Direct Connection Final Draft

"Look to your left, Darwin...that's CIA Headquarters."

Cast my neck towards the window and the entrance to the massive complex that's launched a million conspiracy theories.

How fitting is it that I of all people should pass by CIA HQ in a limo on my way to deliver another lecture to promote Bye Bull?

Sure, the organized religions of christianity and the US military have been my main targets over the years--and the two institutions that pose the most threat to America's cultural progression--but the Company has always been a cornerstone to my research.

When it comes to the covert promotion of a christian agenda, CIA's as guilty as any federal agency at blurring the lines between religion and government, which the Constitution says are supposed to stand on two different sides of the room, like a dancehall filled with awkward teens; boys on one side, girls on the other.

Can't help but look back over my shoulder to catch a final glimpse of the CIA HQ. That means we're in--or near--Langley--or McLean, Virginia. People always think the CIA's in Langley, and it is, but Langley's just a district within McLean.

That much I know; other than that I have the foggiest where we've been since the limo picked us up at Dulles Airport. After everything that went down in Atlanta and then flying immediately to D.C., it's pretty much a blur and my mind still hasn't slowed down.

That's another one. Dulles...named for John Foster Dulles, himself the legitimate target of conspiracy theories over the years. His brother was once Director of the very CIA we just passed.

Man, this whole area is just crawling with ghosts--or rather, spooks.

Am presently surrounded by the very core of the National Security Establishment in this country, gotta keep that in mind at all times. Not that I'll be acting any differently, but good to keep in mind.

Then we approach a bridge that Ms. Cabal tells us is called 'Chain Bridge'; taking it to cross over the Potomac River takes us from Virginia to D.C.

Good as any time to ask her: "Where exactly are we going?"

"Once we cross this bridge--Spring Valley."

The name registers instant recognition--it's home turf for many in the christian conservative movement.

As if to underscore my suspicions, she adds: "During the First World War, this area was used for testing chemical weapons, thus Spring Valley has a high level of arsenic in the soil."

Isn't that delightful? On the other hand, it could be apt--the poison in the soil was the metaphorical fertilizer that fed the corrupt seeds of money and power in this neck of the nation that lead to the growth of the unwanted weeds of Central Intelligence.

"Why this place? Why here?"

"If you are to have the necessary impact on the culture at large, your presence must be established here in the nation's capitol."

Hard to argue with that, although that word 'necessary' sure was loaded--but not going to get into it with her here and now. (Meaning she'll tell me exactly what she meant when she's damn good and ready).

Ms. Cabal adds: "This will also be a different audience than any other you will encounter on the entire tour."

"You mean they're not afraid to voice their opinions in front of their friends and family?" I crack.

"You mean they have jobs" I crack, a bit nastily.

Ms. Cabal ignores my callousness, and if anything, piles on: "Actually none of these men have 'jobs' either. They just happen to own the companies that provide the jobs."

"No, because the attendees of this lecture can buy and sell all the friends and family they will ever need."

She pauses a moment to allow the implication soak in. Do I really want to cultivate such an elitist audience? Do I have a choice? If it's what Ms. Cabal wants...

"While we value every reader that buys a copy of your book and comes out to see you speak, I thought it would be useful to expose you to a different social class, again, in order to ensure that your ideas are shared with every facet of society, so you are not just 'preaching to the choir'. And a choir that is generally not very influential at that. The people you will appear before tonight are extremely influential, to put it mildly."

Not sure how to respond, so ask a petulant, dumb question:

"Do you expect me to act any different in front of these hoi polloi?"

"Of course not. They're all too rich and powerful to be offended; only the weak and insecure take offense."

Tighten my stomach waiting for the 'however'...

"However, you are to read a specific section of your book instead of delivering a lecture at large."

Nothing could have caught me more off-guard: "Huh? But I have this fresh lecture all written, and forgive my immodesty Ms. Cabal, but I think it's pretty damn good."

"Yes, I'm well aware of what you've written, Darwin..."

Wait a minute--how can she possibly be 'well aware'? I never told her--or anyone--about this particular D.C.-centric lecture I just wrote on the flight over to Dulles. Ms. Cabal must have seen me writing it--from her seat aisle three rows ahead of me.

Hm--maybe when she got up to go to the bathroom or something, I don't know, don't really care to think about it right now.

Time for another 'however'...

