, ____, ( 04/08/01 anada406 , / \ ,_____ (--|_\_,,_, _ _| _ __________ ,-.______ _,---._ __ _/ \ / \+------ _| ) | |(_|(_|(_|_ .net------/ )----.-' `./-/ \ / / ( |__, ( ( ,' `/ /| \ / \ `-" \'\ / | \ / "A Timmy Production" `. , \ \ / | Y-------- ----------/`. ,'-`----Y | / by AphexTwin23 ( ; mEoW!@/| ' i________________________________________________| ,-. ,-'_______/ | / | | | ( * | / |____________________ Anada is cat-friendly! __) |__\ `.___________|/ `--' `--' "Where ya headin’ Buddy?" spake a nervous voice from within the filthy station wagon. A tall skinny man of 20 years or so stood before him with choppy clumps of brown hair that ranged from shoulder length to 2 inches with no apparent order or form. He walked upright as a man of the Earth with confidence and no delusions about society. He carried himself as a stray mercenary warrior from the old world of barbarians and honor. He knew his capabilities, but did not strut with false pride; instead he "spoke softly and carried a big stick," so to speak. One could tell he evaluated every aspect of his situation with great care, taking not the slightest bit of comfort that the world may be so predictable that he wouldn’t be shocked or unprepared if the very tip of an eggplant the size of the moon were to touchdown a block away. "West," said the passenger while pretending even to himself to know just where in the hell he was going. Our driver wondered what cosmic force had possessed him to pick up this hitchhiker. The man was strange to say the least, and out of place in every way possible. Strange yes, but harmful no. "Hop in," spoke the driver. As the passenger managed to stuff his overly large backpack into the back-seat, the driver caught the first glimpse of the giant yellow lightning bolt symbol appearing on the back of his red jacket. "Great, he’s a frickan tripball." The car pulled onto the highway and immediately picked up to cruise speed. "My name is Bob," said our driver in an attempt to break the tension while offering his hand. Our new passenger looked at the details of his hand and face. He reached his hand out and gave Bob a good firm handshake. In an instant Bob felt an electrical tingle through his hand. Like pins and needles, he felt the cold sensation spread up through his arm. With this his arm was left feeling light, mobile, and numb. The best words Bob would ever be able to describe the experience would be, "It was like when your arm falls asleep, only reverse." Bob got the chills and let out an "ugh!", but not without explaining himself. "Ugh, I think I pinched a nerve." The passenger smiled heartily and thought, "yeah you pinched a nerve." "I’m Fao," he said. "Pleased to meet you Mr. Faw, Fau, Fao, right?" Fao didn’t feel like answering that question. Bob didn’t really want to know the answer, he already knew it. He felt somehow stupider every time he answered a question like that. So he didn’t answer it. Of course, a brief uncomfortable silence ensued, but Fao reasoned that if he even had a duty to make social relations move smoothly with this driver who was technically doing him a favor, than his duty did not include nor extend to insulting his own intelligence by answering questions that someone else was not interested in, just to make them feel more comfortable and avoid ackward moments. "Fuck it," he thought, tilting his seat back and throwing his feet up. This thought was a sick note completely excusing himself from social bullshit with the driver; in his own mind anyway. The best thing in the whole world that could happen to Bob is an uncomfortable silence. Perhaps then he’d realize that he’s a creature monkey-man in clothes traveling at breakneck speed in a metal chariot across the surface of a giant ball floating and twirling mindlessly in circles. He was having a fun time talking to himself, perhaps he could get Bob into the conversation and relate to him on some level. Bob got out a cigarette, lit it and left his pack on the dash. The pack of cigarettes sat on the dash talking to Fao, telling him how easy it would be to "borrow" a cigarette from Bob, and how it may actually unite them together in the one thing they had in common. No. Not this time. Smoking messed up his groove and he hated it. Bob puffed his cigarette just enough to make sure Fao was aware that he could borrow a cigarette at any time. Smokers were evil like that. As soon as they thought that one might be well on the road to not smoking, they would consciously or not, do everything they could to make that person want a cigarette. He had seen it before. You would find an entire group of fumbley bastards who hated their job and their life and maintained the minimal level of energy possible, all mostly due to their cigarette addiction. You walk to a place like that, hating everything about cigarettes and somehow they’d make it seem like smoking is the greatest thing. Amazing evil spin doctors they were. Like vampires they spread to others through cigarettes, and they usually will not out right ask you if you want one, you must invite them. Fao thought about all of this and wondered if it might be time to throw up another shot at some superficial