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TXT: (Advt)> Air filters half off at Filterhouse! Click hear for deals!…TXT: (Advt)>
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today!…TXT:> (CHAD) Ralph? Awake? I can’t sleep. Ran out of D. Coming to work
tomorrow? Miss you at the office…TXT: (Advt)> Need some love? Tired of online
parties? Need real contact? Come downtown to the Love Lounge. Eighth and Broadway,
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Dream: Walking down a path in the woods. Down a hill. A river at the bottom. Fragrant
flowers all around. Beautiful pathway. Feeling of peace. Flowers brushing my face. I get
to the river and there’s a boat on the shore waiting for me. I don’t want to look back
because something terrible behind. I get in the boat and look at the house on the hill. It’s
all ruined. Broken windows, sagging roof. Empty, empty, empty house. Down the river
there is a city of gold and light and flowers, so I lie down in the boat. I will sleep and
wake up in the peaceful city. Then the dream ends. Do not know what this means.
2
I was out of Dormapril. I didn’t know what to do, so I ordered another box to be
delivered the next day. Ever since the government started that program it’s helped a lot of
people, I guess it’s funny that they have to give out antidepressants to everyone
nowadays. It’s gotten that bad? Whatever the reason it’s damned lucky I have the stuff or
I’d go insane with the voices the ads the songs the jingles the people the traffic the news
the images and shopping the everything. Well I had to go to Joe’s without my
pharmaceutical friend - I’d left the house without it before, wasn’t too nervous. Walked
out of my place and Glendale Boulevard was packed with cars, not even moving, so I
walked up to the monorail platform and waited. Should be one in five or six minutes. I
could barely hear them from my apartment, even though they were practically feet away
from my bedroom. With the soft and almost animal-like woosh, woosh…I love the things.
The screen above me flashed the location of the next Southbound in Glendale
approaching rapidly.
computer girlfriend I called her. I went to the fingerprint ID, flashed my thumb, waited
Woosh.
I walked in. Some cholos were sitting there writing graffiti and sucking down
their iced cappucinos next to a business man glued to the news on his TVpod. At the
other end of the train the Starbucks was open so I went to get a drink, passing literally
hundreds of advertisements flashing on the porta-screens on each chair - you could buy a
TV show or songs or whatever you wanted, download it to your pod and trip the light
3
fantastic all day long with your head stuck in your digi-pod but it was a complete rip off
so I tried not to. We careened over the hills of Silverlake, stopping and letting some
bohemians on, scarves and everything. One of them was carrying an acoustic guitar and
sat down to play an old Bob Dylan song. One of the cholos laughed. “Check out the
fuckin’ hippie, fool.” I had read about hippies in history class. There was a neo-hippie
movement going on apparently and hipsters were sitting around playing old protest songs
In a few minutes we were at La Brea. I got off and looked up at the skyscrapers.
Traffic was a godawful inhuman mess, people sitting in their cars, honking, honking,
honking, honking.
The sky was full of the usual floating ad screens and ad balloons, music and TV
blaring at me from TV screens along the sidewalk, telling me to buy buy buy things.
Hook your pod into the jack, it’ll be at your home when you get back. I forgot what high-
I walked up to Sunset, past crack dealers, men in suits, transvestites, taco carts,
guys selling incense, high school students cutting class, smoking weed. Car horns blared
on the street. Joe didn’t even own a car. You couldn’t really get anywhere anymore in a
car. The freeways were parking lots and finding parking was a joke. The mind-numbing
4
city was like New York but ten times as wide – skyscrapers from the ocean to East LA,
from Orange County to the Valley. A giant bed of high-rises and people sitting in traffic
and waiting to drive. Every last inch of space had been built upon.
“Thank you,” the voice said pleasantly, and in about ten seconds the doors opened
up to a hallway. I walked down to his apartment. I had finally arrived for the party. It was
a retro style party, like in the old days when people would get together in the same room
instead of just hooking up their pods like nowadays. It’s all pod parties now. I guess the
reason is that space is so scarce that no one has room in their apartments to get more than
I walked in to his place and saw a room full of people. I had pod-partied with a lot
of them before but never actually met most of them face to face. Joe was one of the few
friends I actually hung out with in person. I worked from home, partied from home,
shopped from home, ordered coffee to be delivered from home, got my groceries, bought
books…you get the point. There’s just no point in leaving your house these days. It’s too
easy to stay in. And the world is too crowded out there. I guess that’s what the neo-
hippies are all about – getting people out of their apartments and into social gatherings
The party was pretty fun, but I was feeling weird being away from my apartment
for so long. I took the monorail home and bought some groceries on the way. When I got
home they were waiting outside my door. I went in and looked out the window. All I
could see was the building next to me, an eighty-story high-rise. It had just gone up a
month ago and it was already full. It had a several schools, some businesses and a lot of
5
apartments. I used to be able to see the Silverlake reservoir from my window, but now it
barreling down with a vengeance, honking, forcing me to run to save my own life.
loose. Short hispanic man with a mustache, reportedly wearing a black sweatshirt and a
tattoo of a snake on his neck. House burglary on the westside, owners were tied up and
shot. Neighbors report two men, unknown ethnicity. Backup on the 101 freeway in
Hollywood, a gas tanker overturned. Two other vehicles involved in crash, ten fatalities
reported. Fire in apartment complex in Downey, firefighters are still fighting. No word on
casualties. Popular movie star David Johns found dead in his Beverly Hills home, of an
apparently self-inflicted gunshot wound. Johns was most well-known from his role as the
TXT: > You have requested a chat with Janeane. Please hold for connection….
TXT:> Hello? Is this Ralph? What’s up, cute stuff? What are you into?
TXT: > What’s a matter? Shy? Come on, don’t be that way. Let’s do a video chat.
TXT: < My video is broken. How long have you been on this service?
6
TXT: > Couple months. Haven’t met the right guy yet. You?
TXT: > How are we gonna get to know each other if I can’t see your face?
TXT:> Of course, that’s why I added you. You’re funny. You seem really cool.
TXT: < Can I just get a pic and then I’ll send you one?
TXT:< Naughty.
TXT: > It should be in your mail box. Did you get it?
TXT:> Hello? Ralph? Come on, don’t be a scammer. Are you there? Hello?
It was another no-water day. The drought had gotten so bad that sometimes there
were no-water weeks now. Luckily I had some stored in my fridge. I had learned to ration
To add to that it was a Smog Emergency Day– that meant no going outside. It was
for my own good, I know. I looked out my window and saw the brown smog ring
hovering at eye level. It was strange to look down on the freeway and not see any cars.
You could be arrested and thrown in jail for at least a month if you went outside on a
Smog Emergency Day. If you drove it was worse. The few exceptions were delivery
trucks and cops. They could drive. I was getting cabin fever sitting inside. My air purifier
7
was broken, so I had the windows open and a fan blowing. But the air was so dirty I was
I took a laser shower. Then I couldn’t take it so I put on some clothes and went
downstairs to the lobby. If I could hail down a truck quickly I could maybe get out of
town where I could get a hotel somewhere for a few days, until the smog emergency
passed. The lobby was empty and the security guard was off duty for some reason. I
Then I noticed a giant corn syrup delivery truck barreling down the street. That
was what most people drank on no-water days, and it was where all the country’s water
went – the corn farmers. I waved frantically. The driver saw me, made a bewildered face,
“I know, I’m trying to get out of town, can you give me a ride?”
“That’s fine.”
“Hop in.”
I got up and sat down and we drove away, just as a cop pulled around the corner
“Thank you so much,” I gasped. The air had me wheezing. Most people in the city
“No problem, pal. Gets boring without company. Want some jerky?” He handed
“Sure is.”
8
“How did you get this? It must’ve been two hundred dollars a bag!”
“My cousin sends it down from Canada. He buys it for cheap, in bulk.”
I took a bite. It was the taste I remembered from my childhood, before the beef
crisis. I would go get burgers or steaks with my mom at the fast food places.
“Yeah.”
“All the water we have goes to corn, and all the corn goes into our food. It’s either
we eat, or the cows eat. There ain’t food enough or water enough for the two of us in this
country.”
Since no cars were on the freeway we got out of the city limits pretty quickly.
“Are there any little towns around here I could stay in for a few days?”
“What?”
I hadn’t left Los Angeles in so many years I didn’t know what the rest of the state
He waved at the Central Valley, which we had a nice view of from the top of the
Grapevine. It was a bed of giant gray buildings, offset by a few farms here and there.
whole state is covered north to south with prisons. There’s only a few farms left.”
“Corn syrup, corn meal, corn mush, soy meal, potato meal.”
9
“Are there any little towns anywhere that aren’t so hot this time of year?”
“The one place that comes to mind is Las Placitas. It’s real nice. Beach town.
“Where is it?”
“Out on the coast. North of Santa Barbara. If you can get there.”
“Train. But it don’t run too often. Most times it’s broke.”
“Up here,” he nodded at an old disused train station by the side of the road. A sign
“I’ve seen it. Not too often, but I’ve seen it.”
He pulled over.
Jesus Christ it was hot out there. I sat on the bench in the station by myself the
whole afternoon. Eventually an old Mexican woman showed up, old and wrinkled.
“Train?”
“Train come…soon.”
10
She smiled. After awhile the train appeared far in the distance.
killing an estimated fifty residents and twenty staff-members. Arson is suspected. A man
in Culver City has turned himself in to the police after killing his wife and his two-year-
old daughter. Juan Gonzalez, 26, said that the victims “wouldn’t leave him alone.”
Mayor Garcia has admitted to his second affair since taking office and says he and his
third wife, Esmeralda, are now seeking a divorce. There is little surprise from critics,
citing his frequent marital problems of the past. Mayor Garcia is still under federal
investigation for his alleged embezzlement of city funds for personal uses, including
vacation to Miami.
glassy-eyed plastic-faced blonde bitch talking on her pod almost kills me, looking left as
she pulls up to the intersection. I almost wish she would knock me over so she would
have to deal with the trauma of harming and potentially killing another human being
The train was almost empty but I didn’t mind as I sat on a dusty plastic seat and
looked at the hazy central valley air. Prisons and warehouses passed by the window, dead
concrete erected on the desert floor. I fell asleep to the soothing hum of the slow train.
