Entry XXV--Cassandra
CHICAGO LECTURE SHOULD FEATURE 'NEGATIVE THEOLOGY'
So glad I never let Ms. Cabal show me a mock-up copy of Bye Bull. It's the one thing she let me get away with, a small bone she threw me.
Because it makes it so much more momentous holding the book in my hand right here and now.
Entranced by the cover design and even its texture. Shiny black background with raised lettering of grey that read BYE BULL by Darwin Grimm
Of course, now that I've seen the FireWheel painting, kinda wish that was the background for the Bye Bull cover.
Then again, the Bye Bull's cover is supposed to be simplistic--no imagery necessary.
Reminds of the very first copy of that other bible laid eyes upon, in some motel somewhere on some almost forgotten family trip.
Beyond the cover aesthetics, there's something about the visceral feel of a book, any book, but especially this book, in one's hand. The Internet on a computer screen cannot compare to this aesthetic quality.
The cover is very Halloween--which just so happens to be today.
The day Bye Bull is released, to become the new 'all-time best seller'.
Being sold in an actual store. Am holding a copy just picked off the shelf of "New Releases", a copy of Bye Bull anyone could walk up to and buy. Even me.
Think I will.
While walking to the cash register, look out past the window of this renowned bookstore in the midst of The City's gay community, The Lavender Bookmark, out onto Castro Street, musing that in some twelve hours from now, hundreds of thousands of revelers will be crowding this legendary block under the glow of moonlight and street lamps, dressed in freaky and freakier costumes and drinking, smoking and snorting way too much till the break of dawn.
This is not just any Wednesday in the Castro. Not by a long shot.
Sure, The City's tried to ban the Halloween revelry so many times over the years, but it just keeps coming back, like the proverbial zombie from the grave, no matter how many or few cops they send out here each October 31st.
And there was a time I was one of those drunken revelers in the midst of it all. But not anymore. I hope.
Now the revelry of Halloween is found in seeing the Bye Bull actually published, available here in this retail store that had the courage to sell it, to be read by those who might be so influenced as to stem the tide of christianity's undue influence.
Run my finger over the spine; it's tangible in a way nothing I created has ever been.
It's the spine of a book brought to life by me.
Creating something that did not previously exist--explain how that is any different from their god?
Can't say the back cover is as inspiring. That’s because it's just a picture of me--and I don’t like pictures of me. Hate the way a picture freezes my face, leaving me depicted in an expression I’m rarely satisfied with.
Suppose the one the Apogee editor chose captures a modicum of what could be considered my genuine intensity.
Ms. Cabal actually told me I looked “handsome”, though that may have just been an attempt to get me to accept posing for the pic by appealing to my repressed lust for her, only seemingly able to manifest when bowing before her or spot-cleaning her designer heels with raw tongue.
Then again, she's never one to indulge in false flattery. She doesn't need to rely on such pathetic tactics to assure her utter control over me.
Would be lying if I wouldn't admit to wondering how Ms. Cabal thinks I'm looking today; especially considered I'm 'dressed up' (relatively speaking), decked in collared shirt and pressed cotton dress khakis.
Whatever she thinks, she's keeping it to herself. Presently, she's not paying heed to me, but rather chatting up the store owner re: some kind of boring business concern. Being in the business, assume she's always seeking to solidify connections, or perhaps there's info to glean from this guy, or more cynically, an opportunity to exploit.
Or a new emasculated male to dominate...
Mind always drifts to sex pretty much during any rumination about Ms. Cabal. To that end, can't help but notice she dons a longer skirt than usual, though perfectly form-fitting and stylish to the hilt--as usual.
Normally, would be all caught up in what she's wearing and analyzing the material and the color, but fair to say am distracted this day.
But not distracted enough, apparently, as am now taken in by her knee-high brown leather boots that reveals only the slightest hint of calf between the tip of the boot and the end of her long pencil skirt.
For as much as writing the book means to me, sometimes think I'd throw it all away and barter it away for one more chance to drop to my knees and bury my head under that skirt and be forced to eat her out until I choke on her erotic secretions.
Once one has tasted nectar so sweet, the need ( which is categorically beyond desire) to taste it again is beyond adequate description.
It's akin to torture--and best put it out of my mind before something awkward takes place in my nether regions, embarrassing both myself and more importantly, Ms. Cabal
Three-inch heels boost her already impossibly long legs, enabling her to mingle with other celestial bodies should she so choose. Otherwise she can cast her gaze downward to interact with us mere mortals.
Speaking of which, I know she knows I stand behind her, waiting. And even on this, my big day, she makes me wait.
A subtle reminder of the matriarchal structure of our particular dynamic.
Have no other recourse but to stand around and wait. It's not like I have a choice.
Besides, have to remember that I wouldn't even be standing in this bookstore fondling the spine of a copy of a book that I wrote if it wasn't for Her power.
When Ms. Cabal finally finishes her conversation and turns back to me, I make damn sure I don't show the least bit of impatience.
She glances down at the book in my hand, then up into my eyes telling me she wants an explanation.
"I wanted to buy it, you know, because I actually have a book in a store I can buy."
"Do you always require such drama to motivate you, Darwin?" Ms. Cabal says flippantly, and takes the book abruptly from my hand, explains to the manager or whoever that I want it and she hands it back to me. "Compliments of the store."
All it took was one stare from her to get that book. Of course, she's more than rich enough to have paid for it.
But paying for it would not be exercising her will over the store manager; that and it's beneath Ms. Cabal to actually pull out a credit card and pay for something. Her assistant do all that for her, I'm sure. She probably doesn't even have a credit card--or cash--on her.
Not that I'm complaining, as I tuck the book under my arm and hold the front door to the store open with the other for Ms. Cabal.
Our rented limo awaits; we hop in and she instructs the driver to take us to Haight Ashbury. Though it be Halloween, it's still too early to bar-hop, so we're bookstore-hopping. And we're certainly doing it in style; beats a lifetime of taking the bus.
On the drive over, I inquire as to how many copies that bookstore anticipates selling today. She tells me RESEARCH
Now we find ourselves in the Utopian Anarchist bookstore in the Upper Haight, a modest emporium that's barely the size of a suitable bachelor apartment for most folks; every square inch of possible space is utilized in squeeeeeeezing in book after book into sardine tin-like rows of shelves. The spine of each tightly packed book appears ready to burst open from the attendent pressure.