conversation starters. He felt bad that he was having all of these great thoughts and Bob was being left out. Meanwhile, the smoke off the end of Bob’s cigarette was floating over to Fao and tickling his nostrils like in the cartoons. Fao got a quick mental image of himself grabbing the rope hanging from his pocket, pulling it backward until the oversized padlock on the end of the rope flung back over his right shoulder, then he would pull and guide the padlock on a collision course with Bob’s face. He’d then grab Bob’s smashed jaw open and force him to eat his own cigarettes while hearing a short sermon Fao’s trials and tribulations with quitting smoking. Bob turned to him as if thinking for the first time, "You don’t mind if I smoke do you?" "No, not at all." What the fuck was he supposed to say, "Yeah, I think you shouldn’t smoke in your own truck because I’m your passenger and you’re doing me a favor," or "Nah, not if you don’t mind having a smashed up face." It was going to be a long ride. They now encountered the worst kind of silence. You could hear the motor whizzing, but Fao was facing a silence of the mind. It seemed that now his thoughts were being censored by inner or outer social forces. He had been able to laugh, giggle, wonder, think erroneous creative patterns of thought and generally be a weirdo in his mind just minutes earlier. It was as if he had been pushed onto stage and was forced to participate in the improv play they call life. Now he had to watch him self. No dirty words, no dirty thoughts; he had to follow the script. Time to pick a character. He probably should have done all of this before he got into the car. He hated to have to act. He liked to be free and be himself and do whatever he wanted. While walking along he may stop to do cartwheels, throw things, or tie some twine around his ankle. Most people didn’t like or understand any of this. Most people would only think in linear (sometimes faulty) A + B = C logic. In their life they did what was necessary, moving from point A to point B as fast and efficiently as possible. If there was a way to make money, they did that. They ate because they had to. They kept themselves from contemplating their existence, getting any creative inspiration, and generally thinking complex new thoughts they had never heard before from watching television. This was also the place where most of their unnecessary ideas came from, and none were ever developed much upon. Fao smirked while he imagined Bob and the majority of the American population watching prime-time T.V. while using the highest extents of their mental ability to develop that all-too-inevitable conclusion: "I want to be a millionaire!" These people never thought outside of mainstream simple pre- approved thought patterns, and Fao called them cardboard people. He didn’t know just yet, but he did not rule out the notion that Bob may be entirely cardboard. Darn, and he had thought perhaps he could be fortunate enough to make it through the night without having to create a projected self image of himself and start acting. Then out of nowhere, "Ya hungry?" Fao quickly answered, "I sure am!" "All right we’ll stop here at this truck-stop an I’ll buy some chow if ya ain’t got the cash." "Thanks... I don’t know what to say." As they pulled up, Fao knew that he needed to get himself into a character before they went into the restaurant. He knew what he had to choose from. If he had nicer clothes he could go as the surprisingly eloquent and intelligent professional dude (complete with all of his shit together). Nah, right now he was going to as a blend of a fun loving prankster discordian (comes with unlimited ability to confuse, entertain, add fun to situations, cause chaos, and could remain exempt from social regulations). He would blend this character with his wise-man-shaman of the earth who didn’t need to adhere to social regulations but was much more controlled, discerning and wise about his decisions. The wise-man-shaman would sit behind the other side of the curtain, listening and interpreting just what the hell was going on in case his cue should be sounded, or that he may need to hint, warn, or advise the discordian on stage, who paid little attention to virtue, wisdom, or reality for that matter. The discordian would go on stage to entertain everyone and play his part. This is what Fao was doing consciously, but he needed the old man to keep him in check and make sure that he didn’t do anything stupid just as an older brother may be lurking nearby in the bushes to protect the little brother lest someone should pick a fight. All the same, you didn’t want other people to know your brother was lurking in the bushes, and people looked down on having the "real you" anywhere around, so the old man behind the curtain had to be very subtle. As they walked into Busy Betty’s Cafe Dinar and Truck-stop, Fao made sure the characters were in place and the stage was set. He scanned the discordian down into ones and zeros. His mental computer now had a digital image of the discordian, which it could manipulate like a digital photograph on a computer. He then projected this image all over himself and