Entry XXVI--Homeward Bound & Gagged

THE REASON 10 COMMANDMENTS WAS RATED G WHEN IT SHOULDN'T BE

CHRISTIANS WASTING THEIR TIME, NOT PROPERLY PREPARING THEMSELVES FOR DEATH

CHURCH PROTESTING

WHY MEN ARE CHRISTIAN--THE GRANDEUR OF IT

WHY WOMEN ARE--THE SOCIALIZING AND MORALITY/FAMILY VALUES

MEN ARE FROM CHRISTIAN MARS, WOMEN ARE FROM CHRISTIAN VENUS

Sweat home, Chicago.

Unseasonably warm for the first week of November.

Some ten degrees warmer here in the Windy City than it is in the actualwindy city of San Francisco.

Yes, it can get windy in Chi-town, especially at the lakefront, but it's nothing like the wind tunnels that cut through one's flesh and chill you to the bone like a San Francisco wind.

But the 'Windy City' tag is supposed to be a euphemism for the blustery politicians and their argumentative oratory and political filibustering.

Just as that thought passes, our limo passes directly under the "Welcome to Chicago" billboard that sports a picture of the current mayor, a Latino man (the O'Hare airport we landed in is just outside the city limits). Being in this air-conditioned, spacious stretch limo is a sudden and welcome change of pace after the claustrophobic confines of that small old jet airliner.

A limo that now holds, in addition to myself, Ms. Cabal (legs crossed seductively in a rather tight skirt that borders on hobble, but I've seen her walk quite ably with it--her ass in it a sacred shrine to worship at), Tela Delacroix, Ms. Cabal's personal assistant REVISIT HER PHYSICAL DESCRIPT and my appointed manager for this book tour (who I met during my first visit to Apogee Tome) and the ed tresses of Cassandra Sullivan, my bodyguard.

Shuffling through my notes for the condensed talk I'll be giving at the bookstore we're heading to. In my case "condensed talk" may be bit of a redundancy; since this is only my second live speaking appearance, I have yet to give what would otherwise be called an "extended talk"

Cassandra and Tela are complete professionals, only speaking when spoken to, completely silent, allegedly to allow me to concentrate more successfully while preparing for my first official appearance on the Bye Bull tour. (San Francisco was more of an informal warm-up).

Ms. Cabal has no such concerns: "Darwin, you should know I have to fly back to San Francisco to attend a crucial international teleconference that was suddenly rescheduled, so I will not be accompanying you to Washington. As previously arranged, you will be the hosts of California Representative Blanton, who is a friend of mine, but more importantly, he is a fan of yours, Darwin."

"I think it's more important that he's a friend of yours, Ms. Cabal."

"You should never lose sight of cultivating influential readers, Darwin."

"Right. I used to be concerned with just cultivating...readers."

"Those days are over." Ms. Cabal assures everyone in the limo. Tela nods in silent understanding. Those two have some kind of telepathic relationship, I swear.

"It's almost too much to wrap my head around; it's a total trip a U.S. Congressman is into the Bye Bull."

"It helps that he's gay and completely opposed to the Christian Right."

"In other words, preaching to the choir."

Ms. Cabal shakes me off, "No--he genuinely enjoyed the book, especially the fictional metaphors."

Chuckle as I ask casually, "He told you that?"

Ms. Cabal doesn't answer right off, so I look her in the eye, and I swear, catch a glimpse of indecision--if just for a second, it was some kind of uncertainty until she responds with her usual confidence: "Yes, he did."

"Cool, didn't think there was a politician alive or dead who'd have the guts to endorse Bye Bull. And what's more, he's putting us up. He's not a vegetarian by any chance?"

"No, Darwin," Ms. Cabal informs me, "but you'll have access to the Congressman's personal chef to prepare anything you'd like during your stay."

"You're right, Ms. Cabal, cultivating ordinary readers is a waste of time."

Even Cassandra and Tela laugh slightly at my crack. Especially glad Cassandra laughed; one, it means she has a sense of humor, which I wasn't sure of due to her professional poker-faced facade and her ability to crack skulls in defense of my life. Two, it means she might respond to me on another level beyond bodyguard-client.

She did paint the FireWheel after all. Look over at Cassandra. She smiles slightly in my direction then looks away. Sideways glance to Ms. Cabal, who's sending a message on her I-Glass. I-Glass is the latest craze in 'smart' tech; so new it isn't even available for the general masses to generally consume. For right now it's just an online rumor, but ultimate inside Ms. Cabal has one of course.

Seize the silent patch to stop thinking and just watch the other cars and the Kennedy Expressway rushing past my line of sight, then tilt up slightly to take in the El train rushing travelers from the airport to the various arteries of Chicago neighborhoods, eventually leading to the heart, downtown. And it's that classic, almost too-good-to-be-true downtown skyline with its magnificent skyscrapers so emblematic of the heady achievements of humans, once they became free of the confines of the church. take heed of the skyline of downtown Chicago for the first time today. Haven't seen it in years; formerly so familiar to me, as downtown San Francisco is to me now.

My turn for a question--or two: "Which bookstore is it again? What street is it on?" (That last one was to satisfy that sudden twinge of nostalgia brought on by the Sears Tower and her sisters).

"The bookstore is called 'No Page Left Unturned' and it's at the intersection of North Ave and Wells--I've told you that at least a dozen times since the limo picked you up in San Francisco, Darwin," Ms. Cabal scolds.

Ignore her and focus on the positive: "Ah, right in the middle of Old Town, which was a center of counterculture dissidence in the late 60's; seems an appropriate locale as any to promote Bye Bull.

Ms. Cabal looks down at her I-Glass "I've received the latest sales figures for the books, if you're interested, Darwin."

Like to pretend like I'm not, but no using doing so in her presence, so I nod.

"Since October 31st, the official release date for Bye Bull , HOW MANY IN WHAT TIME SPAN hardcover copies have been sold." MAY CHANGE

"Is that good?"

"It's one of the best first week TERMINOLOGY? ever at Apogee Writ."

"Good to hear, I know how much you invested the book, Ms. Cabal."

"You invested far more, Darwin."

She always tops me, so cut the praise.

Ms. Cabal isn't finished with me, and as always, plows straight-ahead with her agenda: "Are you clear on the itinerary for the lecture and book-signing, Darwin?"

"Think so. I speak and then I sign. Is that right?"

"Don't be flippant with me, Darwin." Yes, Ms. Cabal actually dressed me down in front of Tela--and more importantly, in front of Cassandra

Steal a quick glance her way to see if she's disgusted with me, but she's doesn't seem interested, staring out the window at the approaching skyline. Not sure whether to be relived or insulted by her indifference.

Forget it and study the 'cheat sheet' cards in prep for my big-time speech, but thoughts invariably drift and my eyes wander off the page in front of me and outside to the sea of skyscrapers that our limo edges ever nearer to the shore of, the same sight that seemingly captivated Cassandra. It's as impressive as it is every year I see it.

Staggers the mind how that came to be--how human people--like me, but way more competent than me, were able to pull such a thing off. Even motivated by money, it still seems incredulous to me. The San Francisco skyline pales in comparison, tis but a hollow mockery of the majesty of the Second City.

This rush triggers memories of a time before meeting Ms. Cabal and writing Bye Bull , used to find myself longing to move back here, to Chicago. Mainly because I was such a fucking loser and it was a way of retreating back to the womb.

But not anymore. Not now, at least--can say that with reasonable confidence, for I finally have something good going for myself.