11
When I woke up it was dark and the ocean was on the right of me. I panicked for
a second. Where was I? It had been so long since I’d seen the ocean it scared me. Did I
miss my stop? Where was a porter when you needed one? I looked around and saw no
one on the train with me. Then an old man in a train uniform came walking down the
aisle slowly.
“Las Placitas is next stop,” he droned without looking at me. “Half an hour.”
The ocean was dark and it rippled gracefully next to me. Why weren’t more
people on this train? We entered a curved bay and I saw, on a small peninsula, the
sparkling lights of a little town up ahead. My heart pounded as we approached a tiny train
station.
“Last stop, Las Placitas,” the conductor said over the PA. I got up and bounded
down the stairs and into the warm night air. The sea breeze was fresh and clean and the
smell of the sea mingled with some desert sagebrush. I walked through the station and
found myself in a town that sloped down towards the sea. I walked down the street, past
houses, towards the ocean, maybe ten blocks away. An old man sat on a porch, rocking
don’t even have pods or email! They probably still have radios! It was comforting. Like
being in a place that was preserved before the world went crazy.
Down at the beach there was a main street packed with restaurants and bars.
Teenagers were making out on the beach and old people walked slowly down the street.
At the end of the downtown area there was a small hotel with a courtyard that opened
12
onto the beach, directly facing the waves. An empty, glistening swimming pool sat
My room was small, but it faced the ocean and I could lay there listening to the
waves crashing. It was amazing to hear something natural, instead of helicopters and the
advertisements…it was all too much for me. I must’ve fallen asleep because I woke up to
the sound of a mariachi band playing in the courtyard. I went out and found the other
guests dancing by the pool, drinking margaritas. The hotel was serving free margaritas, so
I had one and started dancing when a young Mexican woman came up to me to dance.
She was an employee of the hotel and she smiled as I did my ridiculous white man’s
dance.
Now I was really living, unfettered by the freeways and the smog, the skyscrapers
and the traffic. I remember falling asleep in my room, listening to the ocean, wishing I
DREAM: Staying at a cabin by a lake. I want to go out of the cabin to look at the lake
and go swimming but every time I open the door it won’t open. I go to look out the
window and there is nothing out there. I know there is supposed to be a lake out there
because I heard waves, but it’s all blank. Then I realize I’m dreaming and try to imagine
TXT: (ROBARDS) Ralph, they need the La Brea/Wilshire plans finalized ASAP. All that’s
left is the bathrooms, which you’ve been working on, and the hallways, which I have at
the office. So let’s get together and synthesize this thing, then we have the client meeting
13
next Tuesday, which we can do from home….TXT: (Advt) > Sick of ads on your pods?
Get ad filter PLUS, that means extra strong, at Electromax, click to order…Out of
Dormapril? Tired of weak government pills? Try Lotus, the everything drug – works
faster and stronger than…ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO END SESSION? NOT
I found an old painting of that town at an antique shop. It was one of those
tourism posters from the 1940’s or something. It said “Summer in Las Placitas” and there
was a picture of a little hotel on the beach like the one I had stayed at. A nice white
family was playing on the beach and the sun was setting on the ocean, in golden ripples.
In between pod-meetings for work I would stand and gaze at the painting, wondering.
Work was heating up because of the real estate boom. Since our firm does interior
design for all those big apartments we would have to tour the empty buildings before
tenants went in there. So I went around with my boss taking notes while he brainstormed.
We were in some building, the Versailles I think it was called. God, what a horrible
name. They all had those names – Southampton, Ragazzi, Tuscany, and all sorts of faux
European words. Mr. Robards was walking through the Versailles and I was following
“Twentieth floor. Lobby. Fireplace and ferns, faux marble floors, faded stucco,
“It would be great to have some imitation ivy hanging along these windows.”
“Yes! You’re a genius, Ralph. You remembered. Write that down – imitation
“Yes! European music, pumped into all the hallways and apartments. Opera,
classical. Nothing too complicated. Really atmospheric. Tenants are starting to demand
“Can’t stand their own thoughts. Gotta drown ‘em out. And no mirrors, no one
likes to look at themselves. But pod connections in the hallways and all the apartments.”
“Ralph, we have to make this place a living experience in which you never have
“Good. You’ll go far in this business if you remember that. And remember this:
people do not want to reflect on themselves or their place in society. They need constant
The sun filtered through the two mega-buildings next to this one. They were both a
hundred stories tall. I looked down at Wilshire Boulevard below me and had a sudden
“Mr. Robards, can I go back to the office? I’m feeling sick to my stomach.”
On the monorail back to the office I took a detour to Griffith Park. I don’t know
why. I had a lot of things to do at the office, but something made me transfer into Los
Feliz. The monorail cruised over the Los Feliz hills and stopped at the park. I got out and
breathed in deeply. The trees and the dirt had such an unfamiliar smell. I walked up some
trail until I was close to the observatory. The hills were so dry and hot and dusty. I came
to a small meadow off the path where a patch of grass sat in the shade. It was cool and
My Grandfather took me out up into the mountains on a hike when I was very
young. And I remember getting to the summit of the hill we were climbing. He surveyed
the valley below us, which at that time was nothing but trees and a few streams.
“Someday,” he said, “this will all be gone. And God save you when that happens.
I thought he was a cranky old man, but maybe he was some kind of prophet. Well,
we all want to believe our ancestors were prophets, I guess. We want to think our parents
and our grandparents saw the future and adequately prepared us for it.
The clouds were thin, drifting slowly across the Los Angeles sky. The sun sank
I could barely hear the traffic from down below and the smog wasn’t so bad that
day. I pretended it was long ago, before the town had risen around this place. The warm,
dry air blew across me with the scent of sagebrush. The sun was waning and the
buildings downtown were getting that orange-yellow hue on their western sides. I closed
16
my eyes for awhile and imagined I was in the Los Angeles of the 1890’s, before the car.
Downtown was a calm neighborhood of Victorian houses and Bunker Hill was the home
of the rich, who rode in beautiful carriages down First Street in the dusty California sun.
Maybe the train would come through town, bringing immigrants from the east and
supplies to feed the growing city. Maybe there would be a little Japanese ghetto and a
I woke up and my pod was buzzing. It was Chad, from the office. I groaned and
looked at the message. Where you at? Come to a show tonight? Meet some ladies, old-
fashioned style? Dancing and drinking like our grandparents used to do.
What a freak. What the hell was he talking about, dancing? I walked down the
hill, rubbing my eyes, and waited for the monorail. It occurred to me that I hadn’t dated a
I sat by the window and looked out the window, waiting to get home. I wanted to
lie on my couch and watch a podcast or some cablevision, then drink a corn beer and go
to sleep.
TXT: I think you have apartmentitis. Maybe you should come into the office
today.
I texted back: I am working very hard. You can ask Mr. Robards.
He wouldn’t let up. His next text was a little creepy, coming through the digital
Well, it looked like another smog emergency day, so that was a perfect excuse. I
couldn’t go outside anyway. I would get some work done. I worked on the floor plans for
the Versailles, and then a proposal for a new building going up in Manhattan Beach that
we were working on. I sat in my apartment with the air-conditioning on, which I wasn’t
supposed to use because of the energy crisis, but I did not care. They could fine me if
they wanted.
That night I was sitting there in the dark, trying to conserve energy, and I was
drifting in and out of sleep on the couch. I didn’t feel like watching a show or listening to
music so I had turned off my pod and my screens. I just didn’t want to hear the
advertisements or the messages or the calls from people asking where I was. Who cared -
I was at home, where everyone else was. Where the rest of the digital nation was
spending their time – in front of a screen, basking in the dim bluish glow of our
sycophantic, servile little modern lives. Spending their time figuring out shortcuts to
receive entertainment faster. There wasn’t even a cave left, or a forest left to go to escape
it. All the caves, all the forests had been converted to convenient retail locations and
prime real estate; there was a grid on top of a grid on top of a grid, delivering the
overburdened internet, electricity and diminishing water and food supplies to our
increasing appetites, our increasing lust for a passive existence, a life of receiving
gratification, a vicarious life of watching and waiting and observing in our little cells, of
being told that this was the future and this was finally the perfection, of merely existing
in our structured prefabricated manmade holes, of being told our technology was good for
us, of being told that we needed the pods and the products, of being convinced that we
couldn’t live any other way, of being subdued into a life of purchasing and purchasing
and purchasing…
18
I took a dormapril. This was precisely what they were for. This was the one stroke
of genius the government had come up with – free anti-depressants. However they paid
for it, I didn’t care. I don’t think anyone else minded paying taxes so they could get those
things. They single-handedly made life bearable. Someone knocked at my door. Oh God.
KNOCK!
“Chad, I did not invite you here. How do you know where I live?”
“This is Irish. It was brewed, fermented, aged in wooden barrels, and bottled in
Ireland, the old country, the home of fair maidens who do not have tattoos, who do not
use a pod, who do not work in the real estate business or have a haircut that looks like a
cancerous growth coming from the head. Home of old men who sit in bars and have
conversations, face to face, with each other, about things that go on in their little village,
about gossip, about so-and-so is sleeping with so-and-so, and local politics-”
“Absolutely.”
“So why are you here? And why aren’t you leaving?”
“Because you and I are going out tonight. And I’m driving.”
“They’ve been around for years. I can be completely shitted on Irish whiskey and
my baby will take me anywhere I want. That’s how I got here. All I need is the address.”
I turned on a program, it was some shopping network. My whole system came on,
with old saved messages and pre-recorded programs, and old advertisements I hadn’t
responded to yet. I just wanted to distract myself from the debilitating task of conversing
with him.
“We’re going to the Libra. Have you heard of it? It’s new.”
“What is it, a bar? Don’t you have to make a reservation for one of those places?”
“Not this one. It’s a new concept in out-of-home entertainment. You just go.”