all over the resturant when he walked in beside Bob. Many people turned to look. Lights, camera, action. The beautiful blond haired waitress quickly took them to a corner table from which they could see the whole restaurant. Bob felt uneasy being associated with this goofy looking fruit-loop kid. "Coffee, and a coffee, anything else for now? Okay I’ll be back to check on you." She gave them a sweet smile and asked if they wanted to keep their menus. Her name-tag said Trini. "Yeah, we’ll see if we can’t get some meat on this kid’s bones," said Bob, before adding, "thanks Trini." She walked off. Bob loved sweet waitresses and wished the women in his life were so sweet. He wished that he came here all of the time, then he could call her Trini and she could call him Bob and they would really know each other and could have honest conversations about anything. If a Bob lives and dies in the forest and nobody notices, did he ever really exist? Ugh. He felt a blackhole whirling inside of him and he wasn’t sure if he should jump into it. He looked down at where his coffee should be, right in front of him, giving himself something to do other than fall into depression or talk to this weird bastard. "So do you work?" "Nope." "Going to school?" This was another one of those stupid questions that Kao knew Bob didn’t want to know the answer, he just wanted to categorize him so that he would feel better knowing that this random factor was in a nice package with "College Student" written across the front. He was either going to have to blow Bob’s mind and have a lot of friction between them, or he was going to have to water-down his weirdness into categories that Bob could understand and be comfortable with. He blurted the name of his community college like he had a million times before and tried his best to make it sound like it was really very irrelevant which college, or that he went to college at all. Fao thought, "Going to college is something I do, it is not something I am." The waitress showed up in the dead silent moment with their coffee. They thanked her. What was it about coffee that made conversation run so much smoother? Bob asked, "So do you know what you wanna do?" "You mean with my life? Yeah, I wanna do whatever I feel like doing." "I mean like a job." "Nah, jobs and money are not very important." "Well sure they are," thought Bob aloud. "How ya gonna put food on the table?" "It’s not the food that’s the trouble. It’s the table. I don’t need the table. Food is all that I need, and if that’s all you need, it’s not very difficult to fulfill one need." "So you plan to have people like me buy your food?" Oooh. Not ranking up any points. Fao quickly answered, "No, I really appreciate you buying me food, but I do have other means." "Like?" "Like eating out of dumpsters or getting temporary jobs to save my money for a month, then roam the Earth for three." "Eating out of dumpsters!? That’s disgusting." "Hey man, my freedom is worth more than the absolute guarantee that my food is good and fresh. I can determine that myself. Besides... bacteria make you tougher." Bob wondered why he was hanging out with the type of person who would eat out of dumpsters. Fao was very saddened that the poor bastard in front of him would judge him on the basis of a few words that came out of his mouth which indicated where he sometimes got his food. Somehow this idea made Bob think that he was somehow superior to Fao. Fao was disgusted and thought, "In these wretched times, by what shall we judge the worth of a man? By the place where he gets his food? By his occupation? By the contents of his wallet? By the contents of his urine? By the make and model of the metal chariot he operates?" Fao sipped his coffee and was very sad, because Bob’s reality may be parallel to reality. Fao would like to think that most people were inherently good and thought for themselves. Bob assumed most people judged by the same system he used. Bob may be closer to right, and it was a very sad world if most people were more akin to Bob’s ways. Bob walked off to buy a newspaper. Fao sipped his coffee and looked outside. It was night. Fao liked the night, and felt that he could think more clearly. He attributed this to the fact that less cardboard people were awake driving around all over broadcasting mental static. The doors to the cafe swung open for a confident man of 30 years in a suit and matching pants. With hair slicked back and a bad attitude, he approached the cafe section. With a delighted smile, the waitress promptly seated him seven booths across from Fao. He walked past a table of googily teenybopper girls and made it a point to not look. The waitress disappeared to get him some coffee. He lit a cigarette, blew the smoke from his nose slowly, and met eyes with Fao. The average American is quickly offset by eye contact. Surveys have shown that Americans fear public humiliation worse than death itself. These men were not average Americans. Both wanting to dominate, our newcomer made fast to detect any insecurities. He knew his smoking did something -- it made him look cool if nothing else. He perceived Fao as a dirty worthless bum kid who could