Content for the first time this day, which means clearing my mind and just taking in the skyline and indulging in memories too primordial and personal even for these pages...

Jolted back into the necessities of reality when the stretch pulls into the parking lot of the bookstore that will be hosting my the first event on the official 'tour' (again, San Francisco was but a warm-up among friends. Well, they were Ms. Cabal's friends, anyway.

On some level this must be what it's like for a musician on tour; jump off the airplane and hop into a limo and straight to the next 'gig'--in this case a brief talk and then a book-signing.

Cassandra emerges from the limo first; like a good protector, she assesses the area and makes sure we weren't followed (not that we were worried about that), and that it's entirely safe for the rest of us to get out of the limo and go into the back of the bookstore.

There a manager who introduces herself as Marcia greets us with a earring-to-earring smile as she leads us from the gravelly parking lot to the 'backstage' area, if you can call it that. Just a small room with a couch and couple of chairs for writers to hang out and relax before an appearance.

Ms. Cabal has me sit in front of the only mirror and instructs Tela to do my make-up and hair, which only consists of her brushing my hair a couple times to even it out (it had matted oddly when I laid back on my airplane seat), and applying some theatrical makeup on my face.

"It'll help the lights pick up your face better for the whole audience. I checked out the lighting in the area where you'll be speaking and I wasn't all that impressed. See, Darwin, your skin falls in between the range of 'fair' and 'pink', two of the four basic skin tone colors, so you do need some of this makeup in order for the people in the back to see you better while you speak," Tela informs me.

Whatever, not going to complain when a beauty like that is touching my face--though still wishing they were Cassandra's hands.

Only until Ms. Cabal signals her approval with a nod does Tela cease making me up. Ms. Cabal takes one last good look at me in the mirror and again nods, this time in final approval.

"You're ready, Darwin."

I don't have a say in it, she's decided I'm ready, as she decides everything.

She looks down at my bare hands. "Do you have your lecture notes?"

Pat my front left pocket in response. Feels pretty light, but hate being wrong in front of her.

Look up in the mirror and find Ms. Cabal shaking her head. "The notes are in your back right pocket, Darwin."

Reach back and find that they are indeed there. But wait...if she knew that, why'd she ask? And how'd she know they were in the other pocket?

Aw, she must have seen me slip them in my back pocket before I sat down to get made-up.

Keep telling yourself that, Darwin...

Now that I'm ready to meet my readers, Cassandra takes over and flanks me on my left side, not needing a cue from Ms. Cabal Another reason to like her.

Get an immediate glimpse of Cassandra's attentiveness when she moves in front of me as an unknown person enters the back area.

"Hello everybody, I'm Julia Boothroyd, the owner of No Page Unturned."

As always, Ms. Cabal assumes control: "Hello, Julia. I am D'Mona Cabal, this is my assistant Tela Delacroix--"

"Ah yes, Tela, we spoke on the phone," Julia interrupts, and then spotting me as the sole male of our coterie, smiles and extends her hands with the long newly polished pink fingernails.

"And you must be Darwin."

Cassandra subtly steps aside, allowing me to shake Julia's soft hand.

She looks over at the unsmiling Cassandra.

"That's my bodyguard," I tell Julia.

"Oh. I see," but the expression she's showing is like she doesn't see, uncertain why a bodyguard is necessary, but unsure to ask why.

"So if you're all ready we can go out to the main speaking area and I'll introduce Darwin to the audience.

As the four of us walk from the private area to the retail floor, Cassandra flanks me on my left-side, more exposed to the general bookstore crowd than my right side--not everyone's at No Page just to see little ol' me.

First time in my life I've ever been 'body-guarded' and it feels weird. Of course, just being around such a crowd without walking through them, on the way to somewhere else, never to be involved with them, is weird. Earlier, Cassandra told me that I'm considered "The Principal" in this dynamic. Never felt more important--or more paranoid.

Those who have come to get their book signed are already seated; take a look out at my audience, my legit audience. In San Francisco, it was mostly Ms. Cabal's friends she made or asked to come out to make it a big event. Yeah, there were some interested folks there no doubt, but let's face it, the book hadn't even been released the day of the San Fran pre-release party or whatever we ended up calling it.

But now look out upon a group of people who came here because--presumably--they dug my book. Suppose it's possible there are haters in attendance; that's what Cassandra is being paid for.

As we near the podium, Ms. Cabal whispers in my ear, "Tela and I will take out seats now, Darwin. You need not be nervous--while not everyone here is a fan of yours--no one is here to physically harm you. Concentrate on making your spoken words as poised as your written words. Most of all, enjoy it, you uptight little boy."

She draws her lips from my ears, and she and Tela walk walk to their front row chairs that Julia reserved for them and take their seats.

Occurs to me it's sound advice she's giving me--albeit delivered in full D'mona Cabal style, including the 'little boy' crack.

Feel a flash of warmth and confidence not unlike last xmas eve, when this all began it seems. It's all laid out in front of me, every word that needs to be uttered to convey these concepts to an audience already receptive to my perspective.

Suddenly stop in my tracks, completely distracted by one burning new thought: How the hell does Ms. Cabal know no one's here to harm me? And if that's the case, why do we need Cassandra?

One glance at those crimson tresses that seem to dangle forever tells me why I need Cassandra.

Gotta put all of this out of my mind as we approach the podium and it's only now that I fully take note of No Page Unturned's ambiance, with famous books throughout history and into the 21st Century somehow affixed to the various walls.

However, don't see Bye Bull up there, but the bible sure is. But it's right next to a copy (original!) of The Descent of Man, so at least they've got a sense of humor at No Page.

That and the whole way the store is painted and laid out, it just has a very cool feel, more like you're in a museum for books than just another bookstore.

Cassandra remains on my left side--which she obviously deliberately chose, as it's the side I'm most exposed to the audience in general. The ones who don't pose any threat to me, that is.

On my right side is Julia, who steps up to the mic stand on the podium to introduce me:

"Good evening, everybody! Welcome to No Page Unturned, Chicago's number one bookstore!"

Resounding applause fills the room and shouts of "Hi Julia!" permeate the cheers. Obviously she's a hands-on owner whose made personal connections with many of her customers.

"I really want to thank all of you for coming out tonight, because it's events like this that keep the literary scene in Chicago--and across the country--truly alive. We have a very special guest tonight, author of his very first book that is stirring controversy and opening minds all over the place. Chicago is his hometown if you didn't know that..."

More applause, this of the self-congratulatory nature.

"And he told me that Chicago was chosen as the first stop on his promotional book tour because it has so much meaning for him. So without further delay, let me present the author of Bye Bull, Darwin Grimm."

Even richer applause follows, which certainly emboldens me. Julia gives me a 'good luck' hug, but since my back's turned to Cassandra, can't tell if it's making her jealous in the least.

Not that she'd show it in the least.

Julia takes a seat next to Ms. Cabal, and they chat in quick whispered tones while the applause sustains. Cassandra remains standing, always facing the crowd--and the entire bookstore, parallel with my shoulder line, still to my left, roughly three yards away, standing calmly with her hands placed behind her back. Presumably close enough for her to leap in front of a bullet (or a dagger--do people still throw those?), yet far enough that she's not in the line of sight of the audience looking at me.

She stands calmly, with her hands behind her back, never watching me, always watching the audience in the seats and the rest of the crowd milling about the bookstore. She considers them just as much a threat as anyone seated before me.