And with any good bookstore, there is an impressive tabby cat resting comfortably on top of one of those overly stacked shelves. I say "resting comfortably" because it's hard to ever really know if a cat is awake or not.
Strictly an independent bookstore, Utopian Anarchist has survived on its colorful funky corner of Hippieville Avenue.
You won’t find any murder mysteries, romance novels and high-tech spy thrillers here at UA. But anything political, cultural or philosophical is available.
And there, smack dab in the center of the "New Releases" table is the Bye Bull.
Unlike at the Lavender Bookmark, Ms. Cabal and I are here incognito. She didn't make our presence known to one employee behind the counter or the store's management (if an anarchistic bookstore is even has management).
Really, with all the bookstores we have visited and plan to visit, we’re just here to observe, not staging any signings, not making an event out of my appearance at any of these places.
In strolls a goth couple; he type that would’ve been hanging out in the Labyrinth back in the hazy day. They immediately drift towards Bye Bull, probably drawn by the black and grey cover.
An encouraging sign...
To them, it must resemble printed death.
The female picks it up first. The guy just stands there, posturing, watching her while watching to see if anyone’s watching him.
She thumbs through it. Thinks it over…
And doesn’t put it down as she strolls over to the political theory shelf.
An even more encouraging sign…
Step back to scrutinize two fastidious middle-aged men inspecting the book. If I had to guess, I’d say they are a gay couple. The way they hold hands is a bit of a giveaway.
But hey, they could drop to the floor and start doing it doggy style if they buy a copy or two of my book. Guess it would be fitting, given the way the church would equally detest my book and the doggy style.
Doesn't matter to me; a sale is a sale; and more importantly, the potential to convert to reader to the gospel of the Bye Bull.
They’re openly discussing the book, bend my ear to pick up every bitchy nuance of the conversation:
“Have you heard about this book? I saw a commercial for it.”
“No, what’s it about?”
“Oh, something against Christianity. See the title, “Bye Bull”, it’s a play on “Bible”
The uninformed man cranes his neck to peer down at the cover, “Oh, I see. That’s cute, I suppose. But do you really want to take the time to read something like that? Seems awfully dry, no?”
His partner wiggles his head in abject uncertainty, “Hmm, maybe,” and places the book down with a careless gesture and they move towards the “Gay and Lesbian” section.
“We didn’t do a good job of selling to them,” I offer softly to Ms. Cabal.
But she’s having none of it, issuing me a glare that tells me to keep it to myself, which I promptly do. Obscene as it sounds, feels good to get scolded by Ms. Cabal, even when it's of the nonverbal variety.
My attention returns to the goth girl who emerges from the shadows of the back-of-the-room shelves, telling her boyfriend in her flat high pitched Goth tone, “I think I’m going to buy this.”
Her boyfriend whines, “Really?”
“Yeah. Remember, I’m going back East for Thanksgiving. If my parents saw this book on the dresser in my old bedroom would probably piss the hell out of my parents.”
Her boyfriend chuckles approval, and then his otherwise opaque eyes light up with fervid inspiration, "You knon what you should do, Lizza? You should bring it down to the table for Thanksgiving dinner."
Lizza squeals endorsement and clutching the Bye Bull, the pair gleefully marches to the register.
Pissing off relatives at holiday functions is not exactly the reason I wrote the book, but any motivation that sells a copy is a valid one, I reckon.
And if she reads it, she’s bound to pick up something that will either provide a new insight or affirm a conviction already worn by her…by osmosis at the very least.
Or at least, that's the rationalization.
Assumed Ms. Cabal would be indignant over the scene of the two jaded youths buying the book out of pure teen angst, but she seems nonplussed. Should know better at this stage in the game to assume what Ms. Cabal’s reaction will be to anything.
As far as Apogee Tome, in the business of selling books, a sale is a sale, I reckon.
Wonder if that’s where the majority of my sales are going to come from, from the controversy it has and will inevitably generate?
Controversy sells. The glimmer in Ms. Cabal’s eye confirms it, if there were the slightest doubt in my heart.
Regardless of my feelings of guilt, I watch the goth girl hand over her credit card to the cashier and enjoy the sound of the cash register open and Bye Bull making money.
“Was that our first sale?” I whisper to Ms. Cabal.
“Of course not. Are you forgetting the East Coast is three hours ahead of us? According to the initial reports from our New York office, at least five hundred copies have been purchased so far across the country. I have not spoken to them in about an hour, so I would reasonably assume that total is higher. When we return to the office, I will receive the latest sales figures, including the initial West Coast sales figures.
“But we are expecting high sell-through numbers given the amount of publicity we’ve been able to generate.”
Nod my understanding. Ms Cabal’s taught me a little about the publishing business since I’ve made her acquaintance. “Sell through” means the actual number of copies which are sold, as opposed to those returned to the publisher. Of course, bookstores could try to break even with leftover copies by selling them in the bargain bin.
But Ms. Cabal told me that none of Apogee’s books have ever ended up in the bargain bin, and she’s not about to start with this one.
That’s why they release so few books a year, less than two-dozen. So each book gets ample pub and promotion. Ms. Cabal, being so rich, can afford to do so.
Still can’t get over how Apogee Writ is just like a toy to her…she doesn’t rely on it to increase her net worth. Yet it does just that, and I don’t think there’s anything she’s more passionate about.
Would rather watch her take a call on her cell than so more potential customers purusing my book.
She speaks so softly, no one, not even I, can make out what’s being said. When the call ends, she turns to me, and asks, “Would you like to go to our next destination.”
Shrug my shoulders, “Sure. Guess I could come here any day and watch people buy it.”
Besides, I’d rather not be recognized by anyone.
Don’t think I have to worry about that, though.
"Come along, Darwin," time to get a taste of the other side...
Where she leads, I do not know, but I willingly follow her into the waiting limo. Hell, I'd follow her into the bowels of Hell. And if I stick with her long enough, I just might.
She instructs the driver as to our next location which I pay no attention to as usual. On this trip, she's more talkative: “You know, Roger, we have been so busy that we have not discussed your lecture and book signing tour. I mentioned it in the past, but now the full itinerary has been set.”
The notion of one such as I having an "itinerary" is a notion I'm going to have to get used to, just like the rest of all this.
“Where am I going?”
“Chicago, Atlanta, Boston, Washington D.C., and New York City. Then we fly out to Denver and then onto Los Angeles for the end of the tour.”