never change the way things are, no matter how many lighting bolts he might embroider into his jacket. Fao felt his look, and it did unease him a bit, especially just getting the whole garbage eating rap from Bob. Although this was one of his bigger insecurities, it didn’t affect him half as much as he imagined Bob might worry about his haircut, mortgage (whatever that was), or whether or not his socks were of the same color. Fao held his ground and dirty looks. He purposely perceived the stranger to be the worst kind of evil bastard that legitimately functioned in society. His look did not cease to have a powerful impact, mostly due to the fact that he happened to be the worst kind of evil bastard that legitimately functioned in society. He had come here to re-evaluate his life as an evil bastard. Did he need to make a fool out of someone everywhere he went? He gained a sense of respect for Fao, having lasted as long as he did. He smiled and looked down. Fao smirked. A clear victory. Mr. Supercool knew what Fao was thinking, and it wasn’t like that. He just wasn’t in the mood, and if he was, he’d just flip the switch on the little black box in his pocket, and Fao would succumb to his version of reality and quiver like an Asian Pug’s pecker facing Arctic winds. Life sure had became easier since he had gotten a hold of that little black box. It had always been easy. His father was the president of a major soft drink company, resulting in his never needing to put any effort to accomplish anything; this in turn resulted in him growing long hair, smoking pot, and desperately looking for some purpose in a world that he didn’t need and did not need him. Then one day his father to have a little talk. "Spencer," he said in a solemn tone, "Most kids have to plot, plan and try their damnedest to climb the ladder of success made out of everyone else’s backs. You only have to decide whether or not you want to be on top. I belong to a very special organization, and membership is your birthright. All you have to is let me know you want in, and you can have all of the money, power, women, anything you want." It was a simple one way conversation that had left him fascinated. As much as he hated authority, and the idea of a ruling class that could not be overthrown, he could not help but want in. He gave his father the word, and a bunch of cloaked weirdoes met him in his room. They gave him the little black box that they called a brain wave amplifier. It ran on three nine volt batteries and needed to be charged every night. It was like magic. All you had to do was flip the switch, and if you ordinarily exuberated a lot of sexual energy, you would exuberate 10 times that sexual energy. If you usually were full of love, this would make you love 10 times that amount. He learned incredible things. He learned that everyone had a certain amount of pull on reality. Whatever they thought, believed, hoped for, or feared was that much more likely to happen. In his case it was 10 times more likely to happen! They warned him to be careful, that it would amplify his fear as well; but it was easy to lose fear when you had the 10 times advantage to start with. Needless to say, he had his fair share of fun. He used to always have a good surplus of women who would quickly drop anything to do dirty things with him. He had also seen and done his fair share of weirdo dirty atrocities. When attending the secret Illuminati meetings he was astounded to see not only how many people were present, but how many people would wait their turn to engage in their bizarre pastime ritual of rolling around in human feces. He would talk to the people afterwards and ask obvious questions like, "wasn’t that embarrassing?" and "Why do you do that?" They told him it was embarrassing, but they feel so much better now. They said it takes away all of their inhibitions and makes them feel free. Eventually he took his turn. He clearly remembered standing naked before an entire auditorium full of cloaked figures seated in concentric circles around him. He jumped into the turd pool and shook all over at having felt slippery turds sliding against various parts of his body. The 500 people in the auditorium all stared at his frail disgusting body, all with the intent of sending their best energy to heal and cure the most disgusting shameful parts of his being. At first he felt gross and ashamed and wanted to get out as soon as possible. He stood up, covered in shit, before the auditorium as he had seen many do before. A figure in white in the inner most circle held his finger in the air to signal that all was not done. It didn’t take long for him to feel a warm penetrating blast of love and ecstasy. His legs shook into jello, and he let go. He felt their powerful love and energy permeate his most hidden feelings of shame, guilt, disgust and inadequacy towards himself and the entire world all being replaced by feelings of warmth, love, and security. He raised his arms into the air and smiled and giggled at his being covered in shit. His warm stomach convulsed uncontrollably. He couldn’t believe this was really happening. He looked at the cloaked figure with his finger