Think she wants people to know she's my bodyguard, to intimidate them. Have to ask her about about that later.

But then, Ms. Cabal said there's nothing to worry about. She was bullshitting me, like she always does, just to relax me.

But you know what? I'm going to buy into the bullshit like I have so many times before and relax and focus because nothing else matters but speaking in front of my readers.

Time to stop being part of the audience and start being the show. Reach into my back pocket as Ms. Cabal had corrected me and sure enough, there are my notes, just waiting to be ignored.

Pull them out anyway, for a crutch if nothing else. The whole point of this is not to be just reading--not from my book or anything else, but speaking .

Departing from the traditional "author reading from the book" promotional appearance allows me to indulge in a bit of artistic liberty in addressing certain subjects and topics--while still relating it to Bye Bull.

Glad there's a cold bottle of water waiting for me at the podium, take a relaxing gulp before looking out into the waiting audience. Don't even bother forcing a smile or making eye contact with anyone in particular, all those things you're "supposed" to do to build rapport with an audience. Don't care; not running for office. If those things matter more than the content of my words and writing, then what the hell am I doing up here in the first place?

With that settled, take a deep breath, look over at Ms. Cabal who seems as confident and relaxed as always. She's sure I'm going to do well.

"First off, let me thank everyone for coming out here and for buying a copy of Bye Bull. If you haven't bought it, I've been told to tell you that you can buy it at this amazing bookstore that I am just seeing now for the first time, taking it all in as it were. See, I was lead in the back-way, and I'm just seeing all this--and all of you for the first time."

People smile understanding, further relaxing me.

"Of course, as always, have to thank Ms. Cabal, owner of Apogee Writ, the company that published Bye Bull . Let's face it, probably the only major publishing house that would have had the courage to publish it. To say I owe everything to Ms. Cabal would be understating it. Truly, I wouldn't be standing here before you without her and Apogee Writ. Also want to thank her assistant Tela Delacroix."

Decide not to acknowledge Cassandra, and that's probably a good decision on my part, don't think she'd be too thrilled with me singling her out as "my bodyguard".

Gotta stop thinking about her and get to it:

"This particular talk I'm about to embark on is based on the Bye Bull essay "There is No God, Anywhere" But I am going to expand on some of the issues I did not elaborate on in further detail in the book in the interest of editorial brevity and deadline."

A few knowing chuckles from the writers and publishing professionals in the audience.

"Might I add that the book was self-edited. My publisher Ms. Cabal allowed me that freedom and to her I an eternally indebted. If I am capable of remaining in debt for eternity. I suppose if I were christian, I could."

That draws a knowing laugh from the smart Chicago audience. Feel a warm rush and a sense of pride that I'm from here.

"However, Ms. Cabal did specify an approximate number of pages for the Bye Bull in total that I was not to exceed. This was done for two reasons; one, to make the book more accessible to a wider audience, and two, to ensure that the book would be released on Halloween. I did not begin writing the book until March of this year.

"Therefore, I see these speaking engagements, publicity appearances, interviews and book signings as an opportunity to expand on those ideas I unfortunately had to leave stranded at the side of the road in the interests of finally finishing a book for once in my life."

Generous laughter; nothing works like self-deprecation.

Scan the audience to see if any family members or childhood friends showed up.

Nada. Just as well, don't need any more pressure.

Only recognizable faces are the only ones that matter--Tela, Ms. Cabal...and Cassandra.

"So in this talk--"lecture" sounds too collegiate--my first on this tour, and only the second I've ever delivered in my life, I want to expand on essay NUMBER in your program, TITLE

"As was the case with the essay itself--but to an even greater degree with what I'm about to say to all of you--this subject matter may cause consternation and controversy as I speak about--metaphysical issues."

Feign ducking for cover behind the podium, eliciting more laughs.

Pretend to "dust myself off" while standing straight up and continue:

"Do I offer the following rhetoric to serve as a substitute for the spiritual components of christianity that I expose as a corruption of genuine spiritual precepts and theories?

"No, such attempts have always smacked of rationalization. Rather, the intent here is to explore genuine spiritual theories and to present them in the context of their eventual corruption by christianity.

"For it is not enough to merely trump christianity on the physical plane, it must also be conquered on the metaphysical. Otherwise, christians always have that "You never know" argument in their hip pocket. That's the one where they'll tell you: "You never know what's really going to happen when you die. You can't say there isn't a god and a jesus and a devil and a heaven and a hell until you die.

"Of course, even with what I'm about to impart to you, any christian could still resort to the "You never know" defense, but it will resonate with much less validity once one is familiar with plausible metaphysics, even if only in a rudimentary sense.

"Again, the following theories I'm about to discuss are not to be seen as a substitute for christianity, but rather as the progenitor of christianity.
For christianity represents a corruption of sincere, legitimate spiritual theories, such as are about to be discussed at length.

"I personally regard the following to be an attempt at describing a 'spiritual science' or perhaps a discourse in 'spiritual logic' would be more appropriate.

"That's right, you've come to the live appearance of an author of a book vehemently opposed to christianity and its pernicious influence, and yet, the very first subject I'm going to speak publicly on is "How did it all begin?" Not merely this universe in which we presently dwell, not the greater multiverse of which our universe is but one bubble or part, but rather the physical plane entire.

"The physical had to start somewhere, at the very beginning--and that beginning was the metaphysical.

"It all comes down to the Uncaused First Cause. In other words, the first thing that ever existed, that which came before all other things, that which did not originate from anything before it, because nothing did come before it, nothing could come before it. Once you've identified the Uncaused First Cause, then you've found the Beginning with a capital "B", the source of all things.

"Is it god I speak of? No. The Uncaused First Cause is...Awareness. That's Awareness with a capital 'A', yet it's the same awareness with a lowercase 'a' that each one of us possesses. It is 'Absolute Awareness', to be precise. The god/christ figureheads offered by christianity--assuming for the sake of argument they even exist--are but metaphysical descendants of Absolute Awareness.

"Absolute Awareness was neither created nor can it be destroyed. It has always existed and will always exist, regardless of the activity of the other planes of existence. It did not 'come to be'. Nor will it 'end'.

"So how did Absolute Awareness result in the formation and creation of all things, including our present reality? Stay tuned..."

See excitement in the eyes of a few, good sign.

"For brevity's sake, I will refer to Absolute Awareness from here on out as A-squared. Also, to reduce the pretentious quotient by a few degrees."

Some laughs from the audience reduce it even a couple more degrees.

Try another joke that doesn't go over quite as well, "You might say that A-squared is the archetypal type-A personality."

Despite that bomb, can see they're pretty much into what I'm laying out. I'm not half bad at this public speaking bullshit. At least, it feels natural and comfortable to me. Maybe because what I'm rapping about isn't bullshit, it comes from the heart, and the audience can sense the sincerity behind my words.

Like when I posit: "Where is A-squared, you may ask? It's not any 'where', it exists beyond all measure, beyond all perception, beyond all dimensions, and beyond all planes of existence, physical or metaphysical.

"Furthermore, A-squared precedes Ultimate Consciousness or Universal Mind or whatever it's called these day. It is before 'thought' and 'life' and 'being'and all those topics in the metaphysical portal. Rather, A-squared is the Uncaused First Cause that gives rise to all those things--and more, making it the most fundamental constituent of all existence, both physical and metaphysical. A-squared is that which lies behind everything you know and everything you don't know.

