Sunday, July 10, 2011

Into the Badland



I put the Badland behind me and walked straight into the woods. I’d lost track of space and time ever since I settled deep down the thick wilderness. I fetched leaves and branches and set up bonfires. When a scorpion stung me I squeezed herbs over my wound and tied it with shrubs. I raised tents and fences for the nights. I bit through nuts and ate berries. I waded through the wetlands and swam in the streams.

I trained the creatures to my whistles and they responded to me. Then when I slept this world slept with me. I learned about new herbs and mongoose when a snake bit me. They’re wild and to be so is their nature. I did not fear them, not so much. I feared very much things that are seemingly innocent but in actuality sinister. They say there lies the amusement and I’m ever so wary of whatever it is that they say. One of those days, I bumped into an innocent.

‘Sir, I didn’t thieve no nothing. I ain’t no cattle thieving feller, I swear and I swear. I mean no harm and am clean as a whistle.’ I was being candid and mellow to the man who ran into me.

‘Son, you’ve got to get yourself to some thieving. Or else the business comes to a halt. Capisce!’ He was dead-on when it came to putting his thoughts across. ‘Son, you don’t never wanna cross with evils that be. You don’t wanna get executed by Capitianity.’

‘Sir, what’s that shianity you’re talking about.’ I was flat-out probing him.

He was gentlemanly and spoke his heart. ‘Son, it’s been our religion now for ages. Our patron sinner lived for you just so you may die. He pulled this trick called dearth and in the end had it all leveraged.’

He had a uniform and a hat on. His goggles glinted under a gliding by sky. In his right hand on a long leash dying to be let loose was a bloodhound. ‘Son, it is a bastard and hasn’t never let go no limb it bit until flesh and bone turned juice in its ever-drooling mouth.’

‘Sir, you don’t know nothing as to what you cannot do that I can do.’ I took a step back. The hound growled. I blew the whistle, nerves as an infant on wet diapers, and the constant chirping that hovered over this world came to an instant halt. The hound once again growled and this time around the leash about the man’s hand got taut. A magpie fell down from the sky. The woods fell asleep! I blew the ‘Fall Asleep’ – wrong whistle. Not the CFA – ‘Come For Aide’.

‘Son, you’ve got to get laid and all else will be swell.’ He sounded a mechanical whistle and from the hide emerged a force made genderly up equal of hundred. I made my mind up against dying so young and leaving my handsome mortal remains behind.

He put a needle through my head and injected that part of brain they call Pavlov’s Clutch. It left me comfortably numb and I felt beyond belief conditioned. ‘Son, you don’t need no more shrinking. Freud for long has been a distant memory, so are Jung and the rest of them docs.’

I whistled again and the woods once again chirped. The fallen birds revived, took to their course, away they flew. My pet mongoose and monkey, I, the dog and its man walked. Fair enough, I’ve always wondered betwixt man and dog what had who. The rest marched by us. That girl with love or lust or whatever else it was in her eyes winked at me. My wild imagination has a body and a face and so its mouth salivated like it would beat any day the dog’s drool. When the boneless thing in my mid portion arouse to degrees 100, oh boy, only then did I realize I was clad in my birthday suit. I was at once band-aided starting from my C-spine all the way down to lateral malleolus. ‘Son, why dontcha lose that extension of you just for now.’ I was mummified while I still lived. I walked nice and smooth back and once again into the Badland. I was made again part of the Global Knitwork.

We now live in a rhizomatic apartment. I’ve been wedded to Winky for a year and she leads a unit of Force of Nurture. I work at FactStorie in the robotic department. She thinks I’m alright. That’s okay for her to think that, only she keeps saying you’re alright every single day come breakfast, lunch, or dinner. These days, oh yeah, she’s triply shiny pregnant with our triplets. I’m reviving my dead-motion capture feature Why Robots Dream of Ballistic Cattle because my security buddy thinks the rough-cuts look quite impressive. There may also be an integration of destructive animation. It’s been stuck in development heaven since my early twenties and that’s one reason why this project to me is so dear.

Our mongoose named Sneak guards our door. Hunk, our monkey, scribbled and got a fable right after a thousand attempts. Every time it got it wrong, it put its head up and flashed its teeth. When it got it right, it hung its face and looked awful sad. As if on a whim I looked up human. If you've wikied human, it's because you've evolved or it may also be that you’ve devolved. You couldn't be too sure you were just monkeying around! Then I became man, insane and everyone said I was the sanest thing that ever did walk this earth. Hunk closed the fable with those very words.





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First draft was partly inspired by Deadwood, Badlands and Into the Wild
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Final draft partly inspired by (!) perhaps PKD (!) perhaps Murakami (!) perhaps life itself
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2 comments:

  1. SUB Thank you so much. I'm very glad you loved the line.

    ReplyDelete
  2. great post again...loved the line...'then i became man, insane and everyone said i was the sanest thing that ever did walked this earth'

    ReplyDelete

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