shortly. Then I can think about this. Then. Have to focus. There’s the hotel. No missing it, blue and red, neon and illuminated plastic and glass. Couldn’t hold me, the sign. It’s on the other side, shouldn’t have to worry about it. But you never know. Lisbon, beware of dog, slippery when wet, yield to pedestrians in crosswalk. Lewis ‘was that plan B’. Me ‘no, that was plan oh shit’. I had a snappier comeback, theatrics, but it’s better to live than to be witty. cab right in front of me. Never know. Better look both ways. Always. When it’s dark and wet like this people get crazy for home. Never mind the poor schlobs who like crossing the street. On the news that story about the drunk cabbie and the family reunion. Such a waste of life, senseless. No cars moving, five parked in front of the hotel, one of them an inconspicuous van. No cars moving, some people though. This is near the theatre district I guess, shows getting out. Might be good for after. Never stand out in a crowd. Important word for him. Never this, never that. Important lessons, all the same. Word to live by. Never did stand out. Short but not too short. Made for this. Don’t buy that purpose crap, no fate, no force, no God, whether I feel good or I feel bad is up to me, up to my own actions. I have a good head for hats, good face for eyeglasses. Mother wanted me to be a librarian, don’t know where she picked up that idea, this is much more what I do, fits like a glove. Gloves. Pocket, yes, yes, still have them. Never forget. If the time is that then after it’ll be the other thing unless I keep dallying like this. Taking stock is important, mustn’t think otherwise. Who’s here, right here only, in front of the hotel - what’re they doing, will they stay. Let me just see without looking, beats looking without seeing any day of the week.

Obvious first:

PoliceManSunglassesAtNight. Patrol. Patrolling. Lookingout. On the look out. Most likely this is his beat. This is what he’s paid to do. What we pay him to do. What is society, what is public service. They see so many pictures every day, no way they can even remember a third of them. Better to not try and be inconspicuous. Never whistle. Don’t stand out, conform, look-alike. Society. He’ll hang around. They always do. Always in the way. Solve a problem in advance? Never do three actions. Cross that cop, pass that bridge when the time comes.

ThreeToothObeseWoman. Cup out. Eyes down. Lots of bags. Wild guess. One of the unnoticed. Passing a discarded bundle of clothes. Taking three steps. Realizing that the bundle was wearing shoes. Teeming masses. Wonder if she’s tired, I know she’s poor. If she isn’t, no, well, if she was then now she’s seen me and that’s done. Only way to tell will be whether or not she’s still there when I get back down. She has no place to go. Winter in the city, freeze to death on the sidewalk, get cleaned up, off, by the snow crews. When it rains we all get wet. Some of us dry off. No night for sitting on the curb. No night at all. Have to keep my eyes on that one. No night at all. Occam’s razor. Shit, how do I apply that here? What’s easiest. Okay, she’s just some beggar. Trash of society, poorer than trash.

Thank you razor. Must keep my eyes open.

BrownHairedMotherSquareglassesWet. Regular. Civilian. Bystander. Daughter is:

BrownHairedDaughterSkippingInPuddles. Definitely theatre crowd those two. Just passing by. No influence on the equation. Cause and effect. Like karma?, I asked. Not quite, he said. More like, what we do in life echoes through eternity. I’ve heard that before, sarcasm was a tool of mine in those days - know thyself - and he responded along the lines of, just because I’m quoting that doesn’t make me any less right. Seemed annoyed to be found out, Mr. Never let anyone know. Hello little girl, smile to strangers much? Oh, don’t talk to that guy, don’t grant him a dimpled smile, he’s the vile oppressor and suppressor of all things good. Whose street? Our street! Imperialism? End it now! Police state? End it now! She’s jumping around a little freely, SquareglassesWet ought to be looking out for her. Pun. Ouch. She can’t see through wet glasses. Read the topline. Contacts! Expensive. Day job. Money to take her kid to a show. Most definitely her kid. No shadow of a doubt. BrownHaired the both of them. Sometimes it’ll skip a generation or the father will shine strongest, not here, like mother like daughter. Apple falling close. Hitting someone in the head, they invent gravity. Things stay put. Not quite how that works. Bodies attracting bodies. Well, we’ve all been there. Good times.