"Yet it is not 'god' in any sense of the word, there is no authority, no creative force present, no judgment. And this is where christianity ultimately falls short, in that it is unable to properly document the metaphysical process that gave form and function to the physical. It aims to, but falls woefully short, as we shall see."

"If each of you--or any of you--can open your minds to the concept of A-squared, to the notion of the Uncaused First Cause, then you can glimpse the ultimate truth, the legitimate answer to the "Where did it all begin?" question. Furthermore, this knowledge should inform each of you that christianity is not the absolute gospel truth it purports to be on metaphysical issues for the very reason it does not address such concerns as I just described, but rather circumvents them at every turn.

"The bible, if you recall, begins with god already having existed, there is no explanation proffered as to where god came from. But ultimately the god of the bible is too complex (and flawed) to be seriously regarded as the ultimate source of all things.

"If god exists at all, it would be only at the later stage of the formation of all existence. For the god of every religion is a being of varying emotions, but A-squared is eternally unchanging.

"Long before any overly ambitious bloke like god came along, there was only A-squared. A-squared never changes, but because it is Awareness, an inevitability was to occur...

"A-squared became aware of itself in the act of Self-Awareness, or SA--that's the letters 'S' and 'A'--not essay as in the contents of Bye Bull. Always pitching, aren't I? But then, I presume most of you have bought the book if you're looking to get something signed other than a body part.

A few laughs, like weaving them in the midst of the metaphysical profundities.

"Thus, for the simple fact that all existence was Awareness, it stands to reason that A-squared would only and inevitably become aware of itself--Absolute Awareness--resulting in Self-Awareness.

"When I speak of both A-squared and SA, it is important to try your damnedest to not think of them in terms of physical reality, but in purely abstract terms, even more abstract than thought itself.

"Because A-squared is infinite, its experience of SA was also infinite. While SA was created, by A-squared, it cannot be destroyed, because A-squared will always exist and always be Self-Aware.

"But there is a critical, crucial difference between A-squared and SA--that SA is capable of change. It is that change from the pure awareness of A-squared to the transmutable state of SA that eventually results in the creation of...everything. Or to be more precise, everything that exists beyond A-squared--which is everything. But of course, A-squared exists in everything. Thus the macrocosm and the microcosm are in harmony in the grandest of metaphysical scales.

"From this point forward, the process of emanation takes hold; creation as a gradual process from the first act, as it were, of A-squared becoming SA, and then SA splitting off into the next metaphysical emanation, which eventually lead to the First Thought, which later emanated to the First Consciousness, the basis for the consciousness each of us possesses today.

"Again, this was still a completely abstract environment, nothing physical in nature. But First Consciousness kept evolving and expanding, becoming more intricate, although always less pure. Definitive purity is found only in A-squared, every emanation represents a decrease in the metaphysical purity, but such is a trade-off for progress.

"The emanations that sprung forth from First Consciousness are what eventually lead to the formation of what is commonly referred to as the 'Spirit World'. This obviously, includes the realm of more complex spiritual entities, such as the christian god my opponents are so fond of quoting, serving on bended knee, and pretending they are made in 'his' image.

"Keep in mind this god would merely be an emanation of A-squared, ultimately and forever a product of it, not the other way 'round. god is not the creator of Awareness. This is consistent with the biblical portrayal of god as jealous and petty, more a father figure that lords over his physical creations, rather than anything resembling the Uncaused First Cause that is A-squared, which is a state of perfection.

"A-squared is not capable of judgment as it precedes the very notion of 'right' or 'wrong'. Indeed, if anything could be said to be 'beyond good and evil', it would be A-squared. The christian god, on the other hand is famously described as being consumed with differentiating between right and wrong at all times--to the extent that he established a set of laws. Yet this is nothing more than the personal power consolidation machinations of a mid-level deity in the unfolding dynamic being presented to you."

"So the next time a christian tells you--or tries to tell you that god is the beginning and the end, and the creator of all things, and all that, you now know otherwise and can assure them that the Uncaused First Cause was around a lot longer than their god."

Some laughs and even some applause, as I bow my head signifying the end of the talk.

Finally can relax as I take a long deep drink of the water, so cold and fresh it sends makes me headrush, but in a good way.

Catch Ms. Cabal's eye and find approval waiting for me, compounding the relief.

Julia gets up from her seat and takes over the microphone as I step aside

"Once again we want to thank Darwin Grimm for a stirring talk and for appearing here today at No Page Unturned. Darwin will be signing books in about fifteen minutes after we let him get a breather and we'll set up a table here where the lecture podium is standing. So anytime you want, you can start lining up to have Darwin sign your book--"

Suddenly a guy with unmistakable stringy dishwater blonde hair and a beaming wide smile as bright as his locks stands up and asks me, Julia, and the whole bookstore, "Hey, what about a question-and-answer session? I came here expecting a Q&A!"

A few others seated near the flaxen fellow seem to agree with him.

Naturally, my immediate response is to look over to Ms. Cabal and she silently and subtly nods her approval.

Lean over in front of Julia to return to my rightful place behind the mic: "Questions, it is then!"

A resounding applause breaks out.

"Note that I didn't promise any answers, just questions!"

Laughs all around and I'm more popular than ever. Ah, so that's how you do it. Don't offer it at first and then when you give it to them, you look like Mr. Magnanimous.

My reward is a sea of hands before me, most shaking or vibrating in some way, all vying to be chosen to query me.

This must be one of the horrors of teaching--don't know who the hell to pick first.

Catch of glimpse of the stringy-haired fellow who insisted upon this Q&A sesh, so acknowledge his question first, utterly delighting the lad, flashing a wide smile that lights up the room like I'm never able to with my smile. His voice is slightly raspy with a nasal twang, absolutely distinct, so no comparisons are suitable.

"Thank you for choosing me first, Mr. Grimm--"

"Call me Darwin."

His smile widens, if that's possible: "Humble, too! Thank you, Darwin! My name is Michael Palmer and I wanted to know if you've ever thought about...taking this...beyond a book...?"

Figures that'd be the very first question at my very first book signing. Haven't the foggiest...

"What do you mean, beyond a book?"

"What I mean is, starting a group...an organization...a movement...or something where those of us who share your...philosophy, could come together and..."

"And what?" I interject, emphasizing the word that challenges him to come up with a tangible suggestion. It's like when I was a kid and I'd ask "Why" and the parent would say "Because" and that was it, no further questions.

Thought he was caught off-guard, but no, Palmer recovers nicely and makes his point: "My idea is that a bunch of us...your readers...would get together and form a...group that would...stand against Christianity."

Break the kid's heart as I laugh right in his face. "What are you saying, that you want me to form some kind of cult or something. You can't be serious? I'm a writer, not a leader of people. If anything, I'm against the whole leader/follower concept. Have you actually read Bye Bull?"

Guilt soaks in a moment later when disappointment strains through his expression.

Even so, he manages to correct me--and then teach me something about the book I hadn't realized.

"Yes, Darwin, I have read Bye Bull --twice as a matter of fact. And that's why I'm up here making a fool out of myself I guess, but what I got out of your book was that there has to be more to life than what we're given. Bye Bull showed me there's a different way to live life, if I want to live it."

There you go. Not only did he correct me, but he taught me something about my own book I didn't know.

"First off, nobody said you're a fool. You're not a fool--hell, you're more creative than I am. It's like I stopped thinking when I stopped writing the book. It's just that your--proposal--is the last thing I'd ever think about. I mean, I've always been such a loner, an individual--that the notion of living with people who share a common ideology...is about as foreign a concept to me as converting to christianity."