So we were in his car with the whiskey and he kept drinking. I tried to get him to
stop because he was gonna do something ridiculous but he was too happy to get me out
of the house. The car was doing fine in spite of its idiotic owner, who kept singing old sea
chanties and slapping me on the back. I just watched and listened to the traffic and the
neon and the people and the oceanic wave of man and machine crashing forward, the
thumping, the grinding, the wheezing of gears and blinking of brilliant lights,
cars, Coke, houses, vacations, trips to outer space, larger breasts, larger penises, in-home
strippers and escort services, Las Vegas, burgers, pizzas, corn-beer, high-end Canadian
“What?”
“I’m going off Dormapril,” he said. “It’s no good. It was destroying my sex drive.
“Nothing. I don’t need it. I’d rather be alive than in your little pharmaceutical
haze.”
“That’s fine. You can judge me if you want. Have fun with the withdrawals.”
“I just drink now, it takes care of everything. You know the government puts
things in those pills to kill your sex drive because they’re trying to control the
population.”
“Look, Chad.” I was getting pissed – he always got self-righteous and judgmental
with me, and everyone else, come to think of it; he always had some monumental
discovery that would blow our minds and if we weren’t outraged we weren’t paying
attention. “It’s working fine for me. Maybe I don’t want to be intimate. We’re not
supposed to have sex anyways. Maybe I’m trying to do my part for society.”
“I’m not taking ten pills a day just so I can have sexual intercourse. And I think
“What?? You know, sometimes I think about my parents, Ralph. I remember how
close they were, how much they loved each other. I’m not going to live my life without
that. I don’t care how many pills I have to take, or what the government says, I don’t
even care if I get an STD. I’m not going to live my life alone. Don’t you remember how
“Well, their generation is even older! Remember how intimate they were?”
“Wait - what happened to your parents? How could you not tell me about this?
“So don’t you remember your grandparents, how close they were?”
“I guess.”
I looked at the hookers on Sunset Boulevard as we sat in traffic. There were fat
ones, black ones, young ones, you want it you got it at a cheap price. At my grandpa’s
cabin there was a big painting of my grandma and after she died he took it down because
he couldn’t stand to look at it – he would sit out on the porch in the evenings and I would
22
hear him mumbling to himself, sometimes having imaginary conversations with her, and
after he sold the place and moved into the home he asked me one day, when he was going
senile, what had happened to the painting and I had told him it was thrown away with all
the other stuff he told me to trash, and shortly thereafter he lost his ability to recognize
me or anyone else, which was probably good in the long run although I had to stop
visiting him because it was like a slow death to watch the end of a life, watching what
“Come on, man, I thought this wasn’t one of those places. We just want to have a
drink. It’s only eight o’clock. We’ll leave before the pretty people get here.”
“Thank you.”
And we were in, sitting at an actual bar drinking beer made from barley, hops and
malt.
“You need a better attitude,” Chad said, and got up to go to the bathroom.
I sat and enjoyed a beer that for once didn’t taste like corn syrup. It tasted like
things that had been taken right from the ground, aged, and then put in a bottle, simple as
that. I wanted something more simple… some girls were in the corner were glaring at me
23
and laughing. They were tattooed, pierced and really muscular, some of those
“Another beer?”
“With what?”
“God, I don’t even know. I haven’t had the stuff since I was seventeen.”
“Yes.”
I had finished my beer so fast. I loved this place. This was heaven. But how could
they afford the pure water? And the real alcohol? I drank my whiskey-soda and felt like a
cool breeze was blowing upon me from the ocean – the water bubbled and sparkled on
my tongue while the lime sweetened the bitter graininess of the whiskey, and all of it
warmed my throat and my stomach. Something came back to me from a long time ago,
something forgotten. A sense of the world and its latent possibilities, a sense of
abundance. I was drinking the earth – water from the ground, whiskey from grains grown
in the soil, and lime from a plant grown in the very earth beneath my feet. Oh, the earth,
When Chad got back I was on my second whiskey-soda. He saw the gleam in my
eyes.
By ten we hadn’t talked to any girls but the bouncer came in to get us.
Outside by the car the downtown lights were yellow, orange, pink, green, red…
they bounced and rolled and blinked into my blurred vision as I sat against the car, Chad
looking for his keys in his drunkenness. The city was a being, breathing around me. It
was present everywhere with countless unperceived subtleties. Every ugly thing– the
dominance of cars, the oppressive buildings, the hideous odor of the unwashed homeless,
the indifferent masses and the extraneous humanity – also was very beautiful, in that each
quality carries its inherent opposite. Every ugly thing was just the lack of a certain kind
of beauty expected by the viewer, so the beholder must change radically in order to see
my apartment, where I bid him a slurred farewell and stumbled into my building. The
security guy glared at me when the elevator failed to recognize my drunken voice. After a
couple of tries it whooshed open and ran me up to the apartment. I felt alive and warm
when I stumbled in and the lights turned themselves on for me. I saw the wonderful ease
of life with technology – music that played automatically, TV screens that turned on in
every room I walked into, tuning themselves to stations I enjoyed. What a thing is
modern man – a creature with no natural enemies and an unlimited capacity for
entertaining himself. I felt for several moments in my drunken haze like my apartment
was really a friend to me. It might actually be conscious, at least in a very subdued sense.
Robards was right –we needed to be diverted from the unpleasant facts of life. If a man
I fell asleep with the pod playing old repeats of Andy Griffith.
TXT:>Thank you for your interest in Las Placitas. Las Placitas is one of California’s few
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Near Death Experience: Wilshire and La Brea, a city bus barrels through a red light,
blaring its thunderous honking horn as I am about to step out into the intersection to
cross.
The playground was one of the last, in Beverly Hills where money demanded
such luxuries. I guess I was just walking by and happened to see it. Maybe part of me
remembered that it was there – I’m not sure. I was one of those guys you should worry
about, I suppose, just standing alone by a playground and watching the children. There
just aren’t any families in my building, and they sure don’t have playgrounds where I
live. The mothers were these rich Beverly Hills women that have their whole days to
waste away chatting with each other and watching their kids play. Anyway, I don’t think
they know how amazing it is to watch children at play, to see the utter abandon with
27
which they apply their unstoppable imaginations to the world around them, to see the
force of their innocence, to see the strength of their understanding of kindness, to see
these things that put an adult to shame with the lengths to which he has fallen and to see
how much he has forgotten. And so this little girl came up to me with a flower she had
picked, she must’ve been two years old, and she was this little blonde Beverly Hills girl,
and she didn’t even know how pretty she was or how trusting she was. She held the
flower up to me and said, “Here,” and I took it from her. She smiled and walked away
from me, and I wanted to tell her so many things: don’t forget, just remember this, the
way you are – try with all your strength to remember that feeling, because it is so hard to
be a grown-up and to carry these things around with you. It is so hard to bring yourself to
a place where you can trust other people, knowing what people can do and how bad
people can be, and it is so hard to remember to try to love real other people, not just the
way you want people to be, but real other people with all their grating little flaws and to
unbelievable amount of hurt and betrayal by those people, to trust them…don’t forget
how easily you loved and told others how you needed to be loved, don’t forget how
loudly you cried when you were hurt or how you laughed when you were happy, please
try not to forget these things because it’s so easy to forget. To forget how to be a good
That night it was one of the hottest August nights of the year, the city sweating
and stewing in its juices. I went outside to walk around late that night because I couldn’t
sleep, but things were not safe for anyone. I saw a man breaking into a car and stealing
the satellite system. I heard strange screams from people’s apartments, little boiler rooms
collecting heat and madness. I heard a gunshot a block away and a car screeching off, and
28
I heard Armenian couples fighting in their apartments. Marijuana smoke drifted from cars
and buses roared down the street, pregnant with passengers, the city panting in the
sweltering night.
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The rain was loud. The tropic summer rain, the residuals of a storm in Mexico.
Loud splatters hitting the windows and the streets down below. I sat in the kitchen after I
finished the presentation with Robards, I think the clients were happy though you can
never tell with these things the way they respond so neutrally – “That’s doable, that could
be done, that’s feasible.” Jesus, corporate America was killing the English language as
we knew it. I scarcely had the words to fucking explain myself to other people half the
time, and it didn’t help we were raised in a world in which language was used for the
purpose of facilitating business transactions and to exchange money, and little else.
I went outside because the air was clean and the night was completely dark
without any remnant of sun. Down at the reservoir the rain made a million droplets in the
water and the streetlights reflected on the lake in orange ripples. The rain kept coming
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We were at the new building downtown – the Viceroy. Robards and I were
brainstorming on the top floor, one hundred and twelve. I thought he was really starting
to see me as a kind of confidante. He would burst into personal confessions in the middle
of the job. We’d be looking at an empty wall, making design diagrams, and he’d say “I
think my wife is tired if having sex with me,” or “I think maybe I’ve been drinking too
much,” and I wouldn’t know what to say. And then he would completely run out of ideas
and say, “You’re a smart kid, you think of something.” This was one of those weird
moments. The floor we were on was the most important since the richest guy would live
here and own the whole floor. He would want really realistic, beautiful shifting
holographic images – 3D stuff. This was not an apartment, this was an integrated living
entertainment experience. We were looking at the west wall, facing the ocean. The
window wouldn’t provide much entertainment, just a view of a bunch of other buildings.
I wasn’t really thinking and I just muttered something about the Beach Boys.
“What?”
“I don’t know, the Beach Boys California Dreamin’ thing comes to mind.”
“Elaborate.”
“Well, you know those old album covers, the images in pastels of the ocean
waves and the golden sunset sinking over a lone surfer – that’s the image of freedom, the
California Dream.”
“We could have moving images, almost a story, and Beach Boys music playing.”
“Yes! A surfer goes out to the beach and gets on his board, then he starts surfing,
and the waves get bigger and the sun is blazing gloriously…”
“It could be a repeating image, but you wouldn’t notice it’s repeating. Maybe the
“And the images could be really huge and cover the whole wall. I like the way
“Well, if the guy is gonna pay all this money, he’ll want the all-consuming
He laughed.
“Desert doesn’t always work well. People feel depressed by the idea of a desert.
They want water. That’s why beaches, lakes, rivers, and streams are so popular. And the
“Of course.”
“Well, maybe the surfing scene could merge into a campfire scene in the woods.
Like a camping scene, with crickets and owls hooting. A crackling fire.”