GaggleOfJapaneseGentlemen. Right there, for example. Well, they’re just passing through. Passing through, sometimes happy sometimes blue. Look happy though. Must have been fun. No time for me to do stuff like that. Not here anyway. Moving very briskly for such a spirited crowd. Destination? Hotel? Not this one. Nearest one is? Follow the water, too cheap, too full, just right. Quite a way to go. Must have been an energizing performance. Wonder what they saw? Madame Butterfly, maybe. Takes so long for those people to die. Take knife, insert, ta-daah! But no, it’s part of the art. Once saw that other play as an opera - didn’t suit it - his girlfriend was singing about flowers and stuff along the lines of having misplaced ones minds, wanted to drown herself. I had balcony seats. Afford the nice things. Never let anyone know. So she got down on the platform, sang about drowning and then. Nothing. Trapdoor broken. I could see it from up there, stairs are a plus, wouldn’t budge. She did real well. Never let it show, just got up and died, Stage Right. Singing. Not a usual sound.

JoggerSelfHaterReflectiveStrips. Well, the weather outside is frightful. Look at him. So self-righteous. Not only am I running, I’m running in the night and the rain. Top that you lazy pedestrians. What was it Soren said about deriving mirth from the sudden demise of busy people. Well, he said it was fun for one. Good old church-guard. The worse the weather the more there are of these people. Come the Armageddon there’ll be millions in tight pants and sweatbands. Running laps around the horsemen. That would be a sight. Exercise is good. I know. I do. Staying in shape, Lewis used to say that he was in shape, ending it with a ‘round is a shape, right?’. Lucky me, metabolism. Sugar is fuel. Wrappers back in the car. Evidence. Never. Back does ache a little on occasion. When it’s damp. Breeze seeing to that now. Little coolish around the edges. Nothing I can’t take. Sweat free. Feeling good actually. Good now, worse after running. Convenient parking if, hmmm, maybe a little too, no, stop, this game is not to be played on these premises anymore. Probably had to do with my low self-esteem, principal wanted me to be more assertive. If only he could see me now. Actually, better he can’t, of course. Used to play - call it play - that everyone was out to get me. That everyone knew one another, walky-talkyed, one big plot. Out to. I don’t know, it never got that far, didn’t need to. Just needed me scared and in the center of attention. Dad was always away, mom wasn’t enough. Never want to have kids. Risky. Could never tell them. They could never forgive. Would never. I should know. Where was I? Where am I? Okay, this far. Stopped jogger. Ought to. Yeah. Control myself. Sugar is fuel, overdrive. Hands. Steady as rocks. Always were. Librarian. What did she know. Maybe she’d figured out the alternative. A vision, induced by Lord knows what. I would have made a strange librarian. No one would be late again, never be overdue. That’s for sure.

CellPhoneArgumentPinstripeMidAgeMan. Boy he has jazzhands. Assume? Don’t ask, don’t tell. Oh, be nice. You are such a thing. Wonder who’s on the other end. Not a superior, way he’s carrying on. Friend? Colleague more likely. He’ll stay put. Whatever he’s doing here. Come off it. Stop playing. This is a city after all. People will be every- and anywhere. No getting around it. Ideally it would be just me and whoever. Although that would be a little boring. No real challenge. No one to pay either. City, this. Gotta make a move to a town that’s right for me. Possibly Africa. Rich enough. Talk about moving. Funkytown. Oh no, don’t want that stuck up there all evening. I have a few select words to deliver. Not unlike Mr. Theatrical over there. Sometimes pent up stuff comes out like that. Flowing. Maybe, listen, yeah, a machine. No one could sit quietly through that. All of that. No human. Make our cars, add and divide and answer our phones. Awful good of them. Maybe they’ll take over my job. It’ll lose its human touch. Inhuman, whatever. Unlikely. Job security. Security. He’s just some guy. But his wandering pattern is a little erratic. Could be right in front of the door upon departure. TopHat ought to take care of that. It’s his job. Servant.