"However, for this select audience you need to read a section from the "Christian Fallacies" essay, specifically the one on Christianity and Capitalism."

No denying being intrigued at the notion of reading such a radical essay before a bunch of high highfalutin big-wigs--but that means shelving the new one tightly tailored for D.C.--it wouldn't play anywhere else.

Not like there's an option before me--it's what Ms. Cabal wants, so be it.

Maybe I'll find a way to deliver that D.C. lecture another day

Have but one request: "Can I get a Bye Bull copy so I can go over the--"

Cut off by the brand new copy of Bye Bull Tela places snugly in my hand. Immediately turn to the "Fallacies" section and find the appropriate passage.
PART I END HERE

Suppose it's totally symbolic and appropriate for the book tour to have taken me to Washington, D.C., though christianity is a world-wide religion, it's really America that is Bye Bull's sole concern.

And even though she always seems to know what I'm thinking and feeling anyway, verbalize my latest emotions to Ms. Cabal: "Feels right being here."

"As it should," she approves. "If you are to have the necessary impact on the culture at large, your presence should be established here in the nation's capitol."

Know that necessary is loaded, but not going to get into it with her now.

Wouldn't have the chance as she has more to say: "This will also be a different audience than any other you will encounter on the entire tour."

"You mean they're not afraid to voice their opinions in front of their friends and family?" I crack.
"You mean they have jobs" I crack, a bit nastily.

Ms. Cabal ignores my callousness, and if anything, piles on: "Better than jobs. They own the companies that provide the jobs."

"No, because the attendees of this lecture can buy and sell all the friends and family they will ever need."

She pauses a moment to allow the implication soak in

"While we value every reader you buys a copy of your book and comes out to see you speak, I thought it would be useful to expose you to a different social class, again, in order to ensure that your ideas are shared with every facet of society, so you are not just 'preaching to the choir'. And a choir that is generally not very influential. The people you'll be speaking to tonight are extremely influential."

Not sure how to respond, so ask a petulant, dumb question:

"Do you expect me to act any different in front of these hoi polloi?"

"Of course not. I do however, want you to specifically read a section of your book instead of delivering a lecture at large."

"Huh? But I have this fresh lecture all written, and forgive my immodesty Ms. Cabal,
but I think it's pretty damn good."

"Yes, I'm well aware of that, Darwin--

Huh? How can she possibly be 'well aware'? I never told her--or anyone--about this particular D.C.-centric lecture I wrote on the plane. She must have seen me writing it--from her seat aisle three rows ahead of me.

"--however, this is a select audience and you need to read a section from the "Christian Fallacies" essay, the one on Christianity and Capitalism."

No denying being intrigued at the notion of reading such an essay before a bunch of high falutin' big-wigs--but that means shelving the new essay specifically tailored for D.C.--it wouldn't play anywhere else.

Not like there's an option before me--it's what Ms. Cabal wants, so be it.

Have but one request: "Can I get a Bye Bull copy so I can go over the--"

Cut off by the brand new copy of Bye Bull Tela places snugly in my hand. Immediately turn to the "Fallacies" section and find the appropriate passage.

With my eyes still on the page as I skim through the contents, ask: "Where exactly am I speaking?"

"Spring Valley."

The name registers instant recognition--it's home turf for many in the christian conservative movement.

As if to underscore my suspicions, she adds: "During the First World War, this area was used for testing chemical weapons, thus Spring Valley has a high level of arsenic in the soil."

Isn't that delightful? On the other hand, it could be a good metaphor--the poison in the soil was the metaphorical fertilizer in this corrupt conservative section of the nation that lead to the growth of unwanted weeds of Central Intelligence.

Even as I flip towards the middle of Bye Bull, know better by now than to ever doubt Ms. Cabal, yet still can't keep the question inside:

"You sure this is going to be a crowd receptive to my ideas in any way?"

"We'll just have to wait and see after you read to them."

She always manages to surprise me, too--that was not at all the answer I expected.

Come upon the essay in question and one realization strikes me: Not having to read my freshly minted, unproven lecture takes all the pressure off me. Already know this "Fallacies" section is good, or it wouldn't have made the final edit, so the odds on it being well-received should be greater than something I wrote on the one hour and forty-two minute flight from Atlanta to Dulles.