“Those guys act like they’re all Andy Warhol, with their egos. Can you come with
On the elevator going down we talked about our typical elevator motif. Going up
you would get the sensation of rising into the clouds – below you the earth got smaller
and you’d feel the wind and the sun would get brighter. On the top floor it would look
like a heavenly paradise, harps playing and everything. And of course going down would
be the opposite – you’d go through the clouds and see the earth getting closer. Overall
you’d get the impression of going up or down at least a mile. It was a big hit in the other
buildings.
Dream: I’m leading an old man down a rocky beach to a boat that’s all black and
waiting on the shore for him, and I help him in the boat. He lies down, his old gray beard
blowing in the wind. Three queens sit in the boat crying and holding him. He tells me
something but I can’t understand it, and I think I’m supposed to be listening but I can’t
hear it…some old power is passing away and it will never return, just fading memories of
32
his reign of goodness and purity and loyalty, but he dies a sad and broken man, betrayed.
The boat leaves and floats off into the sea, disappearing.
I was sitting in Chad’s automaticar again, and he was taking me to some Mexican
place.
“The Mexicans still know how to party. See, party is a word your great-
grandparents would have used to describe a social gathering in which people would go
out of their homes to a previously decided place and enjoy each other’s physical
presence. You’ll see the Mexicans act like there is no such thing as a computer. And the
other thing about them is that they still have regular communication with their families.
They’ll live with their parents until they’re married, or they’ll live in the same
neighborhood.”
“You know, you could benefit from the cultural education I’m giving you. You
should be grateful for all I’m doing for you. Do you ever go to church?”
“Church??”
“Don’t scoff. Yes, it’s still something people do. Ever been?”
“I don’t believe.”
“Well, maybe it would cheer you up to believe in something larger than yourself.”
“Well, that’s none of their business. And for the record I think there was a time
when it would be easy for me to be religious. Maybe if I was raised in some medieval
33
village where the church was the center of the cultural life of the town, and everyone else
“That doesn’t have anything to do with it. No matter where or when you live,
there has to be some beauty in life. Where does it come from if not from God? If there’s
no reason for all of this, where does the meaning in your life come from?”
“Look, it’s more important for me to only believe things that seem feasible and
that make sense. All we really have in this life is the mythologies of our forefathers.”
“No. I don’t believe in things like you do, I don’t practice a religion or any system
of belief. But what we have is a great body of mythology created by humans to give
beauty and meaning to our world. The California mythology of the Beach Boys is a
“All of that stuff is from the past. It’s not active, you can’t practice it. It’s just a
historical relic.”
“But what if, let’s just say, that you would be happier if you actively practiced a
commonly accepted religion and chose to accept it on faith, forgetting your little arrogant
rationality and admitting that there are some things you can only know through intuition.
What if you would be happier if you just accepted a divine force into your life?”
“Yes.”
“Very happy.”
It was bright and alive, crowded with talkative Mexican families, a Mariachi band
playing old ranchero songs in the corner. The chips and salsa came and the margaritas
“Hey,” he said, “you should come to this party with me tomorrow. It’s Friday, so
The bastard. He got me drunk and then he told me about a party, knowing my will
was broken.
“Manhattan Beach. A friend of mine is graduating from art school and she got a
really good digital arts job. So she rented a place and all of her friends are going to be
“We can take a pod-car. They go down there now. This is good, you can meet
She sits by the window of our place, bland sunlight on her vacant face, vacant in
that mysterious way I found so innocent and pensive but now makes me sick in that dread
sickness of knowing someone has maybe stopped loving you before you have had the
chance to fall out of love with them – pills, pills pills – the dormapril and now the
somnabul, and the coke, just compounded and changed what I knew as a person I knew,
someone to trust, to trust –“what are we doing tonight?” she says in a very impatient and
annoyed fashion that has come to dominate her tone, and the stomach sickness returns, oh
I have made a terrible mistake, oh I am trapped here “can we do something?” and then
there is the killer “this is boring,” and I am a post, dumb as a post, the snow covering me
35
and I am mute for explanations but I feel nothing inside me anymore but the dread
sickness I can’t believe I expected so much I needed so much and I wanted so much from
someone, needed things I couldn’t possibly get from someone so ultimately indifferent,
and ultimately everyone is indifferent, the final confirmation of this fact I have felt for so
long but didn’t want to believe. The final confirmation of the indisputable fact. The
knowledge. The snow and the silence. “I’ll look for a new place.” The words, dead in the
air as I speak them. Indifferent. The suitcases, boxes and the apartment search. She didn’t
waste a minute. Not a second. Her profile online, all the single chat rooms. Available,
available, available. Not a mention of the last several years, not a mention of a broken
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The pod-car swept into the station minutes after I summoned it. It was a small
one, for four people only. The red line went directly to Chad’s place. He’d better be on
the station waiting for me. I didn’t want to get out and walk around looking for him.
“Thanks, Dad.”
The car propelled us through the canyons of skyscrapers, past apartment buildings
and over clogged streets, over freeways down Wilshire and down the 405, pumping in
streaming music from our choice of over 50 stations, thank you for riding. Other pod-cars
were crammed with people presumably going to Hollywood clubs or something. There
was a kind of beauty to the complexity of this metropolis, the fact that life and
technology were hopelessly intertwined above and below me in a chaos of man and
Chad talked about this girl he knew, he had grown up here in LA with her, and
he’d been trying to hook up with her for years. Her family was rich and they’d rented a
place in Manhattan Beach for the night to celebrate her graduation. She had told him to
bring along some guys because there would be mostly girls there. But Chad didn’t
We soared through the night sky on our elevated track over Inglewood,
Hawthorne, and Lawndale, arriving at the small pod station in Manhattan Beach, which
was still relatively suburban. The air was warm and breezy and the whole city sloped
down to a point where pavement met the ocean. We walked down the hill past ocean
She gave me a hug. I congratulated her on her graduation from art school. She
was definitely a hippie. Her clothes were hand-made and flowing in long ribbons down
her legs, and a flower sat in her hair. They had real alcohol drinks and good cheese for
37
hors d'oeuvres, and fancy wines on a wine table. The window showed an unimpeded
view of the ocean, dark and silent below. I quickly saw that this crowd was an artsy
crowd. I wasn’t an actor or artist, and I didn’t want to stand with some group of people
just to listen to them talk about the newest developments in the field of digital art or
animation or whatever was going on in the entertainment industry. I liked the old TV
shows, from a time when things made sense. Now everything was flash and hoopla. I was
sitting with my whiskey and soda by the window when someone suggested that everyone
go down to the beach. Good, this was a perfect time to escape unnoticed. After they left
I’d go up and catch a pod-car home, then text Chad and tell him I’d left. I watched him
leave with Sarah, holding her hand. Good, maybe she would finally give it up to him. I
hoped she would after all the time he had been lusting after her.
After everyone was gone I was walking towards the door when a red-haired girl
came out of the bathroom, cute and fresh-faced and probably about my age.
“Is it by a beach?”
“Ha, no…”
She was very pretty, with red freckles and blue eyes that had a certain kind of
laughter in them. She pushed me out the door and we walked down the hill towards the
“I live on the eastside, actually. I work at an interior design firm, my friend Chad
She smiled and talked about what a nice night it was. I said it was really nice, and
it felt so insanely awkward and strange to be walking down to that beach with her, a
really nice and very pretty young woman. Very surreal, to feel the night air on my skin
and a good-looking warm-blooded stranger next to me. When we got to the beach she
started running. Not wanting to be a wet blanket I ran after her. We were in a remote part
of the beach a ways away from the rest of the party, who were all taking their clothes off
to run into the ocean. Shocked, I turned my eyes away from them, only to see her taking
she stripped to her bare skin. She ran into the water naked, and I took off my clothes
slowly as she shouted for me to come and swim. I eventually got them off and ran into
Everyone’s shouts sounded barbaric in the water. It was the sound of a relief of an
immense burden, the burden of being civilized, an invasion to the marrow of our beings.
An assault merciless and constant. I fell into the tumbling waves, feeling the hard cold
sting of the great primitive waters. She was laughing in the waves and the moonlight, and
I could see her bare beautiful skin and face smiling at me, knowing what I knew, feeling
39
the release of the confines at last, a release even from desire, since I didn’t want her or
anyone else at that moment, but I wanted to remember the sensation of nature washing
over me and surrendering to it with abandon, and I wanted to remember the feeling of
communion with another human, seeing and being seen, naked and unclothed, not hiding
We walked back to our clothes, naked, laughing insanely to each other. It was a
feeling I did not remember having before. And when we got back to our clothes we didn’t
put them on, but we laid down on the sand, feeling it on our bare skin and feeling the air
on our naked bodies, not touching each other and not wanting to. We talked about what a
wonderful night it was, how everyone should do this more often. The moon was large and
blowing. Big bright oranges all around me, suspended from trees, waiting to be picked. I
know somehow that I am in California. I wake up with a feeling of unbearable loss. Tears
on my face. I want something that is gone forever, or maybe never really existed.
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“Ralph, great news. I showed them the plans, the Beach Boys thing you came up
with, they loved it. They want us to do the Grand Avenue building, you know I’ve
“That’s good.”
“So you know what? I owe you a token of appreciation. It was partly your genius
that got us this job. I want to take you to a very special place tonight…”
downtown a block from city hall, among the muck and glory, waiting for my boss to join
me at the Joy Fuck Club, a name that made me nervous because I didn’t feel in the mood
for either. But I couldn’t let my boss down and he was a lonely old guy, strangely since
he had a couple kids and a wife and a very busy job, and I sometimes got the feeling that
I was the only person who didn’t depend on him and maybe that was why he felt
endlessly comfortable with me. He stepped off the monorail platform and walked towards
“You’ll like this. I had to order it from Mexico. It’s made from a plant that gives
you hallucinations. It’s really great stuff, but you have to go easy on it. Well, let’s go in
The place was bathed in a dark red light. We had a corner booth, roped off from
the noise of the bar and the strippers, and we were looking through the digital catalogue
of available talent which was intimidating and unbelievably diverse. They had black girls,
white girls, Asians, Hispanics, Eastern Europeans, Armenians, and a special section for
women with huge breasts. I chose a red-haired girl who wouldn’t look out of place in a
little Alpine village, and another one with brown hair and a very cute face. He chose a
black woman with huge breasts and a petite little Asian. I had no idea what we were
supposed to do when they got here. Robards leaned over to me with a smile.