With my obligation to that rather ambitious chap aside, time to select the next waving hand. This time let my little head do the thinking, choosing the most attractive female, a swarthy brunette with accommodating breasts.

Big mistake.

"Mr. Grimm, it is true that your book is anti-Semitic because it disparages Jews in its condemnation and mockery of the old Testament God?"

Rub my temples in temporary disbelief and squint for strength before replying. Between her and Palmer and I'm ready to just start signing books.

Still, her 'Q' requires my 'A': "Antisemitism is prejudice, bias or outright hatred against Jews as a people or their culture, my book only takes umbrage with their religious system and their god.

"I oppose all the major monotheistic religions, and additionally oppose judaism for its direct influence in the formation of christianity, the primary focus of my religious opposition.

"judaism is not the sole influence on christianity, as I have pointed out many times in comparing the ancient pagan religion of Mithraism with its descendant christianity. But judaism's influence is the most overt and judaism still exists today as a powerful monotheistic religion in its own right, and is therefore the subject of my overt criticism with organized religion in general.

"Bottom line, I'd be a bald-faced hypocrite if I were to hold views on judaism, islam or hinduism contrary to my essential positions when it comes to christianity. That's what plagues a lot of liberals and progressives who focus on christianity and undermines their arguments.

"I'm not anti-Semitic; I'm anti-judaic. Therein lies an important distinction, one that takes into account the close intertwined relationship between jewish religion and culture. islam has the same difficulties when it comes to separating analysis of their culture independent of their religion. With Western cultures in the post-Renaissance world, we've been able to separate religion from the secular culture at large. But for how much longer, I wonder?

"Of course, concern over the loss of our secular culture is part of the reason we're all gathered here tonight, isn't it?"

Some knowing laughs parceled out. Some don't laugh 'cause they don't find it all that amusing. Can see it in their eyes. In some of them, at least.

Not sure if she was satisfied with my reply, but really appreciate that this isn't a debate, and can move on to another person with another question

But it's 'strike two' (or 'three' depending on how you look at Palmer) with the next raised hand chosen, a semi-disheveled lad with tribal tattoos scrawled across his completely shaved head and flaring nostrils, "Hey man, I was just going to ask you the opposite thing; I wanna know if you're a Jew?"

What a meathead. But he seems potentially dangerous, so answer him calmly. "No, I'm not jewish, christian or any religion. I used to be christian, catholick specifically, back when I was a kid and early teen. Abandoned it completely by the time I was in college and reached age twenty. I abandoned christianity, and that's the same thing I advocate every other christian do. Obviously, it'd be hypocritical of me now to belong to any monotheistic organized religion, including judaism."

Meaty doesn't seem too content, his brawny shoulders bunch up as he continues, "See, the reason I asked that man, was because all you ever seem to do is rip on Christianity, you know, the religion of proud white Americans!"

Now he's pissing me off so I snap back: "Last time I checked, there are plenty of Black and Latino people in christian churches, so maybe you should join forces with them against me."

He's not thrilled with my sarcasm, but can't tell if he's actually a physical threat. Ms. Cabal, as calm as can be while checking her I-Glass, would assure me that he isn't anything to worry about--but what does she know, really?

Sometimes I think I'm the one projecting all this power into her.

Meanwhile, don't even have to look over at Cassandra to know that she's ready to pounce on Mr. Meathead if he takes a step toward me.

But he's got nothing else to say and flips me the bird as he leaves his seat, then walks clean out of the bookstore.

Hope to put him behind me, but nope...still batting a thousand with my next selection; a conservatively dressed woman with a pinched face. Noticed she never laughed or applauded at a single thing I said the whole evening. Picking her must be evidence of my latent self-destructive tendencies. As much as Ms. Cabal's done for me, she couldn't get rid of those, apparently.

The nasal twang draping her tone cuts worse than her words: "I'm not surprised you were raised Catholic. I have a feeling you may have been molested and raped by a priest. Were you an altar boy?"

Before answering, quickly scan the audience and find more than a few faces perturbed by this assault on me (why haven't I picked any of them to ask a goddamn question?) They're ticked off, and rightfully so, by this woman's implication that my sole motivation for writing Bye Bull stems from the fact that I was sexually assaulted by Father Flanagan. Their unspoken support boosts my rejoinder:

"Hate to break it to you, but I wasn't. The notion of being an altar boy gave me the creeps, even back then when I still believed and all that. Maybe it was an intuition, a premonition on my part as to what would later be revealed to be a widespread atrocity that coursed through the life's blood of the catholic church. I can't say for sure. Besides, being an altar boy would've interfered too much with my boyhood passions of comic books and baseball cards."

A big round of laughs mixed with applause and I'm feeling an ego stroke; no bad off the top of my head. Felt natural dipping into a littler personal nostalgia being back here in sweet hometown Chicago.

But the fashionably modest woman with the squinting look persists, "It seems to me, Mr. Grimm, that you must have underlying issues to be so opposed to Christianity in particular and religion in general.

The way she said underlying issues, like she thinks she's penetrating my very soul and that I should be blown away by her perceptions. Instead it has me wondering if this broad is some kind of Crusader plant? Would they actually stoop to hiring someone to come and try and fuck with my first book signing?

Dash the paranoia; have to answer her or appear bested in front of my readers. The words on the pages of Bye Bull might not resonate so genuinely if they witness me succumbing to this frumpy house-Frau.

When speaking, however, I address the audience whole:

"You may think that's the first time I've ever heard that--the "underlying issues" bit--but sadly, it isn't. It's a small-minded argument--if it's even worthy of being designated as an "argument" in the first place.

"Instead of attempting to counter my position in regards to christianity, this woman has chosen to shift the focus on to possible...motivations within myself that have produced my extreme opposition to christian influence on the culture at large. Such motivations such as seeking vengeance for being sexually abused by perverted priests--redundant as that term may be. In other words, making it about me rather than the larger issues at hand."

Look out into the sea of raised hands and make one more attempt at fielding a legitimate query: "So, do we have any questions that aren't my underlying issues, where I was born, or how many zits I had on my face when I was sixteen?"

Laughs arise. The innate comic in me feeds off it:

"The answer is 23, by the way. You're looking at the original Chicago deep-dish pizza-face here."

Bigger laughs arise. Toldja, self-deprecation always works--especially when you're dealing with heavy issues like advocating the dissolution of christianity. Works even when you lie--I only had a few zits.

SOMEONE HAS TO ASK ME A 'HOW DOES IT FEEL BEING BACK IN YOUR HOMETOWN' QUESTION, MAYBE A HIPSTER REPORTER FOR A LOCAL HIPSTER MAG

Single out a cute chubby female to pick for the next question: "Do you like worry about turning off the readers who are atheists who came here tonight expecting some of the anti-Christian stuff we get in your book instead of that New Age-y type lecture you gave?"

A few laughs, a couple boos and hisses, but some light applause--apparently my choice of subject was more controversial than I realized.

Let the room die down while gathering my thoughts, want this to come across the right way: "I have to thank you for asking that question. I was kind of hoping someone would. The topic I discussed tonight was a legitimate concern and something that crossed my mind constantly before I too First off, want to thank all of you for indulging me, for letting me go off the beaten path, which I think reflects the true spirit of the book never conforming to expectations--even our own.

