utopian grit, part 2

by bofa xesjum

part 2 of ?

ignatius sunset and 830-7 went back a long way. they had both been recruited into the movement by ahmed ying. of the twelve people summoned to the boardroom by 713-5, how many do you think were in the movement? i do not know, why don’t you tell me? i will keep you guessing a little longer. i can’t wait. number 5 actually wrote a book about loyalty. then i guess she is the number one suspect. mister blue worked harder than anybody, and let everybody know it. maria wang always seemed to be on vacation, or attending a conference somewhere. very suspicious. what would you say if i told you all twelve people in the boardroom were in the movement? but not 713-5 himself? probably not. i would ask why they would not just do what they were going to do, whatever it was? like shoot 713-5? something like that, yes. did you hear any shots? no. what do you deduce from that? 713-5 is really in charge, because he is quite a guy. wrong. ok, explain to me what i got wrong. who is 713-5, really? that is not an explanation, it is a question. you are right. i generally am.

utopian grit, part 1

by bofa xesjum

part 1 of ?

mister blue had reached the highest echelon of success through his grit, determination, and hard work. but number 5’s xenophobia was still an obstacle to be hurdled. miss black kept her mouth closed on the sensitive subject. william wilson was secretly an unrepentant xenophobe himself. it was all beeswax to lady violet. the momentum had shifted, number 33 mused. nobody said a word when 713-5 strode into the board room. it was a less than utopian scene. utopian indeed, ignatius sunset chuckled grimly to himself. maria wang thought it was all wallpaper. and that the board room was overpopulated. the echelons were not as clearly delineated as they used to be. the old guard kept their own counsel. so did the old clown, down in the boiler room. the clown had done yeoman service through the decades. 713-5’s vision of the future had never rung quite true. but the proles. led by 830-7, loved him, or so it seemed. the walls looked down and were silent. but it seemed to karl marx that a significant milestone had been reached. the old guard seemed to agree. their opprobrium was palpable. ahmed ying had lost his momentum. uncle ike hobo’s hold on his place on the ladder trembled in the balance. gentlemen, beware the old guard! today we have reached peak, 713-5 growled, breaking the silence, outside the window overlooking the immaculatately tended lawn, a bee buzzed. counselors, beware the old guard! to be continued

pete and daisy

by bofa xesjum

pete clark, a barbarian who had never been young, scanned the crowd looking for a victim. out of the corner of his eye he saw daisy wilson, a grandmother from the depths of miles away. under the periphery of the universe that specialized in jokes, he just could not forbear envisioning her obsolescence. quietly - pete was always the quiet type - he held a meeting in his head with his loyal underdemons of terror. pete wsasunaware that officer quiglet was expectantly following his every kinesis. you do not even know what kinesis means, king john, his number one demon, whispered in his cranium. do so, pete thought back explosively. suffer the lost ladies, king john replied evasively. all - all - all -the word, and the world, tumbled through pete’s imploding edification. pete and king john and officer quiglet went back a long way. but daisy was something new - or was she? is anything, or anybody, really new? a nightingale descended on daisy’s shoulder. suddenly pete remembered a joke his grandfather had told him - the first joke he had ever heard. it was a revelation - before that he had never known what a jpke was. an apple was walking own the road, looking for a new hat. but the road was empty, except for an undertaker in a black coat, leading a giraffe on a long leash. with a leash that long, you might as well let the poor beast run wild, the apple said to the undertaker. there might be some truth to that, the undertaker readily agreed. the undertaker let the giraffe go and it ran off over the hills. the apple and the undertaker were left alone with what was left of the joke. pete woke up. daisy was gone. she had gone to alaska with officer quiglet and the undertaker to find the giraffe, who was wanted for murder in the first degree. they had left pete behind as there was no room for him in the limousine. but had they really gone to alaska? maybe they had gone to zanzibar instead. the road stretched out before poor pete. i need an infusion of reality, he thought. before the highway patrol comes along. the rhinoceros is the most dangerous animal in africa, at least it was when the world was young. save it for the judge. there will be a hot time in the old town tonight. for the oranges, not for the apples.