up. The figure removed his hood to reveal his father giving the biggest smile he’d ever seen him give. He looked into his father’s eyes for what seemed an eternity, and they seemed to say, "I bet you never guessed I do this sort of shit." They grinned. His finger went down and a figure across the auditorium hit the gong, indicating he was done. A wave of laughter, whistling, and clapping took the room. He threw his head back, shook his fist in the air, and did a goofy dance all the way to the showers with the highest confidence. He felt light-weight and light-headed. He felt incredible like nothing he’d ever felt before. He felt he was free to act on impulse without checking his restrictive-super-ego, "is-that-a-good-idea" self. He did a cartwheel. He smiled at his delightful memory. He was so grateful to belong to the winning team that had a clue. "Yep, yep, yep," he thought, "in the kingdom of the blind, the one-eyed elephant is king." He took his two liter of liquid air out of his bag. This was another fun toy he had that most people didn’t know about. Form-tech had developed this product. It was water that had enough oxygen chemically bound into it, that they figured out that rats, cats, dog, and the like could actually breathe in it. It didn’t take two many rats living in glasses of water before they figured that a human could too. So they started filling giant tanks with the stuff and having immediate burn victims stay in it for 48 hours until their pain was dull enough that they could handle a dry existence. The funny thing they found was that, in burn victims who smoked a lot, the liquid air in the tank would quickly become clouded with tar. Upon reading the article, his secret order realized it was a safe way for smokers to get the tar out of their lungs. He could smoke all he wanted with no bad effects, to his lungs anyway, as long as he used the liquid air daily as lung-wash. He didn’t know why the average person didn’t know about it, and he didn’t care as long as he had it. That was another reason he loved being on the wining team. If worst came to worst, he could go door to door selling the shit for $100 a pop. He strode past Fao and the beautiful girls on his way to the restroom, and gave them a good smile that revealed his big white teeth. Fao eyed him with contempt as he strode by. What was that guy doing with a two liter of ginger ale? "Ginger Ale, my yin yang," thought Fao. If it was booze, then great; Fao despised being around drunks when he wasn’t. Where did Bob go? He hoped somewhere far away. Fao decided to meditate. With an angry grunt, he clenched together all of his anger into a warm fireball in his stomach. He deeply breathed air into his lungs and transferred the excess air-like energy into his stomach to feed the fire. After a few deep breaths, he managed to get this fireball feeling the size of a basketball. He shook and breathed out. Taking several seconds to gather his intent, he grunted and forced the fireball up into his chest. He felt all of his body gaining depth. All of his aches, pains, and not-so-good feelings rushed into his heart to be consumed by the fireball and replaced with purified feelings of warmth. His mind gave up all of his sarcasms, and bad out looks of the world to the fire. All of his frozen crystallized feeling in his mind melted and rained down into his soul. He tried to stay steady and not appear like a total loop-head to anyone around. He looked around and caught the glimpse of a blonde girl who gave a quick wave and giggly smile. He slightly nodded, and looked elsewhere. He was losing his focus to this girl and trying to be polite. This angered him. He drew in a final breath, let out a primal noise and allowed the fire to consume all of his negative feelings; he fed the fire until it blazed throughout his entire body. Two girls flew over to Fao. "She likes you!" "Shut up!" The dark haired pale skinned girl introduced herself as Yali. The blonde girl introduced herself as Georgia, and she talked like she was from Georgia. Now Fao felt all of their bad feelings moving into him. They had tried to do what most do when first meeting someone; they showed him the image they kept of themselves. They were shocked when he would not look at their images, and instead they fell into the oblivion of the fire he had conjured. After a silenced moment of awkwardness, Fao felt like apologizing. The dark haired girl moved to his side of the booth. Mr. Supercool stood looking at his teeth in the bathroom mirror. A flush came from the stall, and Bob wobbled out only to catch Mr. Supercool pouring the entire contents of the two-liter straight down his throat. Spencer breathed parital breaths in and out, swishing the liquid air around in his lungs. Now the fun part. He held in his breath and placed his two palms on the counter. With one swift move, his legs flew up in the air, and almost kicked Bob in the head. Spencer now stood on his hands with his feet on the ceiling to hold him in place. For ten seconds he made awful pukey gurgles and hosed out a barf blast that poured greyish flem containing discolored wads of white and yellow lung-butter and hack into the