"You have to understand that I have many more interests than just anti-christian philosophy. Metaphysics is among them. After all, if we're all in agreement that the christian fable regarding the end of the world is metaphysically impotent, then another explanation must be provided for the metaphysical existence that preceded our physical existence. That is, if you're curious about such things."

More laughs, but want to hammer home a serious point:

"As I mentioned at the top of the talk, I have no interest in providing a substitution for christianity, but to take away christianity's monopoly. Particularly because there is no moral component to the metaphysical system I described. Morals are defined on the physical plane."

Some genuine applause there.

Julia appears in my ear once more to whisper: "This isn't going too well."

Cup the microphone with my hand to reply: "We can't stop now, I'm on a roll, and there's people who still want to ask questions."

"I know Darwin, but I've got a business to run and I'd like to get on with the signing, and I want to make sure every person gets their books signed before we close. They can ask you questions when they get their books signed, right?"

A rationalization, but I'll take it. "Alright."

Am no big-time author to her, she deals with so many, to her I'm just another writer passing through on tour.

Don't want to be bitter, but focus on meeting the readers for the first time.

Pull my cupped palm away from the mic: "Sorry, everyone, I've just been informed that there is no more time for Q&A, because we still have a book signing to do and then they have to clear this area out apparently to do something crazy like sell books or something like that, I don't know."

A few groans, but general acceptance. What were they going to do, start a riot?

Got to treat this as a learning experience, for the next appearance in Atlanta. We--I--will make sure there's enough time to allotted for Q&A in between the lecture and the signing session. Didn't want to get into it with Julia, but answering questions during a signing is lame, because only the people right behind the person asking the question can hear me responding, as opposed to be on the mic at the podium before the entire audience.

Atlanta, I'll make this right. For now, have books to sign.

Minutes later and I'm seated behind a narrow table, suitable for book-signing, enough room for a book and my to sign, but not so long that the reader has to crawl over the table to get the book to me. My chair could be more comfortable, but then I won't be here that long.

Alongside the table runs the line of readers waiting with Bye Bull in hand.

One-by-one they step in front of me, only the table separating us as each deposits her/his copy of my book to be signed. Unless they specify otherwise, sign the first blank page PUBLISHING TERM

Most chit-chat a bit, and ask a question or two, but nothing memorable to this point.

All the while, Cassandra stands behind me, but again off to the side so she's not annoyingly over my shoulder or becoming 'part of the scene'.

If someone did pull out a weapon or try to fuck with me in any way, reckon she'd have to leap over the table and/or me to snuff the perp. Reckon she'd do it, too.

Contrary to the Q&A debacle, the signing is going well, no one yet approaches me with weaponry, accusations, or worse--bad questions.

Maybe it's going too well--find myself getting a bit bored.

Have to chide myself for that emotion--after all, could be back on an endlessly boring movie set, getting paid minimum wage to fritter my life away, as opposed to applying my autograph to copies of a book I've written that's being published and sold in major bookstores and critics are reviewing and people are reading and a slice of the culture actually cares about.

But despite all that, yes, feel a twinge of boredom creeping in...

As usual, spoke too soon and am confronted by that guy that demanded the Q&A sesh, the one who asked me about forming a cult. What was his name again--Piper? Parker? Peters? Know it was something that starts with a "P"

Can't forget his whole look though, with the stringy hair and the warm smile. Also notice he's sporting a 'white trash tuxedo' of jean jacket and blue jeans

"Hello Darwin, I'm Michael Palmer. Once again, it's an honor to finally meet you," he introduces himself with friendly palm extended.

Against my antisocial instincts I meet Palmer's palm, and his grip is firm...maybe a tad too firm. I've always held any handshake firmer than required usually reveals some insecurities in the hand-shaker.

Hard to make out his age, there are lines on his face but he wields a youthful verve.

Palmer has a presence, an palpable essence--but get an intuitive flash that there's a dangerous, or at least unstable, element about him.

Still, doesn't hurt to sign the bloke's book. Hell, the man just put money in my pocket with that purchase.

While I sign, he speaks:

"I have to apologize for the way I may have come across earlier, Darwin. It didn't come out right, what I was trying to tell you."

Finish signing the book, look up at Palmer and ask, "Oh yeah? How was it supposed to come across?"

Palmer smiles and me then peers over his shoulder at the line of people still waiting for their Bye Bulls to be signed.

"I would...but...it's really a lot to go into."

"Then email me. Darwin Grimm at Yahoo dot com."

Palmer furiously scribbles the email address into his palm. Presumably the only other source of paper he had is his freshly signed Bye Bull , and he's not about to damage its value. Can tell he's a geek collector type.

"Thanks again, Darwin. I'll let you get on with signing all the other books from your fans. I'll see you in Atlanta!"

"You will?"

Palmer nods and dashes off. Quite a fan, he even knows where the next stop on the tour is. But why the hell would he want to see me again?

No time to ponder as a bespectacled female fan with thick lips and a think waist commands all my attention with her rather special autograph request.

No, not signing her buxom bosom or anything like that; rather, to write out a special dedication to her father who was molested by a catholick priest as a youth and thereafter turned his back on the hypocrisy of a church that ignore his claims of being raped and rewarded the priest by shuffling him off to a bishop-ship at another church in a different, distant archdiocese.

Cool to know somebody's father is reading me, thought it was mostly the youth I was cultivating. Elderly folks tend to be stronger in their faith as the end nears.

The remainder of the patiently waiting readers (genuinely humbling me) run fairly nondescript, content getting their book signed sans tragic tales or grandiose plots for world domination, while offering me nothing more than a simple "Thanks" or a handshake. And that's more than enough.

Half hour or so later scribble out the last signature. Can finally rise from my seat and stretch out stiff legs and arms while the blood flows back into my ass.

It's only in doing this do I see Cassandra, who had effectively melded into the mise en scene all the while I was signing. Don't even need to feel protected, she's there, protecting my blindside, regardless of my awareness.

HOW TO END, WITH MS. CABAL COMMENT, MY REFLECTION, WHAT DO I DO? BACK IN THE LIMO?



STILL, SHE PERSISTS, 'YOU HAVE UNDERLYING ISSUES'

PEOPLE WHO SAY THAT NEVER CAN ATTACK MY IDEAS AND PROPOSITIONS, JUST MY PERSONAL CHARACTER AND PSYCHOLOGICAL PROFILE
CALL Q&A SESH AFTER THAT? OR DO I ASK, 'ANY REAL QUESTIONS?'


Q&A SESH
ANTI-SEMETIC QUESTION

FIRST PALMER MEETING
DURING THE BOOK SIGNING
HE WANTS TO KNOW IF I WOULD FORM A GROUP OF ANTI-CHRISTIANS AND IF HE COULD JOIN
I REBUFF HIM, MORE PERPLEXED THAN TRULY ANNOYED


AFTERWARDS, MS CABAL TAKES THE FOUR OF US OUT TO A ITALIAN RESTAURANT THAT SHE PAID TO STAY OPEN LATE AND WE TOAST OUR EVENING

I NOTE HOW OVERWHELMED I AM BY THE HEAVY OVER STIMULI. IT WASN'T LIKE THE FIRST TALK IN SF, WHERE I WAS ON STAGE WITH AP, THAT WAS MORE REMOVED. THIS WAS DIRECT CONTACT WITH PEOPLE WHO'VE READ ME NOW...AND HAVE EXPECTATIONS.
"WELCOME TO FAME, DARWIN, HOWEVER SLIGHT IT MIGHT BE FOR AN AUTHOR OF PHILOSOPHICAL ESSAYS. BUT IN THIS POST-INTERNET AGE, SPECIALIZED FAME CAN COME QUICKLY...AND INTENSELY.
Ms. Cabal; "As great a writer as you are Darwin--and you are a great one--you may have well outdone youself with those words."