TopHatDoorMan. Servant. At that age he’ll be a good one too. LV knows how to accommodate himself it seems. Or herself. What do I know. Uniforms, like SunglassesAtNight, just so you’re sure. No shadow of a doubt. Stone-faced. Insert quarter to play. Kind of guy who’d wander into rush-hour traffic just to hail a cab from the right company. Could probably point one in the direction of more, shall we say, diverse entertainment. That’s his human touch, that’s what he adds that a card-board cut-out with a prosthetic arm would not be able to do. I’d like some smut please. Certainly, sir. Right over yonder, sir. Wouldn’t say yonder. They probably have all sorts of secret ways to communicate. If he was asked directly by a guest he would probably vehemently deny everything while discreetly pointing in the correct general direction. No commission most likely if the guests don’t end up the right places. No man can serve two masters. A servant divided. Winks maybe. Or handkerchiefs. Colored. Spanking. Sodomy. Black satin, leather and lace. All the pleasures of the night. Not really people while they do it, but one has to, I mean, I do at least see the obvious logic, why pay for pinup pictures when you yourself can pin one. Up. So to speak. Never did understand the tease. Straightforward. Nudist beaches. Never could. Too excited. Only human after all. Humane? Flaunting everything they have, beckoning us closer, tattoos that go God knows where. But get close and they’ll. Yeah. Forget it. Guess they Never Let Anyone Know either. Better to just pay up, that way you’re sure of the rules. And as long as your cheques don’t bounce you’re never inadequate. Good thing I don’t have a lawyer, servant of the mind. Not a lawyer, mind fails me, shrink. A shrink would see so much, know thyself. Try and spin this into that. Not tonight. Single bed. Single cell.

GreenFlashBikeMessenger. What could be that important? News maybe. Contracts. Brave devils. Life and limb. All of the rights but none of the metal casing. Proud tradition. Aztecs, no, must have been the Incas, runners. From the shore to the top of the mountains. Fresh fish. Never got around to inventing the wheel, got super lungs instead. Or the oysters from Rome to the wall, Hadrian’s that is. Weren’t fresh. But all the same. Surefire sign that an empire is falling. No mail today. Actually, no mail, not ever. And don’t even dream about seeing troops out here again. The empire you are trying to reach is no longer available. Please hold for the revolting peasants, Goths or vandals. Greek running naked from the battle of Marathon. At. On? Of? Just so he could deliver the message. The battle is won - think it was won - and then drop dead. Convenient how some people seem able to control their own demise. Like the woman who lost her scarf. Strangled. Managed to give a speech afterwards though. Tricks they have to use. Tricks, I should know. Oughta know. Real quiet, the dead. Position of freedom. Just oneself, the metal horse and the road. One objective, delivery, ones own freedom as to how one reaches that objective. Actually, I have that job. Think the risk is about the same. Cars all over. At this hour.

Traffic. And where are the busses? Rich neighborhood. Let some words slip at the mayors soiree about how much noise a bus makes and about how much they would hate to withdraw their support. Although the other guy seems nice. Yale man and all that. And the mayor understands. And public transportation goes around, wide. Sickens me. Physically. Nepotism. Cronyism. Political leverage through wealth. They’re rich, must they also be powerful. Taxi one Taxi two Taxi three. Flow to it. Not congested yet. Strange how all the shows seem to get out at the same time. Can’t be true. But if it was, backed up for miles. Suppose it actually is light for a Friday. This is a Friday? Not important any of this. Today is the day and that’s all there is to that.

That about does it. Time to cross. Estimated at some fifteen seconds. We’ll see about that. Don’t rush. Take your time without letting it slip. Don’t want to walk out in front of some semi. A parable for our time. Urban. Seconds aren’t important. Yes they are. They are on the very frontline of the battle against time. The foot soldiers of the chronographer. We all just want to get home. Safely. Know I do. Anyway. Let up, come on. Not the drenching kind. I’ll get home dry. Doesn’t mean that I like standing here. My hair dries so slowly. SkippingInPuddles, still looking at me. She can’t see much. Traffic. Blurry lights across the street, between us. Can’t see a thing. Time’s here. Now. Won’t have to wave to anyone, thank anyone for passage. Charon doesn’t make change. Advancing on me, the soldiers. It’ll be more than fifteen. Most likely already is. Break on through. See you on the other. Other. Side. No parking over here. Fewer trees. Parked by the park. Good thinking. You pick up a few things now and again. “Mommy, mommy, I helped the policeman”, SquareGlasses answers something or other. Wonder what that was about. Revolve? Push? Pull? Ahh, pull. Of course. Know thyself. Where am I? Obvious question. Big room this.

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The Rain (kap. 1)

My angel is in a sour mood. Has been all morning. Not her regular sour, her bitter, tart, refreshing, mind-clearing sour. Oh no. That’s for when she can’t find something or other and she looks for hours and I come home and find it – her purse, the cat, what have you – right away. That’ll rile her some. Or when people for whom she has great distaste fail to invite her to a birthday or a wedding. Robs her of the chance to turn them down ever so politely. My angel is polite.

