Railroad Track by
Willy Moon
Purple Robes came to the desert to practice their own
religion. The open door policy of the
first immigrants who discovered that there were folks already living here was still
wide open back then, in the 1950’s.
9/11 had not woken us up yet.
“Give me your weak, your downtrodden, your oppressed, your
filthy unwashed heathen, and we will make them clean. We will bathe them. We will baptize them in the desert.”
---Pastor Glinty McFlintlock, ca. 1872.
Them Purple Robes numbered in the hundreds, and they had
made their home in the desert of the Sans Joking River Valley. Their kingdom was the megalopolis called
Fuckno, centrally located between five smaller cities, including the tidy,
pretty little city of Clovis up on
the north east of it.
They had come to America
to seek refuge from their own oppression and persecution from the Ruskies upon
their orthodox church devotion and belief.
The odd thing that happens when you become separated from
your land is that you develop your own dialect.
They developed their own religious dialect, and it became a
sect.
Formed out of oppression and fear, it had become a religion
of self-preservation and anger.
From that, in the ensuing years, it devolved into it’s own
form of oppression and persecution.
Protection, self-preservation, wariness of the outsider, and a clique
mentality distilled their original intention of God-Seek to become a refined
mentality of pure liquid hatred and
evil.
They became the Purple Robes, originally from Armedmenia, and
they had congregated in Fuckno.
They took over the King Of The Desert.
They came to own Fuckno.
I think that we punks had stepped into a hornet nest.
Jimi's Red
House
Now, a group of their protectors, warriors, young men were
searching the baptized mansion in furtive effort to find its destructors.
They could not get into the ceremonial chamber (in which I
hid) from the hallway. They knew that I
was inside, and they knew about the hidden entrance in the floor below.
It was a race between them and me now to reach the second
floor below.
Fuck.
Never the easy way out for we punks.
I hefted the heavy sack of splintered crystal goblets and
bone china on my back and gave a thought about chucking it off and just
bailing.
Lorelei’s ghost glared into my eyes. She shook her head, and then she said,
“Follow me.”
I about shit my pants.
Was she reading my mind? No. I think that it was the look on my face. I was a scared little bitch, and I had fucked
up our escape route. I was the dumbass
who roared when he should have been quiet in the hallway.
Everything would have been better if I’d simply followed her
down the hallway.
No excuse for roaring, because that was how I regained my strength
at that moment.
The reason was that she had slinted through me, and when she
passed through me from the chamber into the hallway, she had imparted to me her
emotions.
Ghosts are recordings etched upon the surface of reality,
right?
They hold no weight?
I guess I was wrong about that.
Now she wanted me to follow her.
I did not want to fuck up again.
So I followed her.
We went down the stairwell at the back of the ceremonial
chamber, and I could see only by the glow of her light. It was a couple of
turns to the left, because the chamber had been built between floors, and the
ceiling in the chamber was low, while all of the rest of the rooms in the
palace went up a good ten feet to their ceilings.
As we entered the room below, I heard a shout from way down
in the cellar of the mansion. I paused,
but Lorelei beckoned me.
I said, “It sounds like an army is waiting for us!”
She smiled. She said,
“Yes. There is an army now.”
I said, “I don’t want to die! I can’t fight an army!”
She put her hand up to my face and she bent forward. I smelled her perfume, from a hundred years
ago, from the bottom of the sea, and I felt her lips against my own. She was ice cold, but her kiss warmed my---
She stepped back and said, “This is our army. Tellesco has an army now. For us.”
I licked my lips to take in her kiss from them. I said, “What the fuck happened to your
German accent?”
She smiled. “Zat iss
somezhing vich don’t exist anymore. At
zee bottom of zee Ocean
I faltered.
She was truly dead.
Her voice now existed in my mind.
Was I going crazy?
What if I was just a lonely guy, all fucked up in the head,
trespassing in the broken mansion, hallucinating and about to be killed?
Was this all just a dream?
I awoke at that, and my little sister Spamela entered my
bedroom with a giant mug of sweet, creamy coffee like a dessert, splotching
drops of it onto the ice-hard floor tiles with each halted step.
She was trying not to spill it, but I didn’t care about the
mess.
I grabbed the coffee mug from her and set it on the
nightstand, and then I tossed her onto the comforter and tickled her as she
laughed.
It had all been a dream.
Whew.
See you next week.
That would have been nice, but no...
Lorelei grabbed my arm.
“There is only one way out now.
We have to go out the way you came in.
Tellesco is heading there now.”
Believe by The
Bravery
Tellesco hefted up the little girl on his back as he stood
up. He said, “Will we be OK if we do
this here and now?”
Avison Talon said in his ear, “We are Okies. Now you are.
It is all up to you now. Show
these people that they have someone to follow out of this death place. They need something to believe in. You will do, at this moment. Just help them, mister king.”
You see, it is not about a grand plan. In your own life, whatever you are engaged
in, whatever you do, it is about one simple thing. It is about your ability to rise to each occasion. It is not what happens to you that decides your future, it's what you do about it.
We have the capacity for “leadership” within each of us.
A “Leader” is a title, an elected office to seek, a place in
your work force from which you hope to make bigger bucks and get the golden
Cadillac. True “leadership” is the ability, the learned skill to see an opportunity to do the right thing, even if it may cost you.