She's genuinely impressed. And for just an impossible flash of a moment--I see a glimmer of submission in her dark dark eyes.
But immediately dismiss it as pure fantasy.

Before we exit No Page Left Unturned, Cassandra conducts a thorough search of the street in front of the bookstore, while Ms. Cabal and I wait inside.

Five minutes later, her head pops into the bookstore, "All clear."

Not that I was worried, it's more of an inconvenience to me--I figure no one cares about me that the government would go to the trouble of assassinating me or any Christian would take me that seriously to come after me.

But there are nuts out there, so I suppose we have to account for everything. That's why Ms. Cabal is paying Cassandra.

Before stepping into the limo, take one last look over my shoulder at the bookstore. Tonight was a first for me and it's a memory I'm always going to hold, no matter what else happens along the way.

An hour later and the three of us are in Pasta Primo, an Near West Side Italian restaurant on Taylor Street in the heart of Chitown's version of 'Little Italy'.

Ms. Cabal shoots me a disapproving glance out the corner of her raven eyes as I slurp up a sloppy series of spaghetti strands into my mouth, Marinara sauce spraying forth.

"Sorry" I mutter apologetically while wiping my grill with cloth napkin. Internally, am not really sorry. Am absolutely famished, having only scarfed down some airline cookies on the metal bird sojourn from SFO to ORD.

She's still looking at me with an intuitive nod to my chin, but before I can investigate, Cassandra swoops in with a dab of her napkin, cleansing the edge of my face, wiping away the last remnants of marinara sauce.

Smile genuine gratitude towards her and she returns it. In the process, our eyes interlock intensely for a painful flash.

If Cassandra acknowledged it, she's not showing, as she merely winks at Ms. Cabal, "Have to keep our star clean."

Ms. Cabal nods with a grin and returns to her baked penne.

Cassandra and I likewise return to our deliciously prepared dishes--and well they should be, considering that the restaurant is otherwise closed. Ms. Cabal paid to have it open after-hours, just for Darwin Grimm's party.

Never been in a restaurant after hours like this, always regarded that as a privilege reserved for yuppies.

Funny how, even though we have the whole place to ourselves, we still found it most comfortable to be tucked into a cozy corner

Can honestly say I wouldn’t want to be any other place on earth right now than here with these two women—really, the only two people in my life.

How often have I been able to say that in my life?

The moment is so profound within me that a tear wells up in my eye—but that would ruin everything, so quickly dab it away and return to my scrumptious meal. The French bread alone would be enough to satiate, but the vegetable-based noodles and sauce are a…heavenly combo

“This food certainly is more transcendent than any stay in god’s gallows of judgment,” I flatly state.

“Heaven?” Cassandra guesses.

Nod as I more gracefully maneuver a thatch of pasta strands between my cheeks: “Yep; could say the same about your painting.”

Cassandra blushes--gotta remember to not compliment her so often, she doesn’t cotton to it.

Turn my attention to Ms. Cabal, who, for the first time since I've known her, has almost faded into the background for this evening--certainly during this dinner.

Maybe even a superwoman like Ms. Cabal occasionally gets tired and burnt and just doesn't have the energy to dominate a dynamic.

Not that I believe for a moment that's what's actually happening here, but have to rationalize it, somehow.

For the remainder of the meal, the conversation remains light, there is some talk of the tour itinerary.

Fumble through my pockets, attempting to locate the itinerary sheet Ms. Cabal's assistant Tela handed me before we entered the airport terminal at SFO.

"What do you want to know, Darwin?" Ms. Cabal asks, already knowing what I want to know, but she makes me ask.

"Are we stopping anywhere between New York and Los Angeles?"

"Yes--Denver. In New York, you're appearing on the Monica Eubanks show and then we fly to Denver for a book signing and then it's off to Los Angeles for your daytime appearance at the Hollywood Bowl for a seminar along with other controversial authors."

"That should be exciting," Cassandra remarks, with genuine conviction in her tone.

Shit, be hard-pressed to find anything about that woman that wasn't genuine.

Kinda scary; probably because I can't say the same thing about myself.

"Exciting for you...nerve-wracking for me. Seminar? Sounds like I need to become an Ivy Leaguer overnight. Maybe we should spend an extra day in Massachusetts" I crack, alluding to our Boston book tour stop.

As if on cue, just when we were talking about impressive impending achievements, the waiter appears with a silver tray holding three slim sparkling crystal glasses, holding equally sparkling apple juice.

Each of us receives a glass (apple juice the option because I'm a teetotaler and Cassandra is the vigilant guard still very much on duty. As for Ms. Cabal, she's self-intoxicating, I think. She probably drinks just for the taste of the wine).

We raise our glasses at Ms. Cabal's insistence and she raises her voice for a toast:

"To this first night of success, may it be duplicated in every city that follows"

We mutually smile as we *clink* glasses and then down a ceremonial swig of the squeezed apple.

And in that silent pause while each of us savors our drink and drinks in the moment, it strikes me that today was sincerely the greatest day I have ever spent in Chicago, town of my birth, even after all the years of living here.

Sure, there were days in my past life in Chi-town where I saw concerts and partied with friends and even got laid here and there and was creative and had philosophical insights, and there were cool moments in my true youth; the freedom of summer days and summer nights, my first crush, xmas memories, and school shutting down for a week due to a January snowstorm...



But none of it compares to the rush of having avid readers my writing come out to hear me talk and get their book signed.

Not that my signature is worth shit, fact is, there's a part of me that's downright embarrassed having to sign these books cause it strikes me as a tad pretentious. I personally would never want anyone's autograph, so I don't see why anyone wants mine.

But some do, and it's a real big deal to them. But for others, I suspect, it's more an opportunity to meet with an author they dig...or despise, in the case of the conservatively dressed woman convinced of my underlying issues.

Realize I've drifted for more than a moment--Ms. Cabal is recommending her favorite River North art gallery for Cassandra to visit before our limo takes us to O'Hare.

A slice of melt-in-your-mouth blueberry pie is dessert; have mine with a cup of tea. Not going to sleep easy tonight regardless, as I'm sure to be wired in response to this first night of tour and I don't usually sleep easy on vacation/in hotels anyway.

Doesn't matter. It's better than having to be on a movie set at six in the morning and someone banging on your ceiling keeping you awake until two in the morning, as it was in my past life.

Occurs to me that I still live in that dump. Maybe that's something that will have to change. Haven't the slightest how to go about moving or where I'd go, having calcified in that same building for so many years.

Swallow the last piece of succulent pie and notice that I'm the only pig that scarfed down the whole course--Ms. Cabal and Cassandra took just a few modest bites each, putting me to shame.

But I am just a man, after all.

"Shall we be on our way?" Ms. Cabal suggests, with that tone of voice that implies everyone in the vicinity best abide.

I nod and get out of my chair

Cassandra rises first; still maintaining her class and poise, but now shifting to protective bodyguard mode. Knowing that Ms. Cabal is paying the bill, she immediately scans the restuarant to confirm it is empty save the few remaining cooks and wait staff cleaning up for the evening.

Then she turns back to Ms. Cabal and I and asks, "Either one of you need to use the bathroom here?"