Course there is always the possibility some of these starched white collars could become deeply offended by my depiction of christ as a hippie. But hey, if that happens, they asked for it. Or at least, Ms. Cabal did.

Always the possibility am short-sighting this crowd; would Ms. Cabal really offer me up as fodder for a pack of ravenous Republicans?

She has yet to do me wrong. Don't think she's capable of it.

As Ms. Cabal indicated, the ride is a short one as out limo pulls up to a secluded wooded area off the road that opens up to a private area resembling a country-club centered by a large meeting-hall.

The limo pulls up in front of the structure, but this time, instead of some funky hippie alt bookstore owner greeting us, it's an intimidating security guard in a dark suit.

Glance over at Cassandra and wonder if she could take him?

Security guard walks over to the driver's side and converses with him. Apparently, we're kosher, as moments later we're moving again, through the gates and into a underground parking garage.

Once we're parked, another dark-suited intimidating security guard with close-cropped hair is waiting for us (almost positive Cassandra could take this one). He escorts us to an elevator that takes our coterie up to a plushly carpeted floor with many doors not unlike the floor of a hotel.

It's then I found out this is will serve as our party's de facto hotel until we fly on to New York.

Ms. Cabal motions to the security guard and he immediately hands out keys; one for me and two for Cassandra.

Before we separate, moves in closer and whispers, "Go over the essay until you know it like the back of my hand."

"Yes, Ms. Cabal."

"I'll have Tela fetch you in exactly two hours when it's time to go to the dining hall, that's where you will be reading the essay to our audience. First we eat, then you speak.

"This is going to be a very critical evening in your future career Darwin, but as long as you trust your source material, you will win them over. I just want to make sure you read it with the proper emotional thrust and conviction. That is why I want you to rehearse it for the next couple of hours. Understood?"

"Yes, Ms. Cabal."

"Excellent. I will see you soon, Darwin."

Only until she lifts her eyes from mine may I turn my head and move on to other business--which in this case means keep waiting.

She then immediately turns to Cassandra: "Accompany Darwin to his room and ensure that every safety precaution has been made."

"Of course," Cassandra replies with professional poker face as taut as her red ponytail.

The security guard still in our presence seems visibly offended by Ms. Cabal's apparent doubting of his facility's internal security, but she doesn't give a shit.

Just like my lecture, we plan to stir things up around here.

My shitty sense of direction has us heading down the wrong corridor, but leave it to Cassandra to quickly reverse our erroneous direction and have us at my door in less than a minute.

Naturally, I fumble with the key and the lock.

"Step aside," she orders.

Do so and she pulls out one of her two keys and immediately opens the door.

As we step inside, she admonishes me, "Before you leave this room, make sure that's the right key for this door."

"I will," answer slightly curtly, slightly annoyed. Why--because she's better than me at everything? Or is it something else?

My tinge of bitterness presses on while asking her snidely: "Why'd you get a key to my room?"

"Duh, one for my room, one for yours, in case you need me for security purposes. I always get a key to your room and every hotel you stay at--you just never saw me use it."

"Yeah, well, those card-key locks are a lot easier than the real thing," I crack.

Digging that Cassandra speaks informally ("duh") when we're alone--means she's comfortable with me--at least when we're alone. Also slightly disappointed; for some unnatural reason thought we'd be bunking in the same room, that's why her having two keys threw at first. Also getting that 'warm' feeling being around her more and more often.

We enter my room that seems more like a bedroom in a private home than some hotel room. Course, it's a bedroom better than any I've ever lived in.

Throw my virtually empty travel bag onto the dresser, and watch Cassandra as she walks through the room, assessing it as only she can, looking out the windows and inspecting them rather closely, just as she has done at all my hotel rooms.

It's time like this I'm reminded she's a "Close Protection Officer" and not some common bodyguard.

But still doesn't stop me from being a smart-ass: "Find anything I should worry about? You know we are in the shadow of the CIA."

She tilts her head and frowns: "Whoever invited us are personal friends of Ms. Cabal, I don't think you have anything to worry about."

"Then why check the room?"

"Standard procedure."

"You've got an answer for everything, huh?" I kid

"For everything worth answering."

Yep, she's good.

As Cassandra checks out the area behind the bed, can't help but be drawn to her subtle ass magnified nicely by the tweed pencil skirt she wears (she always works undercover, never in a giveaway uni).