I felt an attack of panic. This was incredibly strange. The redhead arrived first,
and she looked exactly like her picture. She was wearing a t-shirt and jeans. My heart
sped up rapidly.
I felt that schoolboy fear of being singled out for doing something naughty in
class. I nodded. She went over to the wall and took down a fold-out cot, gesturing to it
“Yeah, okay.”
42
(The way she sat on the corner of the bed, combing her hair. The way she used to
She took off her shirt and had no bra, just plain white breasts that were ample and
soft. She began to take off my shirt. Robards went over to the music console and put on
some music. Soon I was in nothing more than underwear and lying on my stomach. She
was massaging my back with oils when the black and the Asian arrived. I listened as he
groaned with pleasure and they teased and laughed with him. They obviously knew this
man well. He probably requested them every time. The brunette walked into our little tent
and she was very pretty. I was put on my back and both of the girls I had selected were in
their panties and petting and cooing over me. I didn’t know how to feel or what to do –
was this sexy or not? Then my underwear was down and they were taking turns on me
with their hands and mouths, and I was grabbing them and putting their wonderful breasts
in my face to hold like a pillow. I finished into a towel and they cleaned me up, then they
both sat around and played with me, still nude. Tickling, kissing, cuddling. It must be a
policy to stay with the guys after they finished because they wanted to feel the emotional
connection. I was exhausted and I appreciated their company, just looking at them, their
beautiful faces. Robards was groaning ridiculously next to me and I had no clue what
“Is there anything more we can do for you?” asked the brunette, bending down to
me like a nurse. I felt my arms reaching up to embrace her, which she obliged me.
“You’re so beautiful,” I said. “Thank you, thank you, you are so wonderful…”
The redhead kissed me on the lips and I felt pampered, loved, taken care of,
adored…Then they were gone and I was putting on my clothes. Robards finished with a
43
groaning climax and a long sigh, and then he started thanking them profusely. They
When the ladies left us we were relaxing on our cots with our clothes on. He
“Oh, sure.”
I reached over and took the bottle off the ground, then took a little sip of the
beverage. It was strongly fermented, smoky, woody and bitter. I coughed several times
As we were walking out of the place my head was spinning in the night air and
“Loneliness can find a man anywhere he goes, any time of the day or night,
Ralph. But if you’re busy and you’re occupied it might skip over you and go to the next
I nodded. He walked off to get his monorail and I stood there watching the traffic.
He was right, he was right. One had to stay busy. This society had wisely given us a
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Riding home on the monorail with my head against the window. A bottle in my
My grandfather against the window. The rain on the window and the smoke
curling up from the pipe. Always happy when he smokes. Lucky to have even him.
Mountain rain and fog. He knew it would be tough, the world changing. Land
disappears. Without the land, he said, without the land. What are we. What do we have.
The window and the rocking chair, Grandpa’s chair. “Raised by his grandparents.” The
way they talk, I know the way they talk at school at the PTA the kids the sad story, the
The way she looked in the afternoon, lounging in the bed. She loved to do it in the
afternoon, and lounging after. She stayed that way, naked all afternoon with her pot
smoking languid afternoon sun the smoke just rises and stays shadowed against white
Walking late at night in the city, new kid from nowhere, he’s a new kid at the
library I know they’re talking talking talking look at the country boy. Late nights walking
in the heat and the smoke and the grime. I know they want to rip me off. I want them to
try. I want them to think they can. Want to kill them all. Perfect excuse to be attacked. To
kill someone.
I sat in the apartment and turned on the system, and all five screens came on with
well drink some of the Salvacion. I poured a tall cup with ice. Its warm fire liquid flowed
into my throat and stomach as my song list started with the visuals on the digi-light
display. The first was some Greek folk song and the display gave me a show of circling
funnel-shaped lights that pricked my interest. The shapes and the fractal patterns twisted.
a boat arriving at a dock crowded with awaiters and loiterers and watchers myself
awaiting always awaiting the syrup works inside me my mind afire the giant sea rippling
and darkening beneath the heavy cargo dark freight a vanished life I am tied to the mast
passing an island with the sound of two beautiful women singing I cannot go lovely
carols of death the two sit beyond the rocky shore and I am alone on a giant boat a great
treachery of rocks separates me forever a shadow cloaked from head to foot sitting and
waiting for me eyes are burning blue orbs, growing larger and eternal always watching
me a beast with head of man and body of lion twisting in the desert los angeles in the
distance a tower on the sea-cliff pelted by wind and rain an old man crying at the
elements in his rage and fury spiritus mundi shackled to the cliff the daughters of the
46
ocean come with feet unsandaled they come to weep and see for me to await the
punishment eternal the prey of the infuriated new god waiting on the porch outside our
house in the mountains and jumping off feeling of free-fall the dread of falling without
the landing falling in suspended motion the ground approaching brian wilson went back
to the hawthorne house with his mother after he lost his mind on the airplane and had to
abandon the tour and they sat there the old house and he broke into tears adult and
horrified because of the pressure of being who he was supposed to be in this world and
the expectations and the past indifferent knowing how hard it would be for him it never
meant to come back to remind him this old house so innocent his mother holding him in
the car while he shook and cried a young man with a great burden charlie brown laying in
bed awake the perennial curse shultz the man behind the veil a lonely bard of childhood
and fear lincoln saddest of the kings of earth laconic master a face ancient and serene sad
for what he knew teacher with the stoniest of patience king arthur died betrayed an age of
glory passed away his deeds swept away and passed into myth these fragments I have
shored against my ruins my words will never pass away the electric window passing
through dividing digital and alone the caves of wonder and the modern technosphere the
private world interior world the desires mulholland on the bank staring at ruined st.
francis towering before him water having rushed and pushed through the dam until it
killed four hundred and the prometheus of los angeles was punished retired and went to
his grave not knowing why the dam failed “he brought water to this city” robards said to
me in reverence “two hundred miles through the desert they tried to stop him they
accused him of everything but he did the impossible anyway why? because it was his job
that’s all he was the water commissioner and what did they give him for it they
demonized him and when the dam broke nature took away what it had given so many
47
years ago” nature gives and it takes mother nature hardly a friend to man according to
robinson jeffers in his tower on carmel and if he could see it now his precious coastline
and his unspoiled nature – condos golf courses high-rises airports boats if mulholland
And then I was on my couch with the bottle next to me, half empty. Mind
exhausted.
JOE>: I need some help picking out a full system for my house. You know about
So I was at the mall at the seventeenth floor waiting for Joe who came sauntering
“No, I heard Microsoft has a cheap thing now. And they’ll install it free.”
“Joe, I have a question before you get into this - do you want to be in the shower
receiving ads? I mean a non-stop stream of them that you can’t turn off?”
He thought.
“If it means I can be in the shower and say the word ‘news’ and hear the latest
“Make it short.”
48
“Okay. The thing about being fully connected is that you can’t go back. Okay?
It’s like jumping off a cliff. You’re connected and then they’ve gotten their hooks into
you. The ads get aggressive and more and more frequent. The purchase quota gets higher
every month.”
“Ralph, you can say a couple of words into your vocal box, without lifting a
“Sometimes it’s a lot longer. This is a busy network, you know. And those
We were in the store now, surrounded with flashing, jumping visual entertainment
“The Sony system doesn’t crash as often. That’s just what I’ve heard.”
He laughed and we looked at the various systems, Joe deciding on one that would
track his movement through the apartment and tailor its ads to meet his interests of the
day. In the morning there would be breakfast and coffee advertisements, at lunch ads for
sandwiches etc., in the evening dating services and alcohol delivery. He wanted six
touch-screens, voice recognition and five thousand radio and movie channels with the
satellite system. The internet, or the system as people were calling it now, would be a
49
constant presence in his happy life. He insisted on the worldwide channels because he
“might be in the mood to watch a Russian talk show someday,” and God bless him, I
hope he enjoys that Russian talk show. The system would be delivered later that day.
So later we were getting off the pod-car by Venice and making our way to the
crowded beach, the locals on display selling the fruits of their freak-flag-waving lifestyle,
tattooed, weight-lifting, drumming in circles, screaming about God, the president, animal
rights, abortion, getting high, begging for weed, selling paintings of Jim Morrison and
promoting the Dionysian lifestyle at the westernmost edge of our deeply Christian nation.
The last fighters for the Greek way, the polytheists, the worshipers of Morrison and the
worshipers of nature herself, the unadorned Goddess of primal life, the merciless old
Gods.
We walked through them all, Joe amused at the strangeness, and I knew I could
never be one of these people but needed to know they were out here, needed to know
there was something older and more primal than this domesticated Christianity we were
given. This kind and easy father son holy ghost that didn’t leave room for the inherent
cruelty of nature who gave and took away, gave me life and took away the givers too
young before I could know them and before long I couldn’t even remember their faces or
the sounds of their voices, just hazy parental visions. I could not remember my
grandfather’s voice either as a matter of fact. Could not remember his face sometimes.
The red-haired girl from the party was walking down the beach. I looked at her,
embarrassed.
“That was really fun,” she said. “We should do it again sometime.”
Joe looked at me, shocked. He thought I was some kind of monk the way I’d been
“Ralph.”
She pointed down the beach at a group of girls and walked off.
And I told him the story. He listened with amusement and got out his pod, looking
her up.
“RedGirl17 is quite an attractive young lady, Ralph. Have you seen these
He handed me the pod, showing her profile. Raised in San Diego, an actress.