Just the mention of the loo has my weak bladder petitioning to be voided, I nod quickly at Cassandra.

She nods back and immediately makes for the men's john, freaking out an exiting macho dishwasher in the process.

Supress a chuckle while waiting for her to emerge and give me the "all clear" signal; when she does, we trade places and I enter to take a piss and she stands outside the door, waiting.

Linger over the toilet bowl in the handicapped stall and think about those moments Cassandra and I shared this evening, both at the bookstore and during dinner. Does she feel the same thing for me that I do for her?

So hard to read her when she's in "bodyguard" mode. And I have to respect that. Saving my life is more important than flirting.

Then, as the last dribble of piss drops from my flaccid head down into the already yellowed toilet bowl below, thoughts shift and I think about that guy...what was his name?

Oh yeah. Palmer.

Never met anyone like him.

Is there possibly anyone out there like him?

Maybe I'll find out in Atlanta I decide as I zip up my pants.

Exit the pisser just as Ms. Cabal has received her receipt for the bill (the entire evening to be written off, natch) and Cassandra exits the restaurant first, meeting the waiting limo. She holds the door open for Ms. Cabal and I in lieu of the driver, then hops in back with us.

Past midnight on this still mild November evening, the limo takes us to our hotel, and one final Chicago sensation overcomes me; that this is the first time I've come back to Chicago since I moved and haven't visited my family and stayed at a hotel, it's as if I'm just another visitor, no familial ties whatsoever.

But catching a glimpse of the impressive hotel known only as "T", and imagining how fucking cool my suite's going to be, I'm suddenly not missing my family so much.





THINK ABOUT HOW THIS WAS ONE OF MY GREATER DAYS IN CHICAGO, BETTER THAN WHEN I LIVED HERE
THINK OF FAMILY?
FOR A FLEETING MOMENT, THEN I REALIZE I'M SURROUNDED BY MUCH RICHER.+

PREVIOUS GRAPHS THAT MAY BE CUT

"Better to leave the two separated; for unlike christianity, the theories I invest in do well to make the distinction between the physical and the metaphysical. Discerning the interface between the two is perhaps the greatest challenge of all spiritual queries.

"So what I've just outlined for you are metaphysical arguments against christianity's validity. Or at the very least, demonstrating christianity's incompleteness when it comes to providing a sincere workable metaphysical explanation for the creation of all existence.

"But how does this theory relate to each of you, besides just being another nail in christianity's coffin."

A few shouts of "Yeah!" from the crowd, responding to the imagery.

"It is that each of us possesses Freewill, with a capital 'F'. With SA being the inevitable manifestation of A-squared, it can be first act of Freewill, the ultimate act of Freewill--for what else could it be, but freewill? What was there to prevent A-squared from achieving Self Awareness, and thus, trigger
"The microcosm of A-squared's will (manifested in SA, to create existence beyond--or at least, different--from itself) validates the significance (supremacy?) of the microcosmic individual will found in the individual human being.

"Additionally, as a corollary, accepting A-squared experiencing SA as a more valid explanation for "how it all began" would invalidate christianity's restrictions on the individual will.

"christianity will counter that it fully accepts the individual will; indeed christianity is a religion that fully recognizes free will--but that 'freewill' must ultimately be subordinate to god/christ in order to gain entry nito heaven.

"Thus it would seem subordinating the individual will, even on this petty physical plane of existence, would be a contradiction of what A-squared represents, since, again, it was the ultimate, the archtypal Act of Will that brought all existence, pre-material and material, into being."

"Telling you these things is but a prelude to the actual theme of this talk--and that is the concept of Negative Theology, which posits that the human creations of words and concepts can only inform us as to what A-squared is not, not what it truly is. My previous descriptions of A-squared could be considered facile at best; relating it to our human experience of awareness.

"However that is not to minimize the significance of human awareness, for it is a microcosm of Absolute Awareness, A-squared. However, Negative Theology recognizes, with admirable intellectual honesty, that god is truly ineffable--that is, god cannot be properly described in spoken words, but only experienced as an abstract concept.

"Therefore, god cannot be described, and as a result all descriptions of god are false and ultimately to be ignored.

"In other words, the very nature of a Supreme Being makes it impossible to ever describe a Supreme Being, you can only say that a Supreme Being is not me, nor you, nor a dog named Boo or a boy named Sioux."

More laughter, so figure it's a good time to drop this line:

"You can imagine the majority of christians saying what I speak of is a "negative" theology, indeed."

Pause to bask as huskier guffaws rise up to the podium, up at me.

"It cannot be said whether god exists or does not exist.

"It cannot be said whether god is one being or two beings or three or infinite or any number, negative or positive.

"It cannot be said what kind of being god is, whether god sprouts purple feathers or resembles a retired general who now prefers to tell women what they should do with their reproductive organs."

A rousing swarm of jovial recognition from those who know I'm referring to Rev. General Pleasant.

"It cannot be said that god is wise, only that god is not ignorant. To assign the attribute of "wisdom" to a supreme being is to do a disservice to that being; the mortal definition of wisdom cannot encompass divine wisdom.

"It cannot be said that god is good, only that god is not evil--at least in the mortal definition of evil. And personally, I wouldn't even go so far as to say that god isn't evil. That's open to debate.

"It cannot be said that god is created--because we can never know how god came to be.

"I must issue a caveat here--what is being referred to as "god" is what I previously referred to as "Absolute Awareness" or good ol' A-squared. If there is in fact, in reality, the god that christianity purports there to be, then truly that god is but a creation of A-squared, for A-squared does not pass judgment, as the christian god is purported to do.

"It cannot be said that god can be confined in any known space or in any known time, for to do so would render god less than omnipotent.

"This intellectually honest approach to, for lack of a better word, describing god is more legitimate than christianity's hellbent for morality deity, one whose purpose it is to control the individual will and influence the culture at large.

"Ultimately, all we can say is that god is...awareness. The jealous temper tantrums and the fatherly advice proffered by god doesn't come into play. Those are human attributes."

Pause to scan the audience, looking several of the gathered right in the eye, but I'm mereley doing this for effect, I have no intentions of singling any one out.

"Don't fear this knowledge, for it implies that your awareness is the same as the Absolute Awareness; you are a microcosm of that initial act of Self Awareness that lead to the formation of all existence.

"No, it doesn't mean you're god--it's better than that. It means you are made of the same stuff that made god--at least, the christian one, the one that's always petty about gay marriage and aborted fetuses and jealous over false idols.

"For if god of the bible truly doth exist, then he's a mid-level deity at best."

And right on cue, the audience lets loose with some cheers and a smattering of spontaneous applause.

But talk about intuitive, perfect timing on their part, right on cue--I'm finished.

Pause for a moment for four reasons; 1, That was a mouthful, and it seems like a good time for a break, a moment to step back, stop the talking, and let everyone absorb some of what they've just heard, 2, To take a deep drink of water for my mouth of cotton unaccustomed to speaking at such intervals, 3, To shuffle my notes and bring up those most pertinent (kind of editing on the fly here) and 4, To gauge the response of the gathering. Yeah, a few give me the "Did we just walk into a New Age symposium?" look, but most are engaged with my rap, which encourages me if nothing else.

Frankly, was totally prepared to abandon the rest of the talk if it looked like the audience was going to bail. Don't want to blow the book-signing, that's why they're here, not to hear me pontificate on the metaphysical. Although it seems like they're suitably here for both purposes.