Course, being a Close Protection Officer and not just a bodyguard means she usually knows when she's being watched and without moving another muscle, her head instantaneously turns and catches me eying her ass.

But...Cassandra doesn't look angry. She doesn't look cold. She doesn't look away.

She smiles.

Only for a moment...to keep me guessing...to leave me hanging.

Then her head snaps back and she goes about her business, presumably leaving me free to ogle her behind.

But now I don't want to, so move over to my travel bag and pretend to separate my clothes.

Like the consummate pro she is, it's only another minute or two before Cassandra is done.

"Alright, everything looks fine here. You don't have to worry about CIA assassins--at least not until dessert."

That brings a smile from both of us, but is followed up by awkward silence.

But being the consummate pro, it doesn't take much for Cassandra to break that silence: "So then, I'm going to my room--just next door to your left, so if you need anything just knock."

"Sure I'll be fine."

"Sure. I'll be at the door with Tela when it's time to go to dinner."

"Thanks."

Our eyes hold for an extra moment than they would or should between a strict client and his Close Personal Office. But that's because 'close' and 'personal' have different meanings in this context.

She's the first to break--of course--and only with her eyes cast aside does she quietly tell me: "Bye".

Door quickly closes behind her and I'm alone for the first time since she and Tela knocked on my door this morning in Atlanta. Occurs to me the only time I'm alone anymore is when I'm in a hotel room, whereas I used to be alone all the time, even when out in public.

Walk over to my travel bag--for real this time--and scoop out Bye Bull that Tela handed me.

Open it up to the Fallacies section and start muttering the opening lines of "Christianity is not Conservative" essay, but soon grow bored and toss the book on the bed.

Find the TV remote and decide to while away the two hours or whatever it was mindlessly vegging.

Push Bye Bull firmly aside while lounging back on the bed, propping myself up on every pillow within reach.

Surf by an array of bad movies and worse sitcoms until settling, predictably, on DVNC. Just can't get enough of their right-wing perspective.

Am instantly rewarded upon discovering that not only is the current news story pertinent to my very own Bay Area, but that it concerns christian politics:

"Police in the radical college town of Berkeley, California still haven't arrested any suspects in the bombing of an illegal abortion clinic that was being operated at a safehouse site near the Cal campus.

"Berkeley Police Chief Zavala said the bombing was likely perpetrated by a Christian extremist group, although he didn't rule out the possibility that the operators of the clinic staged a bombing because they suspected they were about to be shut down anyway. Chief Zavala said the illegal clinic was under surveillance and a raid was forthcoming before the bombing destroyed the clinic. No one was hurt or injured in the bombing, fueling speculation that the clinic operators were behind it."

"In other news..."

No thanks, don't need any other news. Mute the TV and just lay here, thinking.

That's pretty dirty, trying to pin it on the operators. Why the hell would they bomb it?

Unless they thought if such an act could be blamed on christians, it could swing some support for restoration of abortion rights.

Fat bloody likely.

At the very least, sounds like a law that needs to be reworded and reworked.

Still, it's the kind of thing that frustrates and reminds that christianity is still in control and am never to get too cocky about this whole book and being on tour and speaking in front of big-wigs.

Still, now wish I was reading the essay on christianity and women to these rich white powerful men--but that's not what Ms. Cabal wants them to hear.

She wants me them to hear the essay that will make the most impact on them and their interests. Have to trust her instincts; she knows Bye Bull better than I do; almost like she wrote the damn thing.

One good thing; it fires me up--and snatch up the borrowed copy of Bye Bull that had been carelessly strewn on the bed, with a quick-flip to the "christ was not a capitalist" sub-essay.

Begin reading it over and over under my breath, getting down the proper cadence and delivery of the material to make it more interesting to the speaking audience if at all possible.

If this is what I'm supposed to do--all I can do--in this seemingly unwinnable war against christianity, then I'm going to do it. right.


Before I know it, just as Ms. Cabal told me, Tela knocks on my door at the precisely appointed time and summons me. And just as predictably, I'm nowhere near ready."

"Give me five minutes."

"Of course, Darwin--that's why Ms. Cabal had me knock on your door five minutes earlier than you were actually needed."

Good thing Ms. Cabal is so Machiavellian--puts a lot less pressure on me. Since we're about to eat, forgo brushing teeth and throw on a clean shirt, pants are fine--didn't bring another pair besides.

