My hands found warmth in my jacket pockets as I searched for shelter from the cold streets of China town. I heard the whispers of the many stray cats as I passed and began to quicken my stride when I noticed they were following me. Their numbers were growing and their whispers turned to shouts. My walk became a furious jog and I quickly cut the corner under the towering red arches. I watched with relief as they passed the junction failing to notice my change in direction. I continued my walk and soon placed my hand on a cold brass door handle and entered my favorite drinking hole.
The bartenders did not speak English there and I liked it that way. There was no one there to bother me with idle banter, allowing my mind to sink into a dark, repellant chasm, void of good deeds and pleasant thoughts. I approached the bar and sat my body down on a familiar red stool. Its seat reminded of ripped flesh as my weight caused its foam cushion to spill out like oozing guts from its red covering. I exchanged a quick glance with the bartender and I soon began to pour alcohol down my throat in an effort to drown the desire for female company. As I sat there wasted, pondering the depths of time, two young men entered the bar and sat across from me. Their hair was long and the beards patchy in a feeble attempt at masculinity. They were dressed in black with plaid flannel shirts and wore jewelry around their necks and fingers. They looked like me but were nothing like me. A strange sense of anxiety began to plague me and I lowered my head and starred at the counter.
The young men ordered a couple of PBR’s and handed their credit card over to the ancient palm of their bartender. They laughed all night and excitement gripped them as they spoke of the history Varg Vikrenes and Mayhem. I did not feel well, my body trembled and my head began to spin. I got up from the stool and held on to the counter to keep my balance. Something was wrong. There were things there that should not be, and the paradox had smashed my thought. I walked to the bathroom, unzipped my pants and took a leak that ceased to end. I felt as if I was on another world. Still the Earth but a variable Earth like you read in fiction. A world where Dave Mustaine was never kicked out of Metallica and Blue Grape made shirts that fit human beings and not apes.
I gathered my senses and returned to my seat. Streams of beer poured down my chin like the once flowing canals of Mars and I gestured to the bar tender to keep them coming. I listened to more of their conversation as I waited for my drink. My beer was placed in front of me and I lifted my head in gratitude to the barkeep. “Aleister Crowley is the most wicked man that ever lived!” one of the men proclaimed and he raised his glass in honor. My hand squeezed at my beer, crushing the can. Beer and blood ran down my wrist and dripped to the floor. My body slowly turned like a crypt keeper until my eyes were upon them. “You’re wrong” I said. Both men looked at me. Their eyes opened so wide that the sides of their lids began to tear. “Crowley is not the most wicked man that ever lived. My dad is!”
To be continued.....
No comments:
Post a Comment