These things will make her sparkle and shine, pout her lips, stomp her feet – no more than twice per foot – and make her entire being glow. There is no glow now, the air around her is dull. For the life of me I cannot figure out if she knows that I can see, sense all these things. It’s not important, that’s for sure, it’s just, to see her this far from fine troubles me. My angel calls me silly for wanting everything to be good all the time. If she weren’t my angel she’d call it naïve, stupid and maybe even fascist. Now that’s the power of love for you.

She looks like she’s about to cry, I know she isn’t, the air tastes different then. She’s clutching her coffee cup as though it were a space-walk tether. Sour, sour, sour. Haven’t seen this in a good long while, usually connected with death, her mother, the cat that would go missing, it’s how she deals with grief. One of the stages. My angel looks me straight in the eyes and says something mean. Cold. Meant to provoke me. I know a fight won’t make anything better. Our eggs are coming up, I can see the apronned waitress on standby at the counter. Food usually helps. But this isn’t usually. Is her body betraying her? No, no, that was two weeks ago. Angel, let me help you. She manages a smile at the woman in the apron, like a ray of mild sunlight in a hurricane. Façade.

She’s dull and sour. Like gastric acid. Lye. Tequila on an open wound. A batch of tart candy that’s been recalled due to some infant deaths. Usually, this isn’t usually, but usually it’s just a matter of letting it pass. So I look out at the street. It rained all last night. Relentlessly. Without relent, I suppose. Lack of sleep, is that it? I always go to bed with the secure knowledge that the moment my head hits the pillow I’ll be asleep. My angel tosses and turns for hours. The unfairness of that might finally have gotten to her. Angel, angel. Drenched asphalt, trees heavy with fat droplets, bushes soaked and sweating as the sun finally deals with the clouds. Morning traffic moves slowly by the window we’ve been seated by. We’re living, breathing billboards. C’mon in, some guy and his surly angel like it, why shouldn’t you? Try the french toast, it’s a family recipe, really old, the secret? oh, can’t say, one must have some leverage in life, ha, yes, more coffee sir? Sure, I’ll drink to the world. Morning traffic edges… is that, is that blood? My angel hasn’t seen it, won’t waste her time with it. A handprint? Couldn’t have been. Nevermind, nevermind. Buck up man. Ask her, go on. Could explain a lot you know.

“Are you pregnant?”

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You’re him. You don’t know it, but I do and I have to live with it.

I am myself and I only have to live with that which is discovered.

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And then there’s the rain. Don’t even get me started on the rain. That time in Lisbon. Drenched to the bone. Everything so slippery, the ground turning to mud, the asphalt getting that extra coat, only looks like it of course. All you can do is shuffle along making little goals, setting them rather. “It’s time”. Well of course it is, I know that, no need to tell me. Even with the wipers off the clock shines clear. Now would actually be good. Well, I’ll have to stride, no other way, can’t ever let anyone know it bothers me. Quebec, it had started when we were crossing the border - long ago, it’s been seven, no, wait, nine since then - and I had to do the whole wall-crawler routine and while I was getting ready I said something, nothing much ‘I hope I don’t slip’ I think it was. Didn’t even say it like I was worried. They all get deathly quiet like I’ve said something too absurd to believe. And then Cochlann turned around, or was it Langley, and said, let me see:

-Never let anyone know it bothers you

Like I wasn’t talking about the weather. I had to make some comment. Younger. Before I can even start Langley interrupts with

-Never. Let. Anyone. Know.