“Atlanta? Would’ve never guessed.you’d get approval there.”
“It is the most progressive city in the South, and you should make an appearance there, to show America you are not about to be intimidated by the Christian terrorists.”
“But what if I am intimidated?”
“Later today, you will see just one of the measures I have taken to ensure that you need not be.”
That comment was pretty high on the cryptic scale, but Ms. Cabal will tell me more when she wants to.
Ms. Cabal doesn't like volunteering information, she likes to be asked: "Why Chicago as the first city? Because it's my hometown?"
"Yes. For a first appearance, there will be a level of comfort in Chicago that you might not feel in the other cities that are unfamiliar to you."
Makes sense; can't argue with her logic. Can never argue with her logic.
“In New York City, you are even going to appear on a TV talk show called “Final Say.’”
“Never heard of it.”
“I could care less. You will be appearing on it. It will generate more publicity than a thousand bookstore appearances--sad but true."
The regret in Ms. Cabal's voice is genuine. Humanizes her a bit, it does.
But it's quickly dismissed in favor of her anticipation, "The publicity will be even more considerable if they book the other guest you will oppose.”
“Oppose? Other guest?”
“All will be explained in due time, Darwin. There are many details to go over for the trip and we will cover them all eventually.”
Nod my acceptance. My career’s in her hands. Always has been. Before she took hold of it, it wasn't a career.
My career? Ha. More like my life.
"Come along, Darwin," time to get a taste of the other side...
Where she leads, I do not know, but the limo takes a left on North Point--apparently we're headed for Fisherman's Wharf.
The tacky souvenir stands of the Wharf hardly evoke the notion of encountering another classic bookstore, like the two we visited this morning.
Yet the limo pulls into the parking lot of a shopping mall that indeed houses a bookstore; the mega-popular chain bookstore, Corners.
Corners likes to boast in their branding campaigns that they've "cornered" the market on everything; if they don't carry, it doesn't exist.
So, naturally, when I step into their doors (after Ms. Cabal, of course), I expect to see a reasonable display for Bye Bull; somewhere in the back of the store, if not the front.
But there is nothing. I scour every section, losing track of Ms. Cabal in the process.
Finally, I come to her, confounded, "Okay, I give. Where is it?"
"Corners is not carrying the Bye Bull, Darwin. They were threatened with a boycott engineered by the Crusaders and their offshoot organization, Concerned Americans Combatting Antichristianity."
Ah, of course, it could only be CACA.
"As soon as they got wind of Bye Bull, they targeted it as something to be protested, with the primary objective being generating publicity and raising money."
"In other words, they don't give a shit about the actual content of the book."
"I wouldn't go that far--there very well could be people in powerful positions who consider Bye Bull to contain threatening ideas, but they do not fear it to the degree that they probably should.
"However, it is a concern for both Apogee Tome as a company and you personally as a professional author. Christian bookstores such as "Blessed Books" banning Bye Bull is one thing, but not being sold in Corners is another matter entirely."
Damn, that statement is waterlogged with cryptic concepts, but have learned to hold my tongue, and will just wait till Ms. Cabal is good and ready to tell me.
Still, she doesn't let me consider it as she gets back to business:
'However, it is a concern for both Apogee Tome as a company and you personally as a professional author. Christian bookstores such as "Blessed Books" banning Bye Bull is one thing, but not being sold in Corners is another matter entirely.
"I brought you here so you could see for yourself that despite the fact I have kept you quite insulated through the process of writing and publishing this book, there will be significant opposition to your book in a variety of tangible manifestations. Consider this a measure of prepartation for that antagonism you will surely encounter now that you will be going out in public on this publicity tour."
"Thank you, Ms. Cabal."
Having duly exposed me to this particular truth, Ms. Cabal motions for me to hold the door open. Another bookstore--hopefully one that stocks the Bye Bull--awaits...
As we step out of the limo at the next stop, I note how sunny it is for Halloween. All Hallow Eve’s always is too bright and clear in California. Halloween should always be overcast gray and foreboding—even during the day. One really has to wait for nightfall for Halloween to start in this town.
Arrived at the Embarcadero, a unique series of high-rise towers and shopping malls near the San Francisco Bay. Inside Embarcadero 3 is another chain bookstore, Helton’s Books. Been to Helton’s a few times, especially when I had temp jobs in some of those high-rises.
Given the close proximity to the city's financial district, there's usually a different breed of clientele at Helton's than you'd find in the funky environs of the Castro and the Haight and the tourist trap that is the Wharf. More yuppies and upscale types here, whether tourists or well-to-do locals.
Ms. Cabal, per usual, leads the way, and this time she brings me to a sight completely unexpected.
Before me is a full-fledged display for Bye Bull, in the center is a table filled only with copies of the book, to the left of the table is an six-foot replication of the black and grey cover (the goths would probably OD on all that enlarged doom), and to the right, a placard that reads:
FROM APOGEE TOME…A NEW MILLENNIUM INSISTS ON A NEW INTERPRETATION…
BYE BULL
There are two ways to look at this; it may be construed as crass commercialism on the one hand, but how often does a book with a blatant anti-christian theme get this kind of mainstream attention?
The only way to get through this day is to not pass judgment on anything that transpires.
As precious as the book is to me, I have to let go of it to a certain extent, I cannot control every aspect now that it's published and released out of captivity, set loose into the wild of the free marketplace.
Look over the other new releases, displayed near mine. Not too impressed. Something called “Heart of Dust.” Sounds too emotional. “The New History of Spain.” I’ll wait for the sequel--the “New New History of Spain”, written after they give up allegiance to the church.
But then, I stumble onto a new release that’s sure to cut deeply into my sales.
“Finding Spiritual Truth in a Dishonest Universe”
Now that’s profound. When exactly did the Universe become a used car salesman?
Tempted to pick it up to see how foolish the proposition could be.
Nah. Maybe some other time.
Today it’s about my book, so I turn back to the Bye Bull display.
Step back to take another look at it, and soak it in. Probably will never have a time like this again in my life, so may as well enjoy it.
Hell, who knows? This may well be the peak moment of my existence.
Still feels surreal, like I’m numb to the visceral feel of the book. Like it can’t be real. Not if it was written by me.
But there it is. A labor of love, sweat and torture.
Suddenly realize someone is behind me, trying to check-out the display.
Don’t want to kill a potential sale, so I step out the way.