There were pictures of her with an arm around some guy. Probably dating three guys
right now. Always have a stable of backups in case one of them doesn’t pan out. I knew
I gave it back to him and ended it in my mind before it could even start, knowing
“You should go after her,” he said. “This is an incredibly good thing for you. She
I changed the subject to the old days back in school when I first met Joe. He was a
digital studies student, wanted to design digital interfaces, the wave of the future. When
was completely directionless and he kind of steered me toward his field, said there were
going to be jobs, jobs, jobs, which was completely true, and here I am designing digital
interfaces in the real estate market. Or at least spouting off ideas to my boss who
strangely held me on a pedestal which caused not a small amount of guilty “fraud”
syndrome. I knew I wasn’t very talented at the business and didn’t have half of his
enthusiasm but he had decided long ago I would be the son he never had.
Then we had to go because Joe’s system was being delivered. Not wanting to sit
in my apartment alone I waited with him while the guys came, chattering in Spanish, and
set up the system. It was more advanced than mine, an even newer model. When it was
finally done Joe tipped the guys and we sat and watched a Russian talk show.
Chad wanted to go to a party in Venice and forcibly dragged me, this time
physically threatened me if I didn’t go though I told him repeatedly I did not want to
stand around and make awkward conversation with some guy who’s making a movie on
shoestring budget or a girl in PR or someone who is the personal assistant to a major film
star, or any of the host of people who would bore me to tears and make me feel boring
52
myself…anyway, I was there on the monorail with him going to a place in the canals,
right on a mist-filled waterway and I was suddenly glad he had taken me though I
dreaded the presence of other people in a strained social situation. If I socialized at all I
wanted it to be fairly anonymous, faceless, and I wanted to have all the time in the world
The guy’s house was three-story narrow modern architecture and I think he was
an art collector, how Chad knew these people I had no idea. I had roughly three people I
interacted with regularly. But then again Chad was a child of Los Angeles and knew the
city like a well-connected cab driver. On a side note it is said that if you grow up Jewish
in LA you grow up with a bounty of film industry connections whether you need them or
not. You just have them. Chad’s not Jewish of course but I often wish I had grown up as
an LA Jew, if not for the connections than for the sense of history, of community, of
culture.
looking at the misty canal stretching out into the night. Chad came over with some uppers
in his hand.
What an ass. Who cared if I wanted to talk. I took one and felt my heartbeat
growing and a strange excited euphoria. I walked into the house through the people
towards the bathroom with a sudden intensified desire to pee, and locked myself in the
bathroom. My eyes looked red in the mirror and my hands were slightly shaking. As I
began to pee I heard a blood-curdling scream from the living room and a sound of chaos
and men yelling. Then the sound of pain from a woman, maybe several women. A
53
struggle. I stayed in the bathroom, terrified. My pod started blinking. It was Chad- Where
are you? I texted back in the bathroom and he wrote STAY THERE.
It wasn’t until a man yelled “HELP!” that my curiosity forced me out. I opened
the door just wide enough to see the blood on the floor, then, judging there was no
immediate danger, went cautiously into the room where several mangled bodies lay dead
on the floor. Blood spread in circles on the white carpet. A wild-eyed man was weeping
by the door.
I went outside in the yard where just a few people lingered, talking quietly.
They stood there stupidly, ignoring me. I tugged on a woman’s jacket. “Excuse
“I was in the bathroom. What happened? What happened?” I tapped her forcefully
on the shoulder.
“They took some paintings,” a guy intoned dully, not looking at me.
The guy nodded off in some direction. I called Chad and walked off onto the
pathway that led by the canal, lit with orange streetlights and obscured by heavy sea
mist.
“These guys, I think there were four of them, they came in and took a bunch of
paintings off the walls and stabbed a bunch of people, then they just left. They just
The uppers started to wear off, a grating feeling that left me tired and hollow as I
walked down the orange sidewalk with visions of bloody bodies on white carpet. I heard
a noise behind me and whirled around, terrified. It was a boat put-putting down the canal,
with four men sitting quietly, dark blood spots on their faces and clothes. Several large
sacks were in the boat, the square outlines of paintings. One of the men looked at me as
they passed. Our eyes met and I knew what they had done and they knew I was there, but
they moved on in the still dark water. I walked on towards the street, frozen inside,
having seen into the heart of the badness, the reckless meanness of greed.
Chad was on the street and we walked quietly to the monorail station. A gunshot
thundered on the street ahead of us, echoing and moving upward, ricocheting off the
towering skyscrapers. In the distance no police siren wailed and no caped crusader was
on his way.
Susan, we are so glad to have you back on the show after your last weight loss.
The last time you came on you were 613 pounds, correct?
The laser surgery got me down to 300, but I did gain a lot of it back through
eating and low activity. Then I had the stomach staple and got down to 250, but I gained
about a hundred pounds from eating again, and then I got depressed and went into a
spiral of out of control eating and eating and eating, and I am currently having an
And that is where they put electrodes on your brain to make you stop craving
certain foods.
You! I know you are sitting in front of your pod screen with five different ads
blaring at you, but right now I want you to look down at the floor! Yes, look at the carpet
under your feet! Not so clean, is it? That’s because you haven’t tried Zippy! The only
cleaner that gets rid of germs for good! For good! Repeat it after me! Zippy gets rid for
You’re young! You’re horny! You’re hot! I know you’ve tried all the other hot sex
and dating sights online but this one is completely different. Why? Because we force you
to go on dates – if you don’t, we charge you more. We know you need to be pushed out
the door. We know you won’t do it on your own. So that’s why we will not only find the
right person, but we’ll send a driver over to your house, take you out to meet that special
someone, and provide condoms, lubes, alcohol, anxiety meds, STD meds, erectile
Here at Pizza Boys, we know your appetites are big. We know the same old pizza
won’t fill you up like it used to. Pizza Boys presents the all new meatty meat pie, with
56
bacon, sausage, ham, and the most real-tasting synthetic beef you’ve ever had! This pizza
weighs over twenty pounds! This ain’t your uncle Guido’s Pizza Pie! It is literally huge
we are so glad to have you erectile assistance back on the show after your last
weight loss. The last time bacon, sausage, ham you came 410 you’re uncle Guido’s Pizza
I was.
Yes, of myself…
got me, but I hot sex and dating did gain a lot of it back through eating and most
real-tasting low activity. Then I had the This pizza stomach staple Not so clean, is it and
got down to 250, but pounds from eating again, and then I got depressed and Pizza Boys
presents went into a spiral of out of control eating and eating feminine hygiene products-
And that is where they put electrodes completely different on your brain to make
You! I know you electrode meatty meat experiment are pod screen with five
different ads Susan, blaring at you, The laser surgery but right now I want you to look
You’re hot! down at the floor! Yes, look at the carpet under your feet!? That’s because
you down to 300 haven’t tried Zippy! The only cleaner but over to your house we’ll send
57
a driver we charge you more that gets rid STD meds germs for good! For good! Repeat it
after me! for good! Zippy you won’t do it gets rid I gained about a hundred for good!
You’re young lose the weight?! I know you’ve tried all the other sights online but
this one is. Why? synthetic beef because to go on dates – if you don’t,. We know you need
to be same old pizza pushed out the door. We know on your own. So Zippy gets rid that’s
why we will not only, , take you out to stop craving meet that special someone, and won’t
Here certain foods at Pizza Boys, you were 613 pounds find the right person we
know anxiety meds your appetites are big. We know the like Yes, Sharla it used to. the all
new pie, I am very proud with, and the you’ve ever had! weighs over twenty pounds! This
ain’t your
contact. Couldn’t sleep again and completely out of dormapril so I went walking in the
grime and heat. The paved pantheon of the homeless and the destitute and the runaways.
Down on the street they lived in elaborately constructed boxes, tents and bush-disguised
hideaways. They sat together and drank from dark and dirty bottles. A woman in a car sat
in front of an apartment complex and honked repeatedly, waiting for someone. Beeeep.
One one thousand, two one thousand. Beeeep. One one thousand, two one thousand.
Beeeeep. Ad nauseum. I walked and walked through grey streets, tired of the box, too
dumbly in my being pent. My limbs were sore with inactivity, my mind swimming with
torpor. I passed a little Armenian café and stopped. Inside a small group of old Armenian
men were drinking coffee out of little espresso cups and talking loudly with great
58
animation while a TV showed a soccer game on the wall. A hookah stood in the middle
of the table and one of them took a deep drag out of its long winding hose. Then he put it
down, eyes glazed over happily, with the mouth-piece facing away from him, and leaned
An old Mexican woman with a grocery cart walked slowly down the sidewalk,
bathed in semi-orange light and intermittent car-beams from the passing whoosh of the
traffic. Her face was canyoned and notched with time, skin leathered and parched. She
the steps I heard the sound of a woman singing a sad old Russian song. Several old
women and a family sat in the pews reverently bowing their heads or gazing straight
ahead. I sat on the steps outside the church and listened. Maybe I would call that red-
haired girl. Delia. It required a great deal of energy to live one’s life alone.
“The suspect is now going south on the 5 towards the 210 freeway and we’re up
above with the sky cam. Now Lisa, what do you think is going through his head right
now?”
“Well, Frank, let’s keep in mind that he has been on the run for about forty-five
minutes now. I have covered over fifty of these and typically there is a pattern for these
kinds of suspects. In the first ten to twenty minutes they are frantically driving around,
running stop lights, going down alleys, changing directions rapidly, there’s probably
only one police car behind them, and they’re really trying to escape. But here we have
him in the forty to fifty minute point, and he’s on the freeway. He’s really in the middle
59
period of this chase now, there are at least ten patrol cars behind him, he’s settled into a
“And just to remind our viewers, the suspect has allegedly stolen this vehicle.”
“That is correct, and here he is going east on the 210 heading towards
Pasadena.”
evening.”
“Absolutely correct, Frank – he would have had a lot of trouble staying on the 5,
“No, but it does look like there are two of them in the automobile. Oh, now it
seems as if shots are being fired by the passenger towards the police.”
“We seem to be having trouble with our satellite feed, so we will come back to
this story when we get that back. But now returning to our original story of the hostage
situation in South Los Angeles. To remind our viewers, this is a man who had taken his
estranged daughter and wife hostage in their home several hours ago. We have John
“I’m here, Frank. And we have an unfortunate ending to this situation. According
to police, negotiations broke down and the man became violent, shouting and generally
acting in an unstable manner. Much to the horror of the police and family members,
“John? John, we’ve lost you. Alright, we will continue to track this situation and
we will bring viewers up to speed as soon as we have information. But now, a word from
our sponsors...”