sink. Bob’s jaw fell and left his tongue hanging out. Mr. Supercool hopped back down very naturally, wiped his mouth and strode out, as cool as ever. Bob stood facing a filthy gray sink; the smell alone was an unforgettable stench of cigarette smoke tar and bad breath with a pukish quality. As Spencer walked back into the cafe area, he sensed a powerful presence, and was astounded to find Fao powered up, entertaining two beautiful girls playing around him like moths to a flame. He wasn’t about to let this punk kids think he was the next best thing since liquid air. A little friendly competition couldn’t hurt. He slid the dial on his little black box to what he imagined was half power. He instantly felt a surge move though his bones and come to rest in his jaw. Cool as ever, he walked past Fao and his new two friends. He looked Fao dead in the eyes as he walked, giving him the fifth cockiest look anyone in the world ever received. His hip crashed into the table causing him maddening pain and amplified humiliation. Fao smiled. The girls giggled uncontrollably. The two girls sitting at the booth he crashed into, managed to suck up their laughter and help him back to his seat. They sat down with him and asked him in a roundabout way, how rich, smart, and single he was. He knew all of the right answers. Fao listened to the two girls near him babble and be fascinated with him. Bob came back from the restroom. Spattered Bob, "I see you found some friends," And, "You’d never guess what that dude just did in the bathroom!" Bob figured it would make amends with Fao to let him know that he wasn’t the biggest weirdo anymore. Fao needed some food quickly or he was going to lose his power and pass out. He screamed in his head for the waitress to, "Bring me some fucking French fries!" After a moment or two, the waitress did appear and ask if they needed anything. "Fries and Bean soup." Bob told the story of what happened to the guy in the bathroom. Fao wouldn’t have been interested if it were anyone else. The girls tossed questions at Fao left and right. They wanted to know where he did or didn’t work, where he was from, and was hitchhiking dangerous. "Not unless Bob here is dangerous." The girls laughed and embarrassed Bob deeply. He shook Bob’s shoulder with his hand to show no harm. Yali sat to his left and listened to his voice while he talked about hitchhiking and strange adventures. She couldn’t find anything wrong with him. She managed to get her arm up over his shoulder. When she knew she could get away with it, she even did a swirl-her-finger-around on his shoulder that she had learned early on. She wanted to talk to him alone. Fao wanted French fries. Mr. Supercool chatted on with his own two girls. Their names were Heidi and Nicky, and he already decided he liked Nicky better. He was having all sorts of fun ever so subtly blasting large amplitudes of sexual energy their way while he held a composed conversation. He also sent them amplified love; but not without some conditions. Within his love was built an illusional contract idea clause which stated that the receiver of his love would accept his pile of illusions. The list of illusions included that he was indeed the coolest dude around, if not in the world, that he was rich, powerful, important, sexy, and not to be challenged. This was a good handful of illusions to say the least, but the girls rarely received any kind of love, and this was some pretty powerful stuff, so they embraced it with open arms. They bought his illusions like they were going out of style. They even convinced themselves that they wanted to go home with him, and if he didn’t want both at once, then they’d have a competition. Spencer lit a cigarette and tossed his head back with a big smile; he was loving every minute of it. He manufactured illusions left and right. He even found the place in their minds where they perceived the area, and made it somehow more his territory than anyone else’s. Try and try he might, but the shadowy illusions had no effect on Fao’s side of the room, being lit up bright with the burning of that little dirt-ball’s soul. The "light" Fao emitted even infiltrated Spencer’s side of the room, leaving people with an alternative to his shadow-world. Spencer thought of this like kids trying to have a strobe light party while a door is open a crack allowing light to pour in, so that one would still see the room between flashes, destroying the effect entirely. That freaky little punk was starting to become a pain in Spencer’s ass. He put a "magnetic" pull on the idea that he needed more coffee and she came quickly enough, but not before bringing Fao his food. Georgia sensed that Yali wanted to get personal with Fao. She took off and landed immediately at Spencer’s table, leaving Fao alone with Yali. Bob felt funny and didn’t want to mess up any jive, so he took a long walk; a walk where he would shuffle his feet, ponder ex-girlfriends and wonder what it was about these two gentleman in the room that gave them such charisma. Why couldn’t he be like them. He poked around at a newspaper and made some conversation with the clerk. Yali continued to touch Fao in funny ways