It's a neatly dressed woman; maybe around Ms. Cabal's age, but nowhere near as as sexy. Not that it matters. As she looks over the book, I wonder if she’s there because we got good reviews from feminist critics…or Ms. Cabal's orchestrated publicity campaign...or maybe she got wind of the christian calls for boycotting it and that activated her liberal radar...or maybe it's just because of the attractive display?
Probably a combination of those things. But as she takes a copy and heads to the register, I just hope she bought it 'cause she's interested in the ideas.
And as I watch all these people, I wonder how much I care how well the Bye Bull does; money-wise.
Do I need that sort of validation? First and foremost, want to see it do well, so Ms. Cabal can make a profit on her investment. Personally, I don’t feel like I need any more money. Not for awhile anyway.
Once you stop working, you kind of forget about having to do things to come up with money--like working, for instance.
With my lifestyle that would make a Spartan scoff, it doesn't take much to eek out an existence.
And maybe now with an established name as a published author, I can sell new material to magazines and make extra scratch on the side.
Even though at the moment I don’t have any inspiration nor passion to write anything on any subject.
Then a decidedly professional, though somewhat odd, fellow walks up to the Bye Bull display.
Both his suit and leather briefcase are of the highest quality. Yet he mumbles quite loudly to himself and wears glasses that should be too thick for any eyes.
Take a step backwards to allow him full access. He looks over the laminated news article, then picks up a copy of the Bye Bull.
He thumbs through it, continuing to mutter to himself.
Then he shoves it under his arm, heading to the next display, a book on nanotechnology.
The other thing I notice about him is that he is dressed completely in black, from the rims of his glasses to his shiny wingtips.
“Do you know who that is?” Ms. Cabal asks in a whisper.
Shake my head.
“That is someone we need to be reading your book. That is Hamilton Blackmore, one of the top venture capitalists in the Bay Area; in the entire Western U.S., for that matter. His office is here in the Embarcadero. Hamilton is an old-fashioned venture capitalist, he’s not part of a limited partnership firm. He is the type referred to as an “angel investor.’”
I wince at that particular metaphorical designation.
“Does he know you?”
“Yes, but he does not take notice of anyone in public. He is one who “lives in his own world” as some might say. He probably wandered down from his office, to look at the new books.”
Despite the fact Ms. Cabal used the word “probably”, she said it like she’s speaking gospel truth.
"Why the black get-up?"
"Mr. Blackmore is also known as the 'man in black'and he plays the part."
Mr. Blackmore, is it? Ms. Cabal really, really respects money.
My inferiority shines through in my resentment: “So he’s some rich investor? Why do we care more that he just bought my book rather than those goth kids?"
“For the simple fact that those "goth kids", as you so euphemistically label those post-pubescent misfits, do not invest in companies that are on the cutting edge of industry and technology. Hamilton Blackmore does. He invests in and consults for those corporations that some would term “radical”. I prefer to refer to them as progressive.”
Still not all that impressed—or fully comprehending--until she adds, “Of particular interest to you and I, Darwin, is that the vast majority of companies Mr. Blackmore invests in are opposed by the Crusaders, such as Cell Technology Unlimited, located in Cupertino. CTU specializes in human embryonic stem cell research and development. They spend considerable money lobbying congressman who have yet to sell their souls to the Crusaders or the church in general, and on court costs with all the suffocating litigation they face. Therefore, they require a constant flow of capital. Hamilton Blackmore is CTU's primary investor."
That piques my interest, though I'm still not getting the specific relevance to my book.
Then, almost as if she’s reading my mind, Ms Cabal clues me in, “If you are truly concerned about the growing influence Christianity is having on America, it will take significant money to combat it in the manner that will be required.”
Again, it’s enigmatic to me; is she planning on accumulating this money to combat christianity's influence?
But a moment of quick reflection reveals Ms. Cabal has a point--as always. Guess it’s a bit naïve of me to think a few thousand people are going to read my book, give up religion, and the Crusaders will just go away--poof.
It's just that, being a writer, didn’t think I’d ever number a venture capitalist among my readership. But she's right, he can do more for the "cause" that than goth girl who wants to piss off her parental units.
To this point, been living my life like one of those aimless goth kids; in my ratty apartment, frittering towards oblivion and obscurity.
Glance over again at the "man in black", Hamilton Blackmore, as he departs from the store, and it finally occurs to me that I need to live among people such as he from this day forward.
Catch a sudden glance of Ms. Cabal out the corner of my eye; as if she seriously doubts the sincerity of my thoughts.
Or it could as meaningless as her wanting my attention, “I think it is time we left, Darwin. I thought we would grab a quick lunch and then at one o'clock sharp we have an appointment waiting at my office.”
Intrigued, but not even going to guess what this latest surprise could be.
The "quick lunch" turns out to be a vegetarian Thai restaurant in the Tenderloin
Ms. Cabal insists we stop here.
"I pride myself on knowing every good unknown restaurant in San Francisco."
Frankly, if she had said "in the world" it'd register just as believable.
All the homeless peeps and crackhead clucks are damn impressed to witness a limo of that stature pulling up. The hornier bastards eye Ms. Cabal's long and seductive figure, casting jealous glances at me like I'm getting some of that.
I wish, fellows. Hell, I'd settle for her just sitting on my face for 15 minutes some afternoon.
Even though this is "my day" the restaurant is purely Ms. Cabal's choice. If she was really treating me, we would’ve had Mexican, but she's in the mood for Thai. Still, she promises me they’ll have something I’d like.
Thai dish; over dinner
When we arrive at the reception area of Apogee Tome some 15 minutes later, Ms. Cabal’s stunning personal assistant Tela waits for us dutifully, like a soldier at revelry.
Just as we walk in, she’s getting off the phone, jotting down a message, with a harried look shading her French face.
“Hello, Ms. Cabal. Hello, Mr. Grimm. Congratulations, Mr. Grimm, on your book coming out.”
MENTION STORES/CHAINS THAT WOULDN"T CARRY IT
Now, no one was surprised that Blessed Books or Christian Corner wouldn't carry it, but major chains that carry all sorts of violent material, won't stock a book of largely abstract ideas?
Later, after I'm introduced to Cassandra, Ms. Cabal reveals my tour itinerary; the first stop in the tour will be Chicago, because that's where I'll be more comfortable, given that it's my hometown and I'll be on familiar turf.
