Acid     The
Tuesday, August 17, 2004
Title Withheld
source: source withheld
posted: August 17, 2004, time withheld
by: initials withheld
He was all jumpy. His right hand was one huge callous with 4 or 5 sub-callouses called fingers or thumbs.

It is Liberal, Kansas, 1879. Or Normal, Oklahoma, 1924.

If the car hadn't been invented yet, then he invented it -- just so when he couldn't drive any more, he could pull off the road in it, and drive into the woods. When he stopped he was breathing heavily from the excitement of having escaped.

He'd been chased down streets, through subway cars which he'd had to invent if they didn't already exist, up fire escapes, in through windows of strangers' apartments where people are caught in the act of just trying to find a way to just fucking BE, chased through their living rooms and kitchens, back out their windows, across the 4th or 5th story ledges of their buildings, down another fire escape back out onto the street, jumping on a car, falling off 4 blocks down, commandeering someone else's fucking car, smashing into phone poles, blah blah blah, chase, chase chase, escape, escape, escape. Adrenaline rush, adrenaline rush, blah blah blah.

What he'd just escaped was the world where everything was 2. 2 literatures. 2 strains of culture. 2 tribes. 2 beliefs. 2 truths. 2 dreams. 2 sexes. 2 political parties. 2 sides. 2 opinions. 2 sports. 2 teams. 2 players.

All scores were tied 2 to 2 in the 2nd with 2 on and 2 out and a 2-2 count on whoever.

There were 2 mathematical proofs for the existence of each body part, but if either was right the other had to be wrong, but they were both right, so neither was right, so fuckit.

And, by default, the ruler of this world was Bishop Desmond Tutu.

And in each other instance where there's 2, one rules the world and the other is given grudging lip service, usually as the butt of jokes, or in metaphors of failure, worthlessness, and futility. Yet somehow it persists or it is grudgingly allowed to persist... until... one day...

The system flips. And it's the same thing all over again but with names swapped as to who's the douchebag and who isn't.

This couldn't go on, he thought. With the motor running he tuned to (inventing the radio if it didn't already exist) a station describing what 3 would be like. And --SURPRISE! -- it wasn't ANY fucking better than worthless uselss 2.

The station carrying the description of what 4 would be like was being heavily interfered with by 2 surrounding stations and could not even be fucking listened to without becoming sick in the head.

Everywhere else there were just stations carrying these loving glowing sanctimonious descriptions of what 1 used to be like... ahhhhh.... Everything was so beautiful and perfect when they were all, like, 1, but here we are today at ugly stupid 2, and looking ahead to even worse 3... if only we could get back to 1...

He flipped off the radio. Here, in the woods now, in Normal Oklahoma 1924 or Liberal Kansas 1879, possibly having invented or grossly updated everything around him except the world... what?

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