Realization Cassandra's going to be waiting there too has me stopping in front of the mirror and checking for any fatal flaws; and while there are plenty, none are fatal.

But in the hallway, Casandra has dropped any of the connection we established when we were in my room previously, her eyes no longer inviting, but rather cold and businesslike. She's only here to protect me, to do her job.

So that's how it is--part of me understands, but part of me is hurt. Feeling Bye Bull in my hand helps shrug it off, have more important things to attend to rather than my petty feelings...

Swallowing another forkful of this tofu stew only further confirms this is the best meal I've had on tour. Who am I kidding, best meal I've had in memory. These rich elite people sure know how to live--funny how it works out that way, the people with the most money are always smart enough to know how to eat and drink and live better than everyone else.

It's indeed a meal for 'firsts'--never a meal this good, and never have dined in a private club setting. It's more dignified and cozy than a reception hall but so much more than a restaurant. With the impressive artwork, it feels like eating in a museum.

In the distance eye the stage and lectern where I'll soon be speaking, a rumble of queasiness passes through my belly, likely a combo of nerves and the spices in the stew.

This place is filled with the kind of furnishings and opulence that would impress most people but has never done anything for me. Not that I'm better than it; just the opposite, I'm beneath it, but the fact remains it's nothing that interests, inspires or motivates me to obtain.

Still, never have dined in the presence of some of the country's elite as I'm doing now. Not that I recognize anybody; know lots of names from conspiracies, but not always faces, conspiracy theorizing is more of a text-based hobby, not so visual. Still, have little doubt am in the presence of at least a couple of right-wingers whose names I've stumbled across in my research. Reckon Ms. Cabal can tell me that later.

Speaking of, across the table she's engaged in a deep conversation with a distinguished looking chap with graying temples and thousand-dollar suit. Was introduced to him before we sat down at the table, but I'm so shitty with names (like I'm good at anything?), forgot it already. Willingham? Wiloughby? Reckon Ms. Cabal will tell me later.

Not that I'm that interested in knowing who he is--like that douche Stefan she brought to the opening night party in San Fran, she seems a little too intimate with this Will-whatever his name is.

Regret my pangs of jealousy; but they remain nonetheless. Try to suffocate them by looking Cassandra's way, odd to see her wearing that jade dress that has her red tresses standing out all the more. But what the fuck do I know--maybe that's the way she always dresses in the real world when she's not a CPO. Or when she's not painting; doubt she wears a dress like that when she's painting.

Tonight's the one night Cassandra is off-duty; Ms. Cabal reasons that if I/we aren't safe here, amidst those many times more influential and powerful than I, than I/we aren't safe anywhere.

Still, have no doubt that if something did go down, Cassandra would press herself into immediate service and take out any and all threats. Sure, she'd move faster if she was wearing slacks, but the dress wouldn't really slow her down, not if it came down to it. Have as much confidence in that as I do anything in this unreliable world.

Cassandra, who had otherwise been engaged in her smoked salmon salad, looks up to notice me looking at her and she smiles warmly in response.

Could it be possible that she would consider a relationship with me, once this whole book tour is over and I go back to being a nobody in my apartment?

Wish I knew what it'd take to make that happen. Still can't shake the feeling Ms. Cabal is trying to bring Cassandra and I together. If so, guess I should just kick back and wait for it to happen like everything else.

Snapped from my musings when a balding otherwise nondescript chap bends close to my ear and whispers: "Hello, Mr. Grimm, I'm Mr. Minor, one of the managers of this club. And I do apologize for interrupting your meal, but the schedule has you speaking before the audience in fifteen minutes, so I thought it best to summon you at this time."

Look down at the empty bowl of stew and empty basket of biscuits and realize there's nothing more I can do at this table.

"You did the right thing," I assure him with a nod while rising from my seat.

My sudden motion draws the attention of both Ms. Cabal and Cassandra--don't know which one to look at first, so I split my vision, one eye for each of them--and that must look really fucking weird to both of them.

As she's always capable of doing, in just that split-second Ms. Cabal burns her dark eyes reminding me of the stakes, but it feels more inspiring than threatening. My confidence is pretty high, and why shouldn't it be? I'm reading from Bye Bull, the source material is there, just have to let it wash over this crowd.