IN HER OFFICE, WE SEE DVNC/T FOOTAGE OF THE PROTESTS IN SOUTHERN USA
So glad I never let Ms. Cabal show me a mock-up copy of Bye Bull. It's the one thing she let me get away with, a small bone she threw me.
Because it makes it so much more momentous holding the book in my hand right here and now.
Entranced by the cover design and even its texture. Shiny black background with raised lettering of grey that read BYE BULL by Darwin Grimm
Of course, now that I've seen the FireWheel painting, kinda wish that was the background for the Bye Bull cover.
Then again, the Bye Bull's cover is supposed to be simplistic--no imagery necessary.
Reminds of the very first copy of that other bible laid eyes upon, in some motel somewhere on some almost forgotten family trip.
Beyond the cover aesthetics, there's something about the visceral feel of a book, any book, but especially this book, in one's hand. The Internet on a computer screen cannot compare to this aesthetic quality.
The cover is very Halloween--which just so happens to be today.
The day Bye Bull is released, to become the new 'all-time best seller'.
Being sold in an actual store. Am holding a copy just picked off the shelf of "New Releases", a copy of Bye Bull anyone could walk up to and buy. Even me.
Think I will.
While walking to the cash register, look out past the window of this renowned bookstore in the midst of The City's gay community, The Lavender Bookmark, out onto Castro Street, musing that in some twelve hours from now, hundreds of thousands of revelers will be crowding this legendary block under the glow of moonlight and street lamps, dressed in freaky and freakier costumes and drinking, smoking and snorting way too much till the break of dawn.
This is not just any Wednesday in the Castro. Not by a long shot.
Sure, The City's tried to ban the Halloween revelry so many times over the years, but it just keeps coming back, like the proverbial zombie from the grave, no matter how many or few cops they send out here each October 31st.
And there was a time I was one of those drunken revelers in the midst of it all. But not anymore. I hope.
Now the revelry of Halloween is found in seeing the Bye Bull actually published, available here in this retail store that had the courage to sell it, to be read by those who might be so influenced as to stem the tide of christianity's undue influence.
Run my finger over the spine; it's tangible in a way nothing I created has ever been.
It's the spine of a book brought to life by me.
Creating something that did not previously exist--explain how that is any different from their god?
Can't say the back cover is as inspiring. That’s because it's just a picture of me--and I don’t like pictures of me. Hate the way a picture freezes my face, leaving me depicted in an expression I’m rarely satisfied with.
Suppose the one the Apogee editor chose captures a modicum of what could be considered my genuine intensity.
Ms. Cabal actually told me I looked “handsome”, though that may have just been an attempt to get me to accept posing for the pic by appealing to my repressed lust for her, only seemingly able to manifest when bowing before her or spot-cleaning her designer heels with raw tongue.
Then again, she's never one to indulge in false flattery. She doesn't need to rely on such pathetic tactics to assure her utter control over me.
Would be lying if I wouldn't admit to wondering how Ms. Cabal thinks I'm looking today; especially considered I'm 'dressed up' (relatively speaking), decked in collared shirt and pressed cotton dress khakis.
Whatever she thinks, she's keeping it to herself. Presently, she's not paying heed to me, but rather chatting up the store owner re: some kind of boring business concern. Being in the business, assume she's always seeking to solidify connections, or perhaps there's info to glean from this guy, or more cynically, an opportunity to exploit.
Or a new emasculated male to dominate...
Mind always drifts to sex pretty much during any rumination about Ms. Cabal. To that end, can't help but notice she dons a longer skirt than usual, though perfectly form-fitting and stylish to the hilt--as usual.
Normally, would be all caught up in what she's wearing and analyzing the material and the color, but fair to say am distracted this day.
But not distracted enough, apparently, as am now taken in by her knee-high brown leather boots that reveals only the slightest hint of calf between the tip of the boot and the end of her long pencil skirt.
For as much as writing the book means to me, sometimes think I'd throw it all away and barter it away for one more chance to drop to my knees and bury my head under that skirt and be forced to eat her out until I choke on her erotic secretions.
Once one has tasted nectar so sweet, the need ( which is categorically beyond desire) to taste it again is beyond adequate description.
It's akin to torture--and best put it out of my mind before something awkward takes place in my nether regions, embarrassing both myself and more importantly, Ms. Cabal
Three-inch heels boost her already impossibly long legs, enabling her to mingle with other celestial bodies should she so choose. Otherwise she can cast her gaze downward to interact with us mere mortals.
Speaking of which, I know she knows I stand behind her, waiting. And even on this, my big day, she makes me wait.
A subtle reminder of the matriarchal structure of our particular dynamic.
Have no other recourse but to stand around and wait. It's not like I have a choice.
Besides, have to remember that I wouldn't even be standing in this bookstore fondling the spine of a copy of a book that I wrote if it wasn't for Her power.
When Ms. Cabal finally finishes her conversation and turns back to me, I make damn sure I don't show the least bit of impatience.
She glances down at the book in my hand, then up into my eyes telling me she wants an explanation.
"I wanted to buy it, you know, because I actually have a book in a store I can buy."
"Do you always require such drama to motivate you, Darwin?" Ms. Cabal says flippantly, and takes the book abruptly from my hand, explains to the manager or whoever that I want it and she hands it back to me. "Compliments of the store."
All it took was one stare from her to get that book. Of course, she's more than rich enough to have paid for it.
But paying for it would not be exercising her will over the store manager; that and it's beneath Ms. Cabal to actually pull out a credit card and pay for something. Her assistant do all that for her, I'm sure. She probably doesn't even have a credit card--or cash--on her.
Not that I'm complaining, as I tuck the book under my arm and hold the front door to the store open with the other for Ms. Cabal.
Our rented limo awaits; we hop in and she instructs the driver to take us to Haight Ashbury. Though it be Halloween, it's still too early to bar-hop, so we're bookstore-hopping. And we're certainly doing it in style; beats a lifetime of taking the bus.
On the drive over, I inquire as to how many copies that bookstore anticipates selling today. She tells me RESEARCH
Now we find ourselves in the Utopian Anarchist bookstore in the Upper Haight, a modest emporium that's barely the size of a suitable bachelor apartment for most folks; every square inch of possible space is utilized in squeeeeeeezing in book after book into sardine tin-like rows of shelves. The spine of each tightly packed book appears ready to burst open from the attendent pressure.
And with any good bookstore, there is an impressive tabby cat resting comfortably on top of one of those overly stacked shelves. I say "resting comfortably" because it's hard to ever really know if a cat is awake or not.