Tellesco whispered back at the little girl on his back. He said, “Ok.
Let’s do this.”
He turned around and faced the crowd of a thousand blue
ghosts and took a deep breath. He
shouted at them. He had never done such
a thing before. He had been quiet in
speech class that his father had made him take, whimpering and trembling when
it was his turn to read his paper out loud each time in front of the rest of
the class. He had failed.
He was not a born leader.
But he showed leadership that night in the dusty cavern below the
baptized palace.
He raised his arms up in his burned leather jacket, and he
shouted at them ghosts.
He said, “Listen to me!
I want you to follow me up and out of here! You do not belong down here! You will be set free if you follow me! Evil things await us all, but if you trust
me, then we can leave this fucking place!
Now is your chance to go onward!
If you choose to stay, then god help you. If you choose to follow, then I will show you
the way out of this hell!”
Their third shout of fealty cemented their resolve. They would follow him, come what may. It would be ugly for many of them.
I’m Not Over by
Carolina Liar
Joey stood up and he grinded his teeth. He swept the dirt off from the arms of his
leather and he adjusted his tie, which is a phrase that means this: you get
your shit together.
He ran forward at the person holding the flashlight by the
power station and when he reached him, he leapt and he roared. He grabbed the man and tumbled onto the tar
and began to swing his fists as soon as he could. He punched the man in the face and throat,
over and over again. He had the fear and
the adrenaline.
Never punch someone in the throat unless you mean to kill
him. It is a douchedick thing to do,
like kicking someone when they are on the ground. Fuck you if you do that sort of thing.
Joey stood back up, with his knees bleeding from the fall,
and the man below him was unconscious.
Joey left him alone and ran over to the little Mazda truck he’d stolen
from the hostibal. (Hostibal is a word
for Hospital, and I use it in homage to my son, when he was very young, and he
was in there, and that is what he called it.)
The little truck was still running, because there were no
keys in the ignition to turn it off. You
would have to disconnect the twisted wires underneath the dashboard to shut it
down, or else wait for the fuel to empty from the tank.
He put that little bitch in gear and eased around the huge
white truck in front of him. He was
angry at himself. He had bailed on his
friends, and now he was in the escape vehicle for them all.
You never leave anyone behind.
That is the most important thing, whatever you do.
Especially when you have made such an oath to your friends,
you will never forgive yourself if you bail on them.
He looked over at the big white truck as he passed by it,
and he got an idea.
He pulled the little truck out of gear and set the parking
brake and left it humming. He got out
and he went to the white service truck. He opened the door and climbed up and
got into the driver’s seat. He reached
around the steering wheel and felt for the ignition. The keys were still in it. Thank goodness. He had no idea about how to spark up such a
huge beast from the wiring under the dashboard.
He turned the keys, and it awoke.
He gunned the engine, and he put her in reverse. He pulled past his little stolen truck, all
the way to the entrance of the street, and then he put that bitch in 1st
gear. Then he pressed all the way down
on the accelerator, and he pointed it at the cement brick structure. Joey was going to fuck shit up.
He got going fast in a short amount of time, which was
pretty impressive for such a heavy vehicle with heavy iron guardrails bolted to
the front. He dived out of the driver’s
side door and hit his head on the tar and fell asleep as his body rolled.
The huge truck smashed into the small cement structure and
though the walls and continued on in its trajectory and then pummeled the
control panels that fed the electricity to the huge city from the mountains to
the east.
Fuckno got turned off, baby.
So did the surrounding cities that fed off of the grid.
The while valley went dark.
Joey didn’t know what power he held.
Until he did.
But now he was taking a nice tar-nap.
= = =
= = = =
Pitch black.
He got the willies.
Nothing good awaited him.
The icy ghost girl next to him pointed at the driveway up
ahead in the dark, and the headlamps of the gleaming black semi rig shined at
this new direction for him. As he slowed
and turn that rig on a dime, he saw that there were many vehicles parked along
the long driveway that led to their destination.
He had no idea what laid ahead for him on his path, but he
trusted his passenger. He was going to
save his friends. That was the only
thing in his head at that moment. The
big man would never let his friends down, no matter come what may.
Katheena’s ghost whissssspered to him, “They are in
danger. You sssshould be careful.”
Big Bryan shook
his head. He sped up and he roared that
huge engine and he lowed through all of those vehicles and smashed them into
each other and made a huge mess.
The truck slowed as it ended its heavy and massive
trajectory and no one would be able to get out of that place from the driveway.
He climbed out of the busted up rig and grabbed the huge
metal tire iron.
The generator still powered the lights, and he stalked to
the front doors underneath their glow.
He was heading to the front doors of the once-lovely
mansion.
He was ready, come what may.
The sounds of guns firing gave him pause. Then he saw a bluish glow off behind the
mansion.
He crept behind the remaining automobiles and reconsidered
his plan of attack.
You Know Me by Air
Traffic Controller
Far down below, on the ass end of Fuckno, all of the lights
went out.
The Walkin looked up, and he could see only stars.
Those who followed him saw this as a signal that their time
had come.
They had free use of the city.
They would make use of this opportunity.
See you next time.
God Help You.
God Help Us All.
---willies out.
.
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