He always was saying that an awful lot, Cochlann was. That night I shuffled across roofs feeling equally scared and ashamed. He had that much of an effect on me. He was the one who taught me about cause and effect, about ‘the big picture’. Would have quit early on if it hadn’t been for Cochlann. Like a father to me he was. Or was it Langley? Got the job done up north, I’ll get it done here. I don’t need anyone but myself to believe in that, other-end-of-the-line is probably expecting an answer or some kind of action. Oh, brother! There’ll be some kind of action. Pass me the foils. This one is too heavy, let me see another. That used to make them laugh out loud, you’d think that all we could read were Forsyth books. Screw it. I always liked that guy, even if he was in way over his head. Cut his throat in a church would have been the way to go, but no, he had to be getting his mack on or something. Wimpy guy with pretty words. Couldn’t it let up for just fifteen seconds? Fourteen point seven eight and then the last bit for dramatic effect. Have to cut back on the drama. Never do three actions when one will suffice. Anyway, too dark to see it move now, the sun’ll rise on a brighter day though. I would guess. Back home it’s easy to tell, just look at the mountains, never needed a forecast. Well, almost never. Here the ocean is so close, messes up everything. Better to be on the water than by it. Islands, groups of islands, so much sunshine, bit of wind sees to that, clouds never stick around for long. Why does water make wind? Wonder if the Moon has something to do with it, gravity pulling the air along with the water? Probably not. More likely it’s a heat thing. Cold air, hot air. One rising while the other falls or some such science thing. Sometimes it will rain incessantly, can’t be true but all day at the least. Or monsoons. Rainforests. Humidity. Yeah, but it’s a dry heat. In the desert with my freshman friends. Joking ends with the A/C. Only dry until you sweat. Can’t abide that either. Cold’s never bothered me. I’m not prissy. I just work best dry. Sweaty palms are no good. If you spend too much time in the desert it starts getting to you, those flat clouds. Even I prayed for rain. Metal rusts mom used to say, she was wrong. All those cars out there, the sign, the bulge in my trousers, all get dry again. That would be dramatics. Let’s just say I’m not happy to see you. Clouds are nice. Great strokes of paint across the sky, broad brushes and fine pencils, the sun changing what they are, burning through them. Thick fog in the morning hours can be removed by the rising star of the east. Spinning in space, the world, the way it spins. Day follows night, endlessly, well, everything ends. Everything. Even the end ends. While it’s dark here it’s light somewhere else, that great wave of day and night and day, the curve sharpening or softening with the seasons. Dusk isn’t a global concept, some places the sun hardly sets, you get the red sky right next to the pale blue sky, signs of setting and rising. Here it just got dark, hardly any twilight. Electrical lights get more power that way, shine brighter. Temperature is almost constant, sure it’s warmest at mid-day, feeling all baked, but there’s no extreme drop like some places, the desert with my freshman friends. Can’t wear glasses in the rain either, not without stopping to dry them off all the time, lights reflection in small drops of water. Always brings tears to my eyes and clogs up my nose. Contacts. The Hagakure has some advice on rain, never passing under the eaves of houses, accepting the wetness. Tsunetomo obviously never wore a poncho. Never really got out of that cave. Easy enough to give weather advice from inside. But that’s the way it always is. Everything is relative, what’s true and wise to one person doesn’t have to be to me. I never minded being a plant. Society is what then? When it rains we all get wet. Longest arm moves the fastest, shortest moves slower. Wouldn’t take much tinkering to make the two change places. When time passes we all get old. But the watch doesn’t create or even maintain ‘time’. All it can do is try to give us a picture of an idea, but that idea is so deeply rooted, if I changed the arms around - hands, they’re called hands - anyone who saw the watch without knowing would have a short moment of utter panic and despair. There would be their life, slipping from them at the rate of one hour every five seconds. Life does that, slip away. How quickly doesn’t matter. But really we should all always feel like the hands are switched. Don’t answer, just press four for the beep and hang up. Don’t let him know it bothers you. Never rush art and never into the rain. So many people out there. Time to take stock. Not a second, nor an hour, to lose. Life on the line. Hang up. Get out. Out I say!

Velkommen(/Bienvenue/Welcome)

Rent faktisk mindre med 'bienvenue' og mere med 'welcome' tænker jeg, da der primært vil være ting på engelsk på denne blog.

Det er her jeg vil lægge 'ting jeg skriver' op og jeg vil starte med mit længste, færdiggjorte værk... tror det er det længste, det er det længste på engelsk om ikke andet.

Første kapitel af The Rain, som romanen hedder, vil være oppe så snart jeg finder ud af at opdele romanen i kapitler. Der vil nok være enkelte gange hvor det bliver lidt langt og andre gange hvor det bliver, ja, lidt kort.

Jeg regner med at smide et kapitel op ca. en gang om ugen, måske oftere, hvis jeg føler for det eller det forrige kapitel var lidt kort.

Så, enjoy! Kommentarer modtages gerne, spam not so much og lad os så få denne her fortælling on the road!

P.s. Der vil også være mulighed for, igen hvis det virker rigtigt og godt osv., at der kommer små 'bagom scenerne' ting, eller lignende. Det må vi lige se på.