christmas card

by bofa xesjum

my life needs more variety, alexander mused thoughtfully bugs have variety, billy replied tartly. food is consciousness, christopher interrupted rudely. my dreams are stupid, d b thought sadly, but did not say so out loud. alexander, billy, christopher and d b were floating down the river on a raft after the complete destruction of civilization. they had vague memories of how they had come to be on the raft, and had never known each other before being on the raft. how did we get here anyway, billy blurted out. it s a long story, alexander assured him. we have nothing but time, christopher added. on the contrary, d b declared, we have a very limited time before we die of hunger and thirst and privation. silence settled over the raft, broken only by the sound of the sloshing of the water over the side of the raft. i wish we knew who to blame for this situation, alexander finally said. it was all the fault of that jackass ed brown , billy asserted confidently. no, it was frank gray - he started it all, christopher retorted. look out, said d b, here comes grover. grover came through the door, and the wind and rain followed him. have any of you bums seen harry ? grover demanded, striding boldly up to the foursome’s table. the table was littered with styrofoam cups with the letter i printed on them boldly in red. no, alexander said meekly, none of us have seen him since christmas. and he did not even give us any presents, billy added. or even a christmas card, christopher put in. how about you, grover addressed d b, have you seen him lately? not lately. how would you define lately, grover pressed on. we are in for it now, alexander mused sadly. the door opened again, and commissioner johnson entered, brushing snow from the front of his camelshair coat. stop pussyfooting around, he told grover, bring all these clowns down to the waterfront. you heard the commisioner, grover asserted. on your feet. can i finish my coffee? christopher pleaded. no. outside, the night was rent with the banshee wail of sirens. after they had all left, dr kendrick, seated in the corner, finished his coffee and rolled his napkin into a ball. my work here is done, he thought.

exit 4-b

by bofa xesjum

the car turned on to the highway. oliver had left his life behind in the street. as a boy he had loved the rain, especially on saturdays. he hated his dad’s car - a crummy green volkswagen like a hippie girl might drive. he wanted to leave his old life behind. and find a new life on the broad highway. the clouds in the sky made hm think of love. eventually night would fall. he felt he was born to love. even on a cloudy day. he knew there were no hitchhikers any more, but still he dreamed - before he got to exit 4b, it started to rain. oliver’s first girl was a terrible person, and had taught him to hate life. her name was rita cloudsley. why aren’t you a professional hit man,she would say in her lazy way on rainy afternoons. don’t you have any guts? don’t you want to get revenge on this stinking world? oliver was never sure if she was serious. there isn’t any real money in it,he would say. ha! what do you know? then rita’s mom would come home from her shift at applebee’s and they would talk about tv shows and movies, until it was time for oliver to go home and make dinner for his younger brother and two sisters. the rain started falling harder as he approached exit 4b. he saw a person standing by the side of the road. could it be, he thought…

it was the time

by bofa xesjum

it was the time of year when a person went their way to do things. a man in the world has a life in his hand but part of him was a child. he had his eye on a woman in the place of work. a week went by and the case had a point. the government seized the company and a number of groups had a problem. the facts were an animal. if you have to be, do what you say. get it to make go, because you know what it takes come and see me some time. think it looks, if you want to give. use it if you can find it, but tell, don’t ask. it works if it seems to feel. leave a cry but don’t call it good. it was new the first time. but it lasts long so great. with a little of its own other. the old is right but the big is high. the different is small but large. next it will be early but young. it is important for the few to be public . but it is bad for the same to be able. this is what it all comes to. a piece of cake, or a big lump of nothing. and it all gets written in the book. nobody knows what it is for. but the show must go on.

cordial highway, part 1

by bofa xesjum

part one of two

the empty room laughed. maybe i made a mistake, sam jones mused mournfully. remembrance flooded back. all the awful images resurfaced in his brain. it all began at funnyman ’s new year party. doctor ninety-seven was there, having just completed his prison term. some of the guests ignored him. others treated him as a conquering hero. sam jones had still been young and innocent when the doctor’s trial had been such a cause celebre. but now, of course, it had been swept under the rug of time with john wilkes booth and the pig lady and the highway 77 killers. very soon, i can make my mistake, i mean my escape, sam thought. but just then queen catherine appeared at his side in her violet dress. are you having a good time, she purred. of course, what other kind of time would i be having? it is useless to try to taunt you, is it not, ma cheri? some people here seem to be enjoying themselves. some people have the happy facility of always enjoying themselves. let us flee this place. excuse me, but i have responsibilities to our host, the ambassador. of course, what was i thinking - my mind must have gone blank. are not all minds blank - waiting for fate to write on them? you told me once that i was a strange man. if you were not, you might be the ambassador. are we not all ambassadors - if we are not kings and queens? here is the vice consul now, with a tray of drinks. ah, vice consul. do you bring good good tidings, along with these nicely frosted concoctions? your majesty is in a particularly cordial mood this evening. get along with you! the queen laughed. but things may turn grim before the night is over. but, in truth, the festivities had just begun. when the vice consul was out of hearing, the queen put her slender hand on sam jones’s arm. come, we must flee this place, we have fled it too many times - i am tired of flight. does the butterfly tire of flight? does the seagull? does the pterodactyl? part 2

