The ZID Chapters, Part II

[The Urbane Spaceman]

Forgive me. It's just that I make each Martini fresh, not a pitcher-full of them.

It's actually a lot of fun; the ritual, you know, and I think it lends a bit of class to these murky walls.



*ahem*


The shadow grew larger and I wondered, "Will he have a pistol or a baseball bat? Brass knuckles or a broomhandle?"


I looked down at the carpeting and saw that the roaches were crawling over my boots.


That was what woke me up.



Damned fool.



I could still hear Joey making all kinds of "Bluurgghh! Yerk! Plbbtbtbt!" noises way off in early morning light, and it was to them I turned.



Damn did it feel like slow motion. Maybe time had sped up and I was trapped like a bubble in a sea of pre-mead honey? The voice form down the hallway, but closer, shouted at me.


It said, "Imma bout to shoot you!"



It was the sound a large, older woman with a deep voice makes, when she is giving birth to a buttbaby.


How anticlimactic.



Now I felt bad. We had busted up the door to the home of someone who had a gun, but she was very slow to draw it.




Of course, it was no time to sit around and have tea with her.



But it kinda stuck with me.



As I ran off, giggling form adrenlaine and ZID, and also, shivering form her infestatious abode, I made amends in my own mind.

We'd make it right.


I promised myself.



And do you know,


I was an asshole.


We never made amends to her.




I went looking for Joey



(gonna do some drinking now. THis will be continued soon, promise)


.

[The Urbane Spaceman]

One Side of an Inappropriately Public Conversation
(the dark side of mobile phonies)

Hi, it’s me.
…
…
…
…

I know. The cats again. It’s always the same thing. Well you keep SAYING that, but I tried to tell you. No, expectorant. It’s for phleghm. Look, we’ll talk about that later.

Oh god, not again. Tell him if he tries that one more time, I’ll come around to his place and make him regret it. Yes, alright, if Joey’s screaming then- WHAT WAS THAT? It sounded like a bomb going off. Oh.

You DIDN’T. Why? Not again! I mean, after the last time? Why?

I really wish that you’d tell me when you’re going to do that, because it pisses off Ian to no end, and then I have to go and apologize. And you know how Ian is. Yes. Exactly. So would you stop that. It doesn’t help the situation at all.

Well, I don’t know what size. Ask them what she wears. Yes, I’ll be there. It’s not like I’d miss that.

No, I can’t bring home some milk, I’m in Pensacola waiting for my flight. What? You thought I was here already? How could I be here already when it’s a five-hour flight! Yes, EASTERN time, that was what the text meant.

I guess. I don’t mind if he does that, but keep an eye on him. Things could get out of control. She did? Well that’s great. Ok honey-buns, I gotta go, they just called my flight.

Yes. Love you. Bye.

[mistah willies]

Heheheheeee!


Wait, thought that Joey dude had bugs all over him? Who's Ian?


looks like lan


lan connection?

lanline?

[The Urbane Spaceman]

Who's Ian?

Player 3 has entered the game!

[mistah willies]

Who's Ian?

Player 3 has entered the game!

Good enuff!

But make yerr own thread!


Prosit! Slainte! DRINK!

[The Urbane Spaceman]

Good enuff!

But make yerr own thread!

I am my own thread. I'm the urban spaceman, baby.

"Are you on the night shift?"

I AM THE NIGHT SHIFT.

.

[Palinka (RIP)]

...I'm the urban spaceman, baby....

Then you ought to be aware, as the last line in the song has it, you don't exist.

[booznik]

...I'm the urban spaceman, baby....

Then you ought to be aware, as the last line in the song has it, you don't exist.

But the glossy Magazine does. Amen.

I wonder who Ian is, though.

[mistah willies]

So, is there any more to this tale or what? We should find out about this lan. Maybe he knows. Probably something ethernet, I mean, ethereal




.

[The Urbane Spaceman]

The young punk rocker scrubbed his skin in the swimming pool. He was naked. He dug at his ear canals and blew snot rockets out. He was expelling tiny cockroaches from his orifices.

The mountains to the east hid a whole day over on their other side. The valley nestled in gloom, dank, even, as the mist of the evening crept down sidewalks in the gutters, and hid beneath the hedgerows.

Another day, about to start.

To do what? How would we cause more chaos? I wasn't our intention to be chaotic. Perhaps such a thing latches onto certain folks and follows them about, leaving a trail of mayhem in their wake.


Joey dove under the water to retrieve his clothing, where he chucked each article in a pile on the concrete deck.


He found his boots and then he was done.

I said, "Does this sort of thing usually happen on this ZID?"

He shook his head and snatched up his sodden garments. "First time."

I grabbed his boots and his leather and we headed to the apartment. He said, "We still need to break in. I hope I don't get caught like this."

"Joseph, why don't you just put these all back on?" I said, and held out his boots to him.


He shook his head again. "Fuck that. These are going straight into the laundry kiosk. I'm gonna bake my boots, too, and my jacket."

I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. Baking his boots? His leather jacket? Hah? I wondered how that would make the apartment smell. How would you know when they were done? No need to burn your boots and all...