Cassandra's look is a reminder that she's here for me--not necessarily as a bodyguard, but if I just need someone to connect with if I'm looking out to a hostile audience.

So it's Cassandra's glance I take with me as Mr. Minor leads me away from our table out a discreet side door virtually unnoticeable in this vast dining hall, so busy with tables and tables of rich and interesting people eating between bites of chatter.

Once Minor closes the door behind us, it's like being sucked into a vacuum-- ahead lies a cool narrow, dimly lit hallway that is virtually soundproof.

"Follow me, Mr. Grimm."

Nothing else to do but. This whole scene conjures images of these elitists using these hallways to meet for 'inner circle' secret society type rituals. Sacrificing babies? Maybe not, but buggering some whores is a possibility.

Imagination running away with me as I cradle Bye Bull in between my elbow and my side. Funny how I feel safer, more secure in its presence; makes no sense--but it does.

Just before another wave of paranoia overtakes me, we finally reach another door at the end of this long dark hallway. It opens to what seems to be a 'backstage' type area with lighting rigging CONFIRM OTHER BACKSTAGE ELEMENTS MAKE UP TABLE

Mr. Minor turns on a light then turns on his heel whirling in my direction with a gesture to a chair behind me. "Have a seat Mr. Grimm. I'm going to check that everything is ready for you onstage, then I'll be back for you in about ten minutes."

"Do you have any water?"

"There's a bottle for you at the lectern."

With that, the manager whirls the other direction and is out a door, leaving me alone for the moment.

Instead of straining my brain delving into the essay like some desperate final-exam style cram, close my eyes and meditate...


Feels strange 'waiting in the wings' in the backstage corridor of this proscenium style stage, like I'm putting on a performance. This is one actor who will have script in hand.

Was brought here a couple minutes ago by Mr. Minor who for some reason was chosen to introduce me despite a meek tone only rescued by a amplifying microphone and sound system.

"If I may have your attention, members of WHAT IS THEIR NAME, ("Society of St. Germain"?) I hope that you have all enjoyed your meal. Now it is time for to listen to our honored guest. By special arrangement with D'Mona Cabal, a woman who needs no introduction in this room, we have in our midst have the author of a bestselling book from D'Mona's publishing company Apogee Writ.

"If you're not familiar with it already, this book may be the most controversial publication of the year, which means it warrants our scrutiny. It's called Bye Bull, that's B-Y-E space B-U-L-L.

"As you can imagine, just that name alone has angered many in the Christian community, some of whom we count among the gathered here today."

Oh, great.

"But I urge each and every one of you to listen with an open mind, and consider a point of view that has not been expressed previously and has to be given serious consideration as alternative to the traditional view of Christianity in this nation."

That's more like it. Way to stroke my ego there, buddy.

"So without further ado, from San Francisco, please give a warm welcome to the author of Bye Bull, Darwin Grimm!"

That's my cue, and when I first step out onto stage, the transition from the shadowy wings to the glare of the lighted stage approaches the unreal. This is nothing like a bookstore stop.

The BOOM of applause echoing through the cavernous hall is startling. Place seems a lot bigger now that I'm speaking in front of the crowd instead of down there with all of them having dinner.

Find the promised bottle of water in a cupholder slot and parch the cottonmouth cast by nerves. The feel of Bye Bull pinned to my side by my right arm grounds me enough. Still, fumble through the pages trying to find the right spot--knew I should've book-marked this while loafing backstage.

Finally find it before realizing have been keeping the audience hanging all this time, and that I need to do some kind of intro before I just start reading.

"Before I begin, my thanks to the CLUB NAME officials who arranged for my appearance tonight. It is a rare privilege to speak before such an influential group--as opposed to a bookstore packed with rabidly loyal readers.

"In that vein, I have to tell you all that this is a bit different for me, I haven't been reading passages from the book, which is usually what an author on a book tour does, and what I will be doing tonight.

"But at the risk of being pretentious, I was looking to make the Bye Bull 'book signing' experience unique, and in doing so, I prepared a specialized speech--or lecture if you will--for each city the tour stopped in. And yes, I prepared a speech tonight specifically designed for D.C., but I was persuaded by Ms. Cabal--without whom I wouldn't be standing before you tonight--to read a particular Bye Bull passage that will hopefully have a unique impact."