a million more

by bofa xesjum

johnny johnson woke up, on the first day of the rest of his life. but would it be his last? he had an appointment with dr webberly at ten o’clock. it would be the final test. every day is a final test and might be my last, johnny thought philosophically. he wondered if he should get a jelly donut or a glazed donut with his coffee on his way to the doctor’s office. johnny’s phone rang, even though he was sure he had turned it off before going to sleep. but was anything ever really turned off in the so called modern world? the caller i d said “unknown” - no surprise there. but johnny answered all calls - it was the way he had ben programmed by dr webberly, and by officer vergil and instructor underwood before that. hello, who am i speaking with? is this johnny johnson? it is a johnny johnson - there are many johnny johnsons in the world, and i am only one of them. are you sure you are not four or five of them? excuse me? ha ha, just having a little fun with you, on this morning which may be the last one of your life. that is not a very nice thing to say. maybe not, it depends on how you look at it. but seriously, are you the johnny johnson who finished 544th in the origami contest and 477th in the battlestars tournament and 1007th in the lowball tournament in the 33rd sector last season? that sounds about right. about right? that must be me. moving right along. and you are scheduled for an appointment with dr william webberly at the 784 building at 1000 hours? that’s me too. an appointment which may well be the last one you ever keep. any appointment which may be the last one you ever keep. any appointment may be the last one i ever keep. i see you have been well trained. be that as it may,what can i do for you? i have to get ready to get to dr webberly’s office. of course. and you want to be well nourished and look your best when you get there. what else would i want? to live another day maybe? my name is robin hood, and i am the leader of a band of merry rebels who seek to overthrow -the corrupt and murderous - i have heard enough - i know all about frauds like you and have even been taken advantage of by your kind in the past, i am sorry to say.. suit yourself. there a million more just like you, this morning alone, and they have a right to my services too. the connection went dead. johnny got up, and brushed and flossed his perfect white teeth.

original story 29 - big boy

by bofa xesjum

the obnoxious desk clerk loved death. he had a round face, he had been young once, but not for long. the name on his driver’s license was george q williams. nobody ever asked him what the “q” stood for. he often had dreams standing up behind the desk. but so far he had always managed to wake from them when approached. he had always been a dreamer, in his present life and in past lives. were his dreams derived from his past lives? or were they just dreams? occasionally, when he was off duty, he would try to remember the dreams and record them in a notebook he bought at cvs. when he first started doing this, he would do it sitting at a table in a coffee shop or a mcdonalds or wendy’s. he thought that perhaps somebody might notice him and ask what he was writing, but nobody ever did. when he was tired of trying to record the dreams, he wrote little stories, mostly about zombies and werewolves and mighty barbarians and professional hit men. but never about vampires - he was not a vampire person. one night, at wendy’s, he was so engrossed in a story about a barbarian and a hit man whose brains are swapped by a mad scientist from the 27th century, that he almost forgot the time. he would be late for his shift! he gulped down his cold coffee, left his half eaten hot honey chicken sandwich behind, and hurried out the door into the falling night. a light rain was falling. as he reached the door of the hotel, he patted his coat pocket to make sure his notebook was in it. it was gone! although he always put the notebook in the same pocket, he checked the other ones. it was gone! he retraced his steps for half a block in case it had just fallen out of his pocket - no luck! and he had to get to work! another, more terrible thought hit him. somebody would find his notebook and steal all his dreams and ideas! in despair, he turned back and headed to work, barely getting there on time. he would never get his dreams back. he wanted to cry. but big boys don’t cry. so he fell in love with death.