We reached the apartment, our true apartment, because the sky began to glow with a hint of deep orange and this changed the mood lighting. Soon, the burnt orange would melt into bright pastels of morning light, like flavors of sherbet. Neighbors would be heading off to work. Mostly blue collared, their work hours started quite early, to get stuff done before the heat of the desert in the afternoon.


Joey grabbed at the doorknob and then jumped back, dropping his clothing. He said, "ARRRGHH!" and danced about, holding his right hand in his left. It was quite a sight, you know.


I laughed because that was the way I was: it was funny if it wasn't me in pain. I slapped my thighs and laughed out loud and saw someone standing at the end of the walkway in my peripheral. I swung about and saw a boy of about ten, straddling his Huffy bike, newspaper in hand, frozen in mid-throw.

He was watching one man dancing about naked, grunting in pain, and another one laughing. This was not the normal course for his day, one might surmise.

I said, "Hi there. We don't get the paper."

He nodded at the door behind me, the one to our neighbors' place, and I said, "Oh."


He set the folded up newspaper down on the ground and slowly back up on his bike. He turned the handlebars and then hopped up on the seat and he was gone.

Joey grimaced and rubbed the palm of his right hand. "That fucking hurt, Urb. Like it went right to the bones!"

I bent over and looked at the doorknob. Suddenly, it made sense. If you recall, from the start of the ZID Chapters, we had left the key in the doorknob the previous night. Joey had found our missing key.

I opened the door and went on in. A fridge full of ice cold beer called to me, for I had become parched from the early morning festivities.


I cracked open a fresh one, then I heard Joey talking to someone outside. Who would be up at this hour, talking with Joey? I went and peeked around the corner. Joey stood outside clutching his clothing, his boots, and his jacket all in a ball, naked as a jailbird.

I peeked a bit further, and saw that he was talking to our neighbor, Manny. Joey nodded and then backed into our apartment and closed the door. He turned around and said, "That Manny got an eyeful of me when I was picking up my gear. I coulda used a hand out there Urb."

I chuckled. I said, "Manny would give you a hand."

Joey muttered something under his breath, probably "Fuck You." He tossed his clothes in the bathtub and then went into his bedroom.

He came back out fully clothed again and headed to the fridge. Beer. Indeed.


ZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZID


We sat across from each other at the table, cigarettes in hand.

"Did that really happen?" I said, flicking my ash into the saucer and then taking a deep drag.


Joey nodded. He said, "You know that the cops will be involved, if they aren't already."

I said, "We owe her a new door."


Joey snorted. He said, "Fuck that shit. Fucking cheap-ass doors. This place sucks. They owe her a new door."


I recalled her voice. She was older, and she said that she had a gun. She was going to shoot us. How close had we come to getting shot? That ZID stuff had a strange effect: it removed you from reality. It was as if everything happening to you was happening to someone else. You were an observer, removed by one.

You were a passenger, not the driver. You were along for the ride.


That frightened me. I considered that I would have to keep an eye on that if I was going to continue downward on this trippy path. You understand, I had made up my mind that I would continue on, and explore this strange new landscape. It was like a walk on the moon or something. Exciting, but dangerous. Put those together, and I'm your man.

I am the Urbane Spaceman.


(to be continued)




.

[mistah willies]

Well theyah. Now don't let months go by for the next bit, will ya?

[The Urbane Spaceman]

Cigarette smoke.

Indeed.




Tendrils curled upward as we spoke in the manner of young men about to partake of illicit and dangerous activities.


Aspirations and considerations floated about the haze of smoke mixed with booze-breath and candle light that flickered back from them fickle walls.

Walls are our human-made construct; they lend soft safety, much as a feeble door can do, but they also confine. The walls in that city were made of stucco, and as such, they held little permanence or solidity. It was a city built on sand, made from mud, and the arid desert air, as you may know, will desiccate anything not made of stone.

Breaking doors was our new plan. We would bust walls and doors with our new-found strength, but only if invited in.

How?



Well, we will get to that in a moment. Now is the time for description of the first come-down. Let's go.


ZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZIDZID



I lied in my own bed and could not stop thinking. My brain would not turn off. I rested for an hour each minute, and then turned onto my left side, or on my other side, or on my stomach, with arms under my pillow that had the scent of my own man-smell.

The angry sunlight bleared in through the cheap drape over the tall, narrow window and pierced my closed eyelids. I could hear my friend Manuel (whom I did not know) as he trimmed the hedges near the laundry-structure. I wondered about the tiny roach-babies that had crawled all over Joey and into his mouth, his ears, and his eyes.


I thought that maybe he should have baked his boots and washed his clothing before we parted ways from the early morning talks.

It seemed like a year since he'd left the kitchen table, and perhaps it was a year, if one counts days by the second hand of the clock.


I sat right up and rubbed my eyes. Too much was going on. The world was too much with me. I pulled my jeans back on and walked out into the hallway to grab another beer from the icebox.

Along the way I stepped on a pawn with my bare foot and shouted. I said, "Arrgh!"