60
Robards was having a staff party at his house. I caught a ride with Chad because it
was off the grid, in a part of Beverly Hills inaccessible to mass transport. We entered a
gated community which was the only place anyone with a house ever lived anymore, a
place I would most likely never reside. Chad flashed his thumbprint and the recognition
took a couple minutes, during which time cars piled on behind us, waiting impatiently.
Probably doctors and lawyers coming home to their mansions. Once in the compound we
rolled alongside house after house of old Beverly Hills glamour, a fantasy world. I was
happy for them. They had managed to successfully shut out the real world and I hoped
they could keep it up as long as possible, because once it came in it wouldn’t go away. I
bet a lot of these older residents didn’t have the media systems and the pods. They had
their servants and they played bridge and drank iced tea by the pool. It sounded like a
nice life. I should’ve found a way to work as a pool boy or a house sitter for one of these
families.
Mexicans mowed immaculate lawns and planted flowers on their hands and knees
while Security Guards traversed the community’s streets slowly in private cars. The sky
was blue. The grass was green. I rolled down the window just to smell the green of the
grass. When we pulled into Robards’ house he was standing out in front with a beer.
The valet took the car and drove off. Robards extended a big hand to me as I
approached. We shook and he led us inside. The space was cavernous and decadent,
flowery meadows, and desert islands shifting on his walls. Tasteful piano music played
61
softly through an invisible and ubiquitous stereo system. A stairway led up to a second
floor balcony.
“Everybody’s out in back,” Robards gestured. Chad went out there and I was left
“Yes.”
He bounded up the stairs with the strength of a man half his age and led me down
a long semi-lit hallway past several bedrooms and bathrooms to a pantry at the end of the
hall. We got in and he flipped on the lights. There was a screen encircling us and stereo
speakers lining the walls. He went over to a small control panel and turned a few levers.
A desert island arose around us, with moving waves and the sounds of birds chirping.
The image was even below us on the floor, which functioned as a screen. The ceiling
screen showed the boundless blue above, flecked with clouds. A dolphin jumped
languidly out of the glistening waves and birds flew by us in holographic 3D, so real I
almost ducked. Even the warm desert wind blew softly upon our faces.
I followed his gaze to the control panel and took the remote out of its little cradle
“This,” he said, holding it up like the holy grail, “is a machine of beauty. Watch.”
He pulled up a menu on the opposite wall and scrolled down the “women”
Two women appeared, one blonde and one brunette, lounging in beach chairs next
to us, in very skimpy bikinis. They were totally lifelike, without any of that digital sheen
of the primitive digi-technology. They looked over at us and giggled like schoolgirls.
They oiled each other up with suntan lotion, then the brunette reached back and untied
her bikini top, letting it fall to the sand. Her breasts shone in the sun, arching and leaping
skyward.
“Wow. I’ve never been in one of these rooms. This is amazing, Mr. Robards.”
“Sure!”
Some calypso music began to play and they both got up and approached me,
I danced but it felt strange in front of Robards. Being alone would be okay, but
“It cost me a fortune, so if you ever want to come over and use it, feel free. I need
He turned off the whole program with one click and we walked into the hallway
towards the horror of real life. I passed a room where a woman was laying on a couch
Becca, a loud overweight woman in her mid-forties I rarely saw because I usually work
from home. She eventually got around to the subject of her ex-husband, a favorite topic
(along with pets) of fat office rats in their forties who live in studio apartments in air-
conditioned buildings where they’ve lived at least a decade and spent all their time on the
web looking for animals to adopt or cruising singles sites eyeing prospective mates with
incredibly high standards, rejecting most of them on sight for being too much like an
annoying guy they dated five years ago who rode a motorcycle or had a teenage son or
wanted to move in too fast, and eventually settling on the comfort of animals who don’t
speak and rely on their owner for their very existence, amounting to a life of semi-
solitude and an inability to accurately judge their own faults because they are never
contradicted or judged by a living being in their home lives. I looked at Becca with quiet
loathing as she yapped and yipped and squawked on and on and on – “then he wanted to
have kids and I’m like why do you want kids when you can’t even get off the couch and
take out the trash, so I stopped having sex because he got into this mood where he only
wanted to have sex, and never do anything else, and he criticized me for gaining weight,
but I was like look at you, dude, you have a beer gut, that is a beer gut and you want to
know why? because you don’t do nothin’ besides sittin’ around watchin’ the net…”
64
And she went on. People flipped burgers on the barbecue and fished beers out of
the ice chest, pretending to laugh at Becca’s stories, and I saw Robards by himself over
by the pool, holding a beer and staring off into nothingness, Gatsby-esque and sad,
bathed in rippling blue pool light, disconnected or disinterested, and I felt very sad for
him, sad for all of us, because we didn’t even know how to get together and have fun and
do something real or even communicate. And the worst of all was that if Robards
couldn’t be happy than who of us could? With all of his money and his gadgets, what
went wrong? And if our culture couldn’t make us happy and fulfill our needs, whatever
they were, whose culture would do that for us? It was impossible, near horrifying that we
were stuck where we were and there was no escape, even in a gated community there was
that he has been on the run for. story of the over We seem to be having daughter
and wife trouble fifty of these and typically there is a pattern for. In the first ten to twenty
minutes when the police entered the house in an unstable manner Well, Frank, let’s keep
in mind running stop lights, in the middle period hostage situation going down alleys,
with our satellite feed, so we will come back to hostage this story. John? But now
Quick News Alert!>: Sex slave probed in Ventura County. Thirteen-year-old girl
trapped in mobile home with older man for two years, raped repeatedly…More news
later!
65
I was downtown looking for the place Robards had recommended, down in the
underground mall. This place was surreal –a labyrinth of shopping pods that were
movable and interchangeable and open twenty-four hours a day, not to mention
completely removed from sunlight so one never had an idea what time of the day it was.
It was crowded this day and I passed the coffee pod that I liked to order my drinks from,
a long line snaking out of it with business men like sardines waiting for the caffeine fix.
A little grocery place, quaint, sat in a rented pod hole selling the increasingly rare fresh
oranges, bananas, and apples, along with sandwiches and corn syrup beverages. It
wouldn’t be in business long, since people just didn’t eat fruit anymore. For a long time
people complained about the lack of fresh fruit but they just got used to flavored corn
that no one remembered anymore what it was to taste a fresh apple and probably didn’t
I passed a hot food producer/delivery place, a large one that fed much of the
downtown and outlying areas, and recognized one of the delivery guys that had brought
me the occasional burrito. Eventually I made it to the place Robards had recommended –
Simulations Inc. Apparently they had anything you wanted and their virtual worlds were
more realistic than the other places. I went in and signed my name and waited like it was
a doctor’s office. The whole thing was supposed to feel clinical, like a necessary
experience for one’s personal health. And who knows, maybe it was just as important as
a checkup. Meanwhile I looked at the catalogue with the available virtuals – there was a
wasn’t interested in the sexy side of things, and besides there were better places to go if
that’s what you were into. Finally I found what I wanted and filled out the form, dropping
66
it in the slot. I went back to my seat and waited. When the girl at the counter called my
name I followed her down the hallway into a comfortable room where I sat in a chair
with straps on my hands and feet – sensation straps they call them. I drank the powerful
intoxicant fluid she gave me and felt nice and relaxed. It was mandatory, to make sure
you experience the pleasant. Then the girl put the head mask on me and asked if I had
any questions before my session started. No questions, thank you. Enjoy your session…I
had signed up for the half hour and wondered if I would get bored. Robards assured me
As soon as the girl left the whole thing started. I was where I had pictured myself
– the mountains green and misty, sloping downwards to a lake. It wasn’t exactly like the
real thing, but it was as close as I would ever get. The place I had grown up didn’t exist,
at least not in any form I would recognize. It was a private condominium community
now, and my grandfather’s mountain house was long since torn down.
The smell was earthy and wet and I felt the ground soft under my feet as I walked
down to the lake. Fog was spreading through the woods silently and the birds flapped and
chirped above me in the trees. It was totally absent of human residue. I got to the lake and
sat on a log listening to the present silence; not just an absence of sound but the presence
of silent things– trees, earth, grass, the lake. The water lapped against the shore while I
gazed. A few ducks floated on the quiet glassy surface. For several moments I was
When the session ended I sat in my chair, unable to move, wanting more than life
itself to go back into the world I had come from. Wanting to immerse myself again.
When I took off the mask I noticed my face was wet, and how about that I’d been crying
for the first time in how long? That was the thing about dormapril, that it was supposed to
67
take care of those messy emotions that got in the way of happiness. Sometimes, though,
the drug wasn’t strong enough to stop what came up from the recesses. All it took was a
reasonable facsimile of a place from long ago that wasn’t there anymore. It was probably
good, I reasoned, walking out into the crowded stream of shoppers. It was most likely
healthy to go through this, to exercise those parts of my mind to make sure they were still
there.
when she sleeps, the way she breathes…rising with each breath, eyes closed,
unconscious, dark hair on white skin. She sleeps so deep… the way she sleeps when she
My mind exhausted from a project with Robards, correcting and redoing the plans
at client’s request, and listening to ads and ads and ads, cruising the webcams, eating too
much delivered pizza and seriously contemplating going to a digi-sex place downtown.
Neighbors having a party or something, don’t they know the fucking rules in this place?
They know it’s professionals only, if they want to have a social life they can go live in
one of the hippie communal places in Hollywood that Joe was telling me about. Muscles
in torpor again I decided to meet Joe at his place, arriving quietly and sitting while he told
stories.
“So after Shelley, which I told you about, I started fucking around with-”
“I told you, man. She had two other fuckfriends, one was a guy I knew and the
“That was the agreement, right? You were both doing that.”
68
“I know, but there are a few unwritten rules about this, that everyone should
know, and if they don’t, they shouldn’t cruise with multiple partners. One of them is you
do not fuck within social groups, meaning no one I am friends with or work with, or
anything like that. And secondly, you don’t tell the person repeatedly about the other
partners. She would be all ‘Jed screwed my brains out last night’ or she’d be like ‘Mona
ate me out so nice, I was in fuckin’ heaven.’ That’s not classy, that’s not cool.”