with her fingers and cuddle closer and closer to him. Fao looked directly ahead with eyebrows tilted inwards and sipped the last bit of bean soup. When her fingers would touch his skin he felt dizzy, and his IQ crashed through the floor in an effort to make him dumb enough to overlook the countless times his heart had been stomped on by girls not unlike her. Maybe she was the one for him, but he doubted it. She brought her pale face next to his ear and whispered, "I need you." She then did a combination of licking and biting his ear lobe. Red flag! He knew if he felt for this one inch, he’d be done for. Fao conjured enough brains to say, "Wait, you’re not thinking. You don’t even know what you're doing." "Yes I do." "You don’t know why you like me." She made sure her breath hit his ear when she said, "I know I could fall in love with you." In a snap gesture Fao shifted so he was facing her and looked her in the eyes. She certainly was beautiful. He told her that she didn’t know the things that he knew and that she didn’t realize that he had an unfair advantage over every guy she had ever met. Fao asked her, "Let me ask you a question. What do you think makes people fall in love? Pheromones? Chemical imbalances in the brain caused by excess consumption of chocolate? I got news for you girl, there’s a world-load of shit going on behind the scenes that you don’t know about. Love is an exchange of energy, and energy, positive energy, just happens to be my specialty." He used his hand to cock her head towards Mr. Supercool’s booth. "See that guy? Why do you think those girls like him?" She replied, "Those girls are my friends, and I dunno, because he’s rich and smooth and cocky... and sexy." Fao replied, "Close, but no. Whether or not he really is any of those things is irrelevant, because he is making them think that." "What do you mean?" Fao said very slowly and carefully, "I mean that he has figured out how to change the way that other people perceive him. He’s also doing something strange to the room that I can’t quite figure out yet. He’s very powerful." She looked at him like a rabid squirrel. Fao hoped she could process what he was saying, but never-the-less continued, "You like me because I’m radiating a lot of energy, love, whatever you want to call it. You’ve been soaking in it for the past hour and now you want more." Her jaw was hanging open slightly and gears were cranking somewhere in there. Her eyes shifted around the room past Mr. Supercool and the other girls. He stopped himself before telling her that she probably wanted to drain his soul and keep that energy flowing to her wherever she went. "They," he began while pointing at her girlfriends, "are under his spell... in plain English." She looked back at him with glossy, innocent, intrigued eyes, and said slowly, "You are so... different... and amazing." Fao got the feeling that she still wasn’t sure if he was crazy. "Scoot over." Fao got out of the both and sat on the side across from her. "Do you want to experience the most valuable thing you could experience right now?" Bob came back from having a conversation with the store clerk in regards to the weather. He sat down with his newspaper and coffee in the booth where all of the girls were originally seated. He didn’t want to impose upon Fao or that chick, and there wasn’t enough room for him at Mr. Supercool’s table. He simply sat in the middle, by himself, to relax and enjoy his nicotine, caffeine, and read the newspaper. Mr. Supercool was having fun entertaining the girls. By now he could tell that all three would probably go home with him if he expressed the desire. He turned the dial up a little more, probably to 7 out of ten. He wondered if he could give them an orgasm right on the spot. More fun yet, he would slowly turn them against Fao, just to show that there’s only enough room for one metaphysical badass in Busy Betty’s Cafe. Yali was confused. "Okay, I guess. What are we going to do?" Fao said, "Meditate with me." "I don’t know how to meditate." Fao laughed. He thought they ought to teach the shit right out of kindergarten in place of reading, writing, and arithmetic. "Just focus on all of your fears, guilt, shame, whatever; feel them and don’t panic or get weirded out, I’ll do the rest." They stared each other in the eyes. She giggled, apologized, and was then able to keep a serious attitude. "Open yourself up and let yourself go," said Fao, with the deepest hopes that she didn’t think him the biggest weirdo she’d ever met. Fao clenched his stomach together, and formed a silver concave bowl with his mind; this would curve around the fireball in his stomach and allow him to direct the "light" and "heat." He blasted her with all her had. He focused the bowl, and shed light onto the layers of shadows and illusions within her that plagued her constantly without her even knowing. She shifted and grew uncomfortable. "Just relax. It’s good... good, you’re doing fine." She melted inside. Her insides ran inside out and she opened up and realized that there was a better way to feel than she had for so long and no reason to be afraid of anything. She felt a warmth growing in her