Behind me, Joey's bedroom door opened.

He said, "Morning beer, huh? "


I nodded at him with the back of my head as I bent down inside the open fridge and pulled out two frosty cold crackas.


Instead of the kitchen table, it would be the tiny living room where we would hold court. It simply seemed to be the proper thing to do: to change the venue of discussion to a more relaxed seating arrangement.

I was fucking tired.


He was, too.


Them beers tasted so good it called for another round.



I said, "Joseph, I can't get to sleep."



Joseph nodded. He said, "We need some weed. That will help. Or maybe some percosets."


Well, this did not seem like the right thing to do. Chase one drug with another or two?



I said, "I'll make do with this here beer. Sooner or later, it will all come crashing down for us."


Do you know, I was wrong about the first consideration, but quite precise about the second one.






(to be continued)




.

[The Urbane Spaceman]

Before we embark upon this new consideration, it is proper, here, to fill your chalice, your snifter, your tumbler, your pálinka glass, your bowl of what-have-you, your medical forms for the space travel ahead for us both, your pill bottles, your lottery tickets, your Martini glass blown with Sapphire, and your mind,


...with enjoyment.



3...


2...


1...


Lift Off



I am the Urbane Spaceman. Accept no substitoots.




*sip*


(This part here is called Sean, because he knew about certain remedies.)


The sliding glass door boomed with a healthy hand.

I jumped up, ready for a fight, and Joey chuckled. He said, "Let him in will ya, Urb? Jeebus Christos for crying out loud."


I acquiesced.


(It would not be the last time that Sean gave me a start, knocking at that sliding glass door at ungodly hours...)


I slid it open and he stalked right in.


He said, "What the hell you boys been up to?"


He was always direct like that. You know, he was also the first one to introduce that Humboldt County Skunk to me and Joey. Such a thing was a new hybrid. OK, a hybrid, not like an automobile, but having to do with cross-breeding. Like a half-breed.



Like I am.


(to be continued)




The gin calls to me, and the night is old.


Always remember, it is late when them birds start barking, but it is early if you have to get up.

I got me some more drinking to do, less typing.


*hiccup*

[The Urbane Spaceman]

Well, I tell you my friend, there was a bear in the room. His name was Sean, and he always took over. That was why he did not live with me and Joey.

He was fine in small doses. But he required large dosages for himself.

Of everything.



Here is some newer tune for you. We engage, because it is proper to explore the land, the sights, and the sounds of the travel guide.


Warning, when it gets truly bad, there will be songs of despair as well. These are known as "The Blues" and "Real C&W" and "Old Tymie Folk" and such aural landscapes will outlast most other eervermen for one reason, which is this: Them sounds are true to the human experience.


Well, these blues, they also offer hope if you listen close enough.


As we navigate this odd and interesting new chart for a little while, our ship's propellant is not wind. Lovely Miss Ethyl is our mental gear lube.

She is our saviour and our salve. I think I will have some of her now.



(This Sapphire is smooth with a... well, some sort of lilting bouquet that is inviting enough she needs no ice, no olives, no vermouth at all. Martini glass seems to be the proper way to dance with this fine lass. It might appear to be sacrilege, and I've already removed all of the necessary ingredients for a proper Martini, but this one tastes even better at room temperature. Her essences bloom. She has a lovely little nose, until you have your sip of her nectar. The taste of a Drunkard flower: vulva nectar.)


Gin goes with story telling most times, but them Blues at the end will require true Kentucky bourbon, so I guess that will be a desert of some sort.


(All right: stop talking about booze and tell a tale)



*sip*


Ahem


Sean walked right past us and threw his back pack down on the kitchen table and headed directly to the fridge. He whipped it open so hard that the freezer door also opened, and he got hit in the fucking face as he dove down to grab two crackas.

Tiny metal envelopes flew out on the floor and he pushed that fridge back up against the wall and was about to punch the door with his huge meaty fist.

I was right behind him and saw him do this, and I grabbed that big arm of his and shouted. I said, "SEAN! Don't fuck up our shit!"


He shook my hand off him and swung around. He said, "Don't own tiny appliances!"

I stepped back and got ready to spring on him.

He composed himself. He said, "Dayam. I didn't mean to fuck up your shit, hombre. Here, have a beer."


I thanked him.

Then I said, "Hah?! Go sit your fat ass down and I'll get you one of MY beers!"


He needed to be toned down a bit like that now and then.


Sean sat down at the kitchen table and Joey got up off his lazy arse and took command at the head of the table. It was his place, after all.

Joey was little, and although he could scrap as well as any mean punk rocker, he chose his battles. He was wise beyond his years, unless someone said to him, "Ya greasy beaner!"

Then he would put a spicy tamale into your soggy taco.


So to speak.

Hokay.

The gin is calling to me now.

Arr. Thanks a lot, Lush City. Sapphire has shanghied this damened Driunkard.


Sail on, ya damned Drunakrd summina bastidges








.

[mistah willies]

Hey!

The hell you doin leaving me hanging like that?!

Must be dried out huh ya bastidge