Strictly an independent bookstore, Utopian Anarchist has survived on its colorful funky corner of Hippieville Avenue.
You won’t find any murder mysteries, romance novels and high-tech spy thrillers here at UA. But anything political, cultural or philosophical is available.
And there, smack dab in the center of the "New Releases" table is the Bye Bull.
Unlike at the Lavender Bookmark, Ms. Cabal and I are here incognito. She didn't make our presence known to one employee behind the counter or the store's management (if an anarchistic bookstore is even has management).
Really, with all the bookstores we have visited and plan to visit, we’re just here to observe, not staging any signings, not making an event out of my appearance at any of these places.
In strolls a goth couple; he type that would’ve been hanging out in the Labyrinth back in the hazy day. They immediately drift towards Bye Bull, probably drawn by the black and grey cover.
An encouraging sign...
To them, it must resemble printed death.
The female picks it up first. The guy just stands there, posturing, watching her while watching to see if anyone’s watching him.
She thumbs through it. Thinks it over…
And doesn’t put it down as she strolls over to the political theory shelf.
An even more encouraging sign…
Step back to scrutinize two fastidious middle-aged men inspecting the book. If I had to guess, I’d say they are a gay couple. The way they hold hands is a bit of a giveaway.
But hey, they could drop to the floor and start doing it doggy style if they buy a copy or two of my book. Guess it would be fitting, given the way the church would equally detest my book and the doggy style.
Doesn't matter to me; a sale is a sale; and more importantly, the potential to convert to reader to the gospel of the Bye Bull.
They’re openly discussing the book, bend my ear to pick up every bitchy nuance of the conversation:
“Have you heard about this book? I saw a commercial for it.”
“No, what’s it about?”
“Oh, something against Christianity. See the title, “Bye Bull”, it’s a play on “Bible”
The uninformed man cranes his neck to peer down at the cover, “Oh, I see. That’s cute, I suppose. But do you really want to take the time to read something like that? Seems awfully dry, no?”
His partner wiggles his head in abject uncertainty, “Hmm, maybe,” and places the book down with a careless gesture and they move towards the “Gay and Lesbian” section.
“We didn’t do a good job of selling to them,” I offer softly to Ms. Cabal.
But she’s having none of it, issuing me a glare that tells me to keep it to myself, which I promptly do. Obscene as it sounds, feels good to get scolded by Ms. Cabal, even when it's of the nonverbal variety.
My attention returns to the goth girl who emerges from the shadows of the back-of-the-room shelves, telling her boyfriend in her flat high pitched Goth tone, “I think I’m going to buy this.”
Her boyfriend whines, “Really?”
“Yeah. Remember, I’m going back East for Thanksgiving. If my parents saw this book on the dresser in my old bedroom would probably piss the hell out of my parents.”
Her boyfriend chuckles approval, and then his otherwise opaque eyes light up with fervid inspiration, "You knon what you should do, Lizza? You should bring it down to the table for Thanksgiving dinner."
Lizza squeals endorsement and clutching the Bye Bull, the pair gleefully marches to the register.
Pissing off relatives at holiday functions is not exactly the reason I wrote the book, but any motivation that sells a copy is a valid one, I reckon.
And if she reads it, she’s bound to pick up something that will either provide a new insight or affirm a conviction already worn by her…by osmosis at the very least.
Or at least, that's the rationalization.
Assumed Ms. Cabal would be indignant over the scene of the two jaded youths buying the book out of pure teen angst, but she seems nonplussed. Should know better at this stage in the game to assume what Ms. Cabal’s reaction will be to anything.
As far as Apogee Tome, in the business of selling books, a sale is a sale, I reckon.
Wonder if that’s where the majority of my sales are going to come from, from the controversy it has and will inevitably generate?
Controversy sells. The glimmer in Ms. Cabal’s eye confirms it, if there were the slightest doubt in my heart.
Regardless of my feelings of guilt, I watch the goth girl hand over her credit card to the cashier and enjoy the sound of the cash register open and Bye Bull making money.
“Was that our first sale?” I whisper to Ms. Cabal.
“Of course not. Are you forgetting the East Coast is three hours ahead of us? According to the initial reports from our New York office, at least five hundred copies have been purchased so far across the country. I have not spoken to them in about an hour, so I would reasonably assume that total is higher. When we return to the office, I will receive the latest sales figures, including the initial West Coast sales figures.
“But we are expecting high sell-through numbers given the amount of publicity we’ve been able to generate.”
Nod my understanding. Ms Cabal’s taught me a little about the publishing business since I’ve made her acquaintance. “Sell through” means the actual number of copies which are sold, as opposed to those returned to the publisher. Of course, bookstores could try to break even with leftover copies by selling them in the bargain bin.
But Ms. Cabal told me that none of Apogee’s books have ever ended up in the bargain bin, and she’s not about to start with this one.
That’s why they release so few books a year, less than two-dozen. So each book gets ample pub and promotion. Ms. Cabal, being so rich, can afford to do so.
Still can’t get over how Apogee Writ is just like a toy to her…she doesn’t rely on it to increase her net worth. Yet it does just that, and I don’t think there’s anything she’s more passionate about.
Would rather watch her take a call on her cell than so more potential customers purusing my book.
She speaks so softly, no one, not even I, can make out what’s being said. When the call ends, she turns to me, and asks, “Would you like to go to our next destination.”
Shrug my shoulders, “Sure. Guess I could come here any day and watch people buy it.”
Besides, I’d rather not be recognized by anyone.
Don’t think I have to worry about that, though.
"Come along, Darwin," time to get a taste of the other side...
Where she leads, I do not know, but I willingly follow her into the waiting limo. Hell, I'd follow her into the bowels of Hell. And if I stick with her long enough, I just might.
She instructs the driver as to our next location which I pay no attention to as usual. On this trip, she's more talkative: “You know, Roger, we have been so busy that we have not discussed your lecture and book signing tour. I mentioned it in the past, but now the full itinerary has been set.”
The notion of one such as I having an "itinerary" is a notion I'm going to have to get used to, just like the rest of all this.
“Where am I going?”
“Chicago, Atlanta, Boston, Washington D.C., and New York City. Then we fly out to Denver and then onto Los Angeles for the end of the tour.”
“Atlanta? Would’ve never guessed.you’d get approval there.”