“It usually doesn’t upset me, dad. I’ve been doing this for as long as I can
“So I told Shelley it was getting too weird and I didn’t want to know what Jed
was doing to her, because I had to see him at work. So then I met this fine little latina girl
Marina, she’s Guatemalan or something. You should see her ass. I’ll introduce you
sometime.”
so I had to defend the idea – “don’t interesting people sometimes hang out at bars?”
He turned on his brand new network he was so proud of, and pulled up his social
system.
“This is cool, check this out…you go to the girls, and you can see fifteen of them
at a time. You can see who else they’re talking to also. How about this blonde chick,
He clicked on Jess and it pulled up her stats – single, 24, ad clerk, and she was
“I think I know this guy Geoffrey,” he said, and pulled up his picture.
wedding with that guy. He’s cool. Let’s request a chat with Jess.”
He requested it and a minute later she came up on the screen, on a sofa looking at
us.
“Hi, Joe, welcome to the party. Say hi to my friends Geoffrey, Jen and Cynthia.”
“Hey guys, what’s up? I’m here with Ralph – get in the picture, Ralph, it doesn’t
cousin.”
Pleasantries were exchanged and the conversation never really got too
stimulating, until Geoffrey took out a little glass pipe and started smoking something out
of it.
“Yes it is. It’s a shame you couldn’t be here to have some of it.”
“I don’t see why we couldn’t all be there,” Jen said, against all acceptable rules of
net discourse. When talking to strangers it was never okay to suggest physically meeting
up with someone. It was too hard and it was creepy, and it implied you wanted some
“What are you suggesting, Jen?” Joe asked, obviously hoping to add her to his
roster.
“Over here in Marina del Rey. It’s right off the pod car Beach line, stop 32. I can
“I think that’s a great idea,” Jess said, and pretty soon we were all arranging a
love-fest on the beach. Joe and I went out and grabbed a pod car and pretty soon we were
sailing over the city lights, past the little boxes where the sad little men and women lived
their lives of quiet desperation. But we were young and by God we would go out of our
homes to touch the earth and the sea and make love with beautiful young women. For
some reason I didn’t do this sort of thing until someone dragged me. The world was too
full of things that would break you down, I knew, and it couldn’t get you if you were
hiding. But as long as Joe was going on a ridiculous quest to meet some strangers on a
Geoffrey lived in a flat on the beach, backyard up against the sand, and the girls
were there soon and smelled like sex and heartbreak and the sea wind blew strong against
us as we moved silently towards the crashing ancient throb of ocean, the smoke hit my
lungs and burned and the sand was soft as everything disappeared, and a few stars were
visible here on the perimeter to my ignorant civilized eyes, and Joe was off with one of
the girls walking, and I ran up to get him to tell him I was leaving, looking ridiculous like
I had to tell my chaperone, I told him I had to work in the morning, perfect excuse, and
he looked like he was worried about me…riding home at last, escaped at last.
Going home, orange-lit streets and buildings half-disguised in sea-mist, gray and
sleeping city. I waited at the mid-city transfer station looking down on an empty parking
lot, and there’s something much lonelier in an empty lot than, say, an empty forest,
because it’s nothing but cement, and nothing growing or alive at all, and this is where the
modern emptiness comes from, that my screens and the system and the network are
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vacant of life, no ghost in the machine. There is nothing there behind the touch-screens or
the digitized voices or the automated responses – just a computer code, a sequence of
numbers and commands, but always a human need for original response, not just man’s
own love back in copy-speech, not just a mere mocking echo in digital 3D stereo
Holding me as I shook and wet her shirt the salt-stained cheeks, cried away the
time, the loss. Holding my head mother-like, a terrible need in me. The ugly grief, the
horrid void inside. Her hands on my hair and my face, the healing hands. My presence,
Few days later I was at the beach, the great last stand of nature before she falls to
the bulldozers. The sun was sinking blazing orange red and bleeding over the western
Hiking with my Grandfather at the crest of the mountain, sun setting over the
canyon, his face placid and saintlike in the evening, not many years left, and he looked
like Lincoln.
The beach was dark soon, and the ad screens had flown home for the night along
with the people, gone to the safety of their air-conditioned homes. I sat, long and long,
Dream: I am on a boat, looking over the side, above a swirling ocean far from
land. Something calls me to jump into the water and I feel my fear drifting away. Nothing
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to stop me from making the leap because I know I’ll be able to swim forever, as I am
Chad wanted to hang out at the magnificent LA River which had undergone
waterfront. The restaurants along the river were crowded with outdoor diners and the
walkways were strolling along nicely with the young and the restless. Chad and I got
good and drunk at a bar overlooking the water since the serious gray-haired bartender
kept giving us free shots and Chad kept calling him “Good Sir” like a British aristocrat
until I started laughing from the alcohol and the silliness of the whole thing. He filled our
shot-glasses with Jagermeister time and time again while making amazing sloe gin fizzes
in a blender that were frothy and infused with fruit. I looked around drunkenly after about
an hour and saw that the place was full of fit, well-dressed, well-groomed men. Oh my
God, my thought process finally took into account – this is a gay bar and this guy thinks
we’re just a couple of happy gay guys out on a date. Is this what they do in gay bars?
“Yes?” the bartender replied, sounding gay now that I thought about it. He leaned
two arms on the counter, looking directly into Chad’s eyes, which was more than I could
handle, so I stumbled, giggling to myself, to the bathroom where two young men were
“You caught us! Oh my God. Now we’ll have to give you some.”
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“Special K.”
I snorted the stuff and felt great, forgetting they were gay and getting comfortable.
“Uh…what’s that?”
I walked through the increasingly menacing bar to Chad, where he was sitting and
having a conversation with the bartender, presumably flirting to get more drinks.
“Let’s go.”
“What?” His look was one of outrage. How could I make him leave this
Walking out of the bar I tried to explain to him that these men, these
homosexuals, wanted to do a train ride, whatever that was, and they gave me drugs to
seduce me, but my words started getting tangled and the syntax got scrambled until he
looked at me like I had turned into a locust. Then he wanted to take a boat ride down the
river so we went to the dock my feet not touching the ground feeling light as a feather.
“Chad,” tapping his shoulder. “They gave me some drugs. That’s why I’m acting
weird.”
So we went to a booze cart to get some highballs as they were called in the old
days, I believe something with lime and gin and soda water, and I told Chad of my
experience in the bathroom to which he replied that I needed some soothing time on the
Los Angeles River. We went on the boat, really nothing more than a booze cruise that
made strategic stops at all the major bars on the river. We were on the boat with a
midwest family and some Mexican teenagers making out with their girlfriends. The river
my laughing while Chad was on the phone with someone making plans to meet on the
boat.
At our next stop two Indian girls got on the boat, friends of Chad, and sat down
“My friend snorted some drugs with some gays in a bathroom,” he said. “So he
“I wish you’d saved some for us,” Maya said with devilish humor. She then
passed the joint around to us all. The night air was breezy and warm and delicious, the
scent of sage coming from somewhere. The girls, sisters, chatted lightly with us, pleasant
and unassuming. I was entirely comforted so when they asked us to come back to their
apartment I wholeheartedly agreed. Chad looked at me unbelievingly. We got off the boat
down by their apartment and got in the elevator going up to the twenty-second floor,
where their apartment sat next to a monorail station, neon orange lights flashing into their
windows. The walls were rife with Hindu paintings, old-fashioned non-digital prints of
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Shiva meditating calmly and garden scenes of ancient Hindu priests walking around…
incense filled up the small apartment and drifted out the open windows. They had a large
bed in the studio apartment that I sat on as they put some Indian marijuana in a pipe to
pass around. They didn’t have a system at all, so I didn’t know what they did for
entertainment.
They lived by the river and they went down to the river all the time to hang out
and laugh at the river trash and the weirdoes and they had met Chad at some charity event
they both did, which was strange because charity events were something I had no
understanding of. They gave us tea and good things to smoke and they were both very
beautiful, but Chad and I got tired and got up to leave eventually. Standing at the
monorail station I felt warm and good, and I knew that people were all around me, living
and sleeping and drinking and having sex or arguing or eating popcorn or whatever they
I fell asleep easily that night and forgot to take my dormapril, and the next
morning I couldn’t find it. I decided rather hastily to not look for it and see what
happened if I stopped. This was a major life decision, but I suddenly had the feeling that
Dream: The women are dancing on the mountain top. I have followed the king to
the tree where he looks out at the wine-fueled madness. He has banished the new God
from his kingdom but there will be vengeance. The king’s own mother and his aunt tear
him to pieces, thinking he is an animal. The new God laughs. The king dies on the field
I went out walking in the late night to get some air and contact with other humans,
and found myself on a corner by a bus stop where a bunch of Mexicans were crowded by
a food cart, the smell of roasting meat rising in the warm air. I stood a head above them
and waited my turn, then ordered some of what everyone else was eating, which turned
out to be a taco of some sort, with a pile of juicy seared beast-flesh sending heat vapors
up into the air. I went to a table of red and green sauces, onions and cilantro, limes,
peppers, salt, and poured some of everything on my tacos. I sat on an egg-crate next to an
old leathery man in a cowboy hat and ate my concoction, the sauces dripping out of my
mouth onto my chin and burning my lips and tongue. It was a beautiful burn.
After I unplugged the system I sat in my apartment for awhile, listening to the
hum of the air-conditioner and the lights. No sound. My pod was off, sitting on the table
in the living room. I left the apartment and walked to the monorail in the warm autumn
afternoon of the LA Indian summer. Some fires were burning up in the valley where there
was still grass and shrubbery to burn, so the sky was orange and the air was oven-like. I
sat in the air-conditioned monorail as we flew over the Silverlake hills and down towards
Koreatown, in the canyons of the skyscrapers. The sun slowly sank in the west while we
took our flight to the ocean and the sky was a brilliant, glowing dream.
On the beach I took off my shoes and put my feet in the sand. The last of the sun
melted on the flat, gray Pacific. I walked to the waves and felt calm and aware, washing