heart, like she had as a child, and she knew that she must have done something to herself to have given it up in the first place. Fao focused on her mind and found the images she carried of herself. Fao watched her face morph through all of her characters, some that she didn’t like but was forced to play because she knew nothing different. He found pieces of herself floating around that had once been a sacred bit of her beautiful soul, until it had been frozen, solidified, and crystallized into an image that she believed. It became true enough to her that she was a "slut," a "pretty girl," a "bitch," and "evil". As Fao melted these images, she realized what parts of herself and feelings she had lost when she decided she would lock herself into being all of those things. Fao melted her images of the world around her. She saw the world for the first time the way a cave woman would have. She seemed to gain a sense of depth she had never perceived. All of the signs and advertisements were just colors without meaning unless she gave them meaning. She looked around and saw the people as the creatures and beings they were, instead of seeing the idea of them. She saw each nook and cranny everywhere, instead of seeing walls, ceilings, and floors. She was extremly grateful for what Fao was doing and looked into his face with all the love she had. The room seemed to be spinning heavenward. Nicky spat, "What are they doing over there?" Mr. Supercool raised his eyebrow. They all stared. Spencer eyed them with contempt, as if they were naked in public. He slid the dial to full power. Fao and Yali felt their look, but only stared straight ahead at each other. The room wasn’t spinning anymore. It was hard to concentrate or do anything meaningful with their nasty stares flying. "Shields up!" thought Fao who did everything he could to create a field to protect Yali and himself. The room got dimmer. He felt their look penetrating and creaking into the field he had created. He started to feel sick. Yali started looking less and less beautiful. He tried to hone in on the source and sensed something like small mental viruses flying at them. He captured one in his mind and knew it would lead him to the source. If he could destroy one, they would all be destroyed. It stung his mind. He knew that if he reacted in fear he was done for. "What’s happening?" asked Yali in a sick tone. He tried to shoot a mini mental laser into the virus. Yali and Fao both were feeling ugly, heavy, disgusting, and ashamed. The entire room changed and seemed to shake and twisted abruptly. The box in Spencer’s pocket began to vibrate heavily, and he felt a splitting pain in his forehead that made him grit his teeth and hold his breath. Fao was gritting his own teeth trying to hold on to what he was doing without succumbing to fear. Yali and Fao both were feeling more ugly, heavy, disgusting, and ashamed than ever. Fao slowly turned his head, looking at Mr. Supercool and his three new girlfriends. They all had menacing looks. Spencer looked him dead in the eyes while blowing smoke from his nose. Fao felt the leverage of Mr. Supercool’s reality impinging on his mind. Nicky yelled, in a sarcastic tone, "What are you guys doing over there?" Fao lost it. Yali said dizzily, "I don’t feel so good." Fao felt the walls closing in on his mind. He felt the viruses taking root in his stomach. They quickly moved in, multiplied, grew roots, and transmitted the remaining energy to Spencer and down the hierarchy to his girls. Fao looked Yali in the eyes. They both looked sick and ugly. He did what he could to say what he had to without saying it. "I’m dying inside. Come with me." He grabbed Yali’s hand and stood up. She didn’t know what the hell was going on, but she trusted him enough. They got up and fumbled lightheadedly through the diner. Everything was ugly, disgusting, and distorted. The lights hummed and flickered an awful combination. It took what seemed to be years for them to shuffle to the exit. Fao guided her through the door with one hand, and looked back to see Spencer's eyes. He didn’t need to say it, his defeated look said it all. It said, "You won. I hope this was what you wanted." He shut the door and left. Spencer was left with a burning cigarette in hands. Georgia asked, "What’s with them anyway." He looked around for a long time. Bob interjected the silence with, "It says here that the Lakers beat the Knicks 17-0 Wednesday. Who would’ve thought!" Spencer took a drag off his cigarette. That punk kid in the red jacket would probably go off and have wonderful times with that girl. Who knew, maybe they’d go hitchhiking together or get married, or scour the Earth together. He had three hoes he could control and manipulate. He thought, "Yeah, I won... or did I?" Now he had to return to pondering his existence as an evil bastard. He frowned and crushed his cigarette out. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. "I sure am cool." /\___/\ ____________________________________________________________ /\___/\ \ -.- / \ -.- / `-.^.-' (c) 2001 Anada e'zine by AphexTwin23 `-.^.-' /"\ ________________________________________________________________ /"\