“It is the most progressive city in the South, and you should make an appearance there, to show America you are not about to be intimidated by the Christian terrorists.”
“But what if I am intimidated?”
“Later today, you will see just one of the measures I have taken to ensure that you need not be.”
That comment was pretty high on the cryptic scale, but Ms. Cabal will tell me more when she wants to.
Ms. Cabal doesn't like volunteering information, she likes to be asked: "Why Chicago as the first city? Because it's my hometown?"
"Yes. For a first appearance, there will be a level of comfort in Chicago that you might not feel in the other cities that are unfamiliar to you."
Makes sense; can't argue with her logic. Can never argue with her logic.
“In New York City, you are even going to appear on a TV talk show called “Final Say.’”
“Never heard of it.”
“I could care less. You will be appearing on it. It will generate more publicity than a thousand bookstore appearances--sad but true."
The regret in Ms. Cabal's voice is genuine. Humanizes her a bit, it does.
But it's quickly dismissed in favor of her anticipation, "The publicity will be even more considerable if they book the other guest you will oppose.”
“Oppose? Other guest?”
“All will be explained in due time, Darwin. There are many details to go over for the trip and we will cover them all eventually.”
Nod my acceptance. My career’s in her hands. Always has been. Before she took hold of it, it wasn't a career.
My career? Ha. More like my life.
"Come along, Darwin," time to get a taste of the other side...
Where she leads, I do not know, but the limo takes a left on North Point--apparently we're headed for Fisherman's Wharf.
The tacky souvenir stands of the Wharf hardly evoke the notion of encountering another classic bookstore, like the two we visited this morning.
Yet the limo pulls into the parking lot of a shopping mall that indeed houses a bookstore; the mega-popular chain bookstore, Corners.
Corners likes to boast in their branding campaigns that they've "cornered" the market on everything; if they don't carry, it doesn't exist.
So, naturally, when I step into their doors (after Ms. Cabal, of course), I expect to see a reasonable display for Bye Bull; somewhere in the back of the store, if not the front.
But there is nothing. I scour every section, losing track of Ms. Cabal in the process.
Finally, I come to her, confounded, "Okay, I give. Where is it?"
"Corners is not carrying the Bye Bull, Darwin. They were threatened with a boycott engineered by the Crusaders and their offshoot organization, Concerned Americans Combatting Antichristianity."
Ah, of course, it could only be CACA.
"As soon as they got wind of Bye Bull, they targeted it as something to be protested, with the primary objective being generating publicity and raising money."
"In other words, they don't give a shit about the actual content of the book."
"I wouldn't go that far--there very well could be people in powerful positions who consider Bye Bull to contain threatening ideas, but they do not fear it to the degree that they probably should.
"However, it is a concern for both Apogee Tome as a company and you personally as a professional author. Christian bookstores such as "Blessed Books" banning Bye Bull is one thing, but not being sold in Corners is another matter entirely."
Damn, that statement is waterlogged with cryptic concepts, but have learned to hold my tongue, and will just wait till Ms. Cabal is good and ready to tell me.
Still, she doesn't let me consider it as she gets back to business:
'However, it is a concern for both Apogee Tome as a company and you personally as a professional author. Christian bookstores such as "Blessed Books" banning Bye Bull is one thing, but not being sold in Corners is another matter entirely.
"I brought you here so you could see for yourself that despite the fact I have kept you quite insulated through the process of writing and publishing this book, there will be significant opposition to your book in a variety of tangible manifestations. Consider this a measure of prepartation for that antagonism you will surely encounter now that you will be going out in public on this publicity tour."
"Thank you, Ms. Cabal."
Having duly exposed me to this particular truth, Ms. Cabal motions for me to hold the door open. Another bookstore--hopefully one that stocks the Bye Bull--awaits...
As we step out of the limo at the next stop, I note how sunny it is for Halloween. All Hallow Eve’s always is too bright and clear in California. Halloween should always be overcast gray and foreboding—even during the day. One really has to wait for nightfall for Halloween to start in this town.
Arrived at the Embarcadero, a unique series of high-rise towers and shopping malls near the San Francisco Bay. Inside Embarcadero 3 is another chain bookstore, Helton’s Books. Been to Helton’s a few times, especially when I had temp jobs in some of those high-rises.
Given the close proximity to the city's financial district, there's usually a different breed of clientele at Helton's than you'd find in the funky environs of the Castro and the Haight and the tourist trap that is the Wharf. More yuppies and upscale types here, whether tourists or well-to-do locals.
Ms. Cabal, per usual, leads the way, and this time she brings me to a sight completely unexpected.
Before me is a full-fledged display for Bye Bull, in the center is a table filled only with copies of the book, to the left of the table is an six-foot replication of the black and grey cover (the goths would probably OD on all that enlarged doom), and to the right, a placard that reads:
FROM APOGEE TOME…A NEW MILLENNIUM INSISTS ON A NEW INTERPRETATION…
BYE BULL
There are two ways to look at this; it may be construed as crass commercialism on the one hand, but how often does a book with a blatant anti-christian theme get this kind of mainstream attention?
The only way to get through this day is to not pass judgment on anything that transpires.
As precious as the book is to me, I have to let go of it to a certain extent, I cannot control every aspect now that it's published and released out of captivity, set loose into the wild of the free marketplace.
Look over the other new releases, displayed near mine. Not too impressed. Something called “Heart of Dust.” Sounds too emotional. “The New History of Spain.” I’ll wait for the sequel--the “New New History of Spain”, written after they give up allegiance to the church.
But then, I stumble onto a new release that’s sure to cut deeply into my sales.
“Finding Spiritual Truth in a Dishonest Universe”
Now that’s profound. When exactly did the Universe become a used car salesman?
Tempted to pick it up to see how foolish the proposition could be.
Nah. Maybe some other time.
Today it’s about my book, so I turn back to the Bye Bull display.
Step back to take another look at it, and soak it in. Probably will never have a time like this again in my life, so may as well enjoy it.
Hell, who knows? This may well be the peak moment of my existence.
Still feels surreal, like I’m numb to the visceral feel of the book. Like it can’t be real. Not if it was written by me.
But there it is. A labor of love, sweat and torture.
Suddenly realize someone is behind me, trying to check-out the display.
Don’t want to kill a potential sale, so I step out the way.
It's a neatly dressed woman; maybe around Ms. Cabal's age, but nowhere near as as sexy. Not that it matters. As she looks over the book, I wonder if she’s there because we got good reviews from feminist critics…or Ms. Cabal's orchestrated publicity campaign...or maybe she got wind of the christian calls for boycotting it and that activated her liberal radar...or maybe it's just because of the attractive display?
Probably a combination of those things. But as she takes a copy and heads to the register, I just hope she bought it 'cause she's interested in the ideas.
And as I watch all these people, I wonder how much I care how well the Bye Bull does; money-wise.
Do I need that sort of validation? First and foremost, want to see it do well, so Ms. Cabal can make a profit on her investment. Personally, I don’t feel like I need any more money. Not for awhile anyway.
Once you stop working, you kind of forget about having to do things to come up with money--like working, for instance.
With my lifestyle that would make a Spartan scoff, it doesn't take much to eek out an existence.
And maybe now with an established name as a published author, I can sell new material to magazines and make extra scratch on the side.
Even though at the moment I don’t have any inspiration nor passion to write anything on any subject.
Then a decidedly professional, though somewhat odd, fellow walks up to the Bye Bull display.
Both his suit and leather briefcase are of the highest quality. Yet he mumbles quite loudly to himself and wears glasses that should be too thick for any eyes.
Take a step backwards to allow him full access. He looks over the laminated news article, then picks up a copy of the Bye Bull.
He thumbs through it, continuing to mutter to himself.
Then he shoves it under his arm, heading to the next display, a book on nanotechnology.
The other thing I notice about him is that he is dressed completely in black, from the rims of his glasses to his shiny wingtips.
“Do you know who that is?” Ms. Cabal asks in a whisper.
Shake my head.
“That is someone we need to be reading your book. That is Hamilton Blackmore, one of the top venture capitalists in the Bay Area; in the entire Western U.S., for that matter. His office is here in the Embarcadero. Hamilton is an old-fashioned venture capitalist, he’s not part of a limited partnership firm. He is the type referred to as an “angel investor.’”
I wince at that particular metaphorical designation.
“Does he know you?”
“Yes, but he does not take notice of anyone in public. He is one who “lives in his own world” as some might say. He probably wandered down from his office, to look at the new books.”
Despite the fact Ms. Cabal used the word “probably”, she said it like she’s speaking gospel truth.
"Why the black get-up?"
"Mr. Blackmore is also known as the 'man in black'and he plays the part."
Mr. Blackmore, is it? Ms. Cabal really, really respects money.
My inferiority shines through in my resentment: “So he’s some rich investor? Why do we care more that he just bought my book rather than those goth kids?"
“For the simple fact that those "goth kids", as you so euphemistically label those post-pubescent misfits, do not invest in companies that are on the cutting edge of industry and technology. Hamilton Blackmore does. He invests in and consults for those corporations that some would term “radical”. I prefer to refer to them as progressive.”
Still not all that impressed—or fully comprehending--until she adds, “Of particular interest to you and I, Darwin, is that the vast majority of companies Mr. Blackmore invests in are opposed by the Crusaders, such as Cell Technology Unlimited, located in Cupertino. CTU specializes in human embryonic stem cell research and development. They spend considerable money lobbying congressman who have yet to sell their souls to the Crusaders or the church in general, and on court costs with all the suffocating litigation they face. Therefore, they require a constant flow of capital. Hamilton Blackmore is CTU's primary investor."
That piques my interest, though I'm still not getting the specific relevance to my book.
Then, almost as if she’s reading my mind, Ms Cabal clues me in, “If you are truly concerned about the growing influence Christianity is having on America, it will take significant money to combat it in the manner that will be required.”
Again, it’s enigmatic to me; is she planning on accumulating this money to combat christianity's influence?
But a moment of quick reflection reveals Ms. Cabal has a point--as always. Guess it’s a bit naïve of me to think a few thousand people are going to read my book, give up religion, and the Crusaders will just go away--poof.
It's just that, being a writer, didn’t think I’d ever number a venture capitalist among my readership. But she's right, he can do more for the "cause" that than goth girl who wants to piss off her parental units.
To this point, been living my life like one of those aimless goth kids; in my ratty apartment, frittering towards oblivion and obscurity.
Glance over again at the "man in black", Hamilton Blackmore, as he departs from the store, and it finally occurs to me that I need to live among people such as he from this day forward.
Catch a sudden glance of Ms. Cabal out the corner of my eye; as if she seriously doubts the sincerity of my thoughts.
Or it could as meaningless as her wanting my attention, “I think it is time we left, Darwin. I thought we would grab a quick lunch and then at one o'clock sharp we have an appointment waiting at my office.”
Intrigued, but not even going to guess what this latest surprise could be.
The "quick lunch" turns out to be a vegetarian Thai restaurant in the Tenderloin
Ms. Cabal insists we stop here.
"I pride myself on knowing every good unknown restaurant in San Francisco."
Frankly, if she had said "in the world" it'd register just as believable.
All the homeless peeps and crackhead clucks are damn impressed to witness a limo of that stature pulling up. The hornier bastards eye Ms. Cabal's long and seductive figure, casting jealous glances at me like I'm getting some of that.
I wish, fellows. Hell, I'd settle for her just sitting on my face for 15 minutes some afternoon.
Even though this is "my day" the restaurant is purely Ms. Cabal's choice. If she was really treating me, we would’ve had Mexican, but she's in the mood for Thai. Still, she promises me they’ll have something I’d like.
Thai dish; over dinner
When we arrive at the reception area of Apogee Tome some 15 minutes later, Ms. Cabal’s stunning personal assistant Tela waits for us dutifully, like a soldier at revelry.
Just as we walk in, she’s getting off the phone, jotting down a message, with a harried look shading her French face.
“Hello, Ms. Cabal. Hello, Mr. Grimm. Congratulations, Mr. Grimm, on your book coming out.”
MENTION STORES/CHAINS THAT WOULDN"T CARRY IT
Now, no one was surprised that Blessed Books or Christian Corner wouldn't carry it, but major chains that carry all sorts of violent material, won't stock a book of largely abstract ideas?
Later, after I'm introduced to Cassandra, Ms. Cabal reveals my tour itinerary; the first stop in the tour will be Chicago, because that's where I'll be more comfortable, given that it's my hometown and I'll be on familiar turf.
IN HER OFFICE, WE SEE DVNC/T FOOTAGE OF THE PROTESTS IN SOUTHERN USA
posted by Darwin Grimm at 5:47 PM
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