Man, am really bullshitting up here, and pretty much cop to it:

"So forgive me here as I awkwardly stumble into this passage from Bye Bull, it's from a larger essay called--well, I think an introduction is due first. See, I did this all ass-backwards, but like I said I've never done it this way before--even though you'd think it'd be the easiest thing in the world to do, read a passage from my own book."

Some laughter, but also sense some impatience from this pack of rich white men in the form of coughs and clearing of throats. There's barely any women present, such a different make-up than my typically adoring audience that would allow me such a faux pas.

"For those of you not familiar with Bye Bull, it is a collection of individual essay that build towards a comprehensive anti-christian view

"However, the essay known as "christian Fallacies" is actually a collection of several smaller essays, each arguing that a commonly accepted tenet about christianity, is in fact, false.

"Such is the case with the essay I'll be reading for you tonight entitled 'Jesus was NOT a capitalist.'"

This is it...no turning back Grimm. One more gulp of bottled water (too sparkling for my taste) and a deep breath, then throw myself into it, voice, facial expression, tone, intonation, anything I've got--even spit--for emphasis. (No other bodily fluids, hopefully)

"Perched on nothing more than a rock, Godson effortlessly strummed his acoustic for his rapt flock of disciples sitting at his feet, some two dozens disciples, a diverse collection of men and women. Though all were well educated and opinionated, none were speaking, only watching Godson's every finger movement on each of the strings, only listening to every tortured note Godson evinces from the guitar."

"They lived with Godson in a San Bernardino tent-city desert commune, after following him down from San Francisco, where many of the twelve original disciples originally met him. It was on the streets of San Francisco where Godson suddenly appeared in his 30th year on this Earth, and he spent his days walking barefoot up and down the streets of Haight Ashbury in San Francisco playing his guitar, singing his songs and preaching on the street corner to any who would listen, spreading the gospel of his father, always with a silver cup by his stinky feet. He never asked for a dime, the cup was there for any and all to donate into.

"At night Godson would camp out in neighboring Golden Gate Park, occasionally losing a night's sleep when being rousted from his sleep by the police on patrol. One reason he was drawing attention is because he was no longer alone; over the weeks and months that followed, Godson acquired a loyal following of men and women alike. It was the young women that insured men kept joining, this was not lost upon Godson.

"But then one night Godson had a vision that told him that he and his followers would meet their destiny in the desert of Southern California, so they set out to migrate down to WHAT DESERT the very next day.

"After the communal dinner (usually some kind of stew comprised of the various restaurant and supermarket dumpster offerings Godson's minions procured during the day), the 'children' would gather to what 'father' Godson had dubbed 'connects', but they were more like family meetings where everyone met--and connected--each and every evening.

"They all gladly listened to Godson rap/sing about whatever pressing spiritual or social issue happened to be on his mind at the time. In fact, nobody ate until Godson had completed his pontificating. That was the tricky part for many disciples; keeping one's concentration on what Godson was saying even while your stomach was growling. For there was always the off-chance that during the meal Godson might might quiz you on what he just spoke on, just to catch you off-guard."

Abruptly stop reading and fake it by reaching for an unneeded sip of water. This next passage might not go down so well with this elitist crowd, for whatever reason didn't catch it while rehearsing back in my room.

Really tempted to skip over it--but if I do, Ms. Cabal is sure to notice--again, she knows Bye Bull better than I do, which is as eerie as it is understandable.

Anyway, what do I care? I'll never see any of these people after tonight. Unless I should be worried about someone being so morally outraged by my comparing christ to a hippie commune cult leader that he would attack me in my room. But then Cassandra will come save me.

And frankly, part of me is disappointed that I'm even letting this bother me--if I really felt that way, Bye Bull would have never been written in the first place.

Down another gulp of unnecessary water and press on: "After playing, Godson would usually 'rap' with his disciples about any number of subjects, but never mundane. All were designed to tighten Godson's hold on them.

"However this was no ordinary night, as it was the eve of a very important action to be undertaken by Godson and his band of merrymakers.

"Godson opted to 'fire up the troops' by describing to them the complex interrelationships between the federal government's intelligence institutions (like the CIA) and some of the nation's richest, most influential citizens. These relationships, Godson explained to his rapt audience, were responsible for the direction of much of America's foreign policy since the 1950's; a foreign policy that has resulted in the death and suffering of millions of people across the world during that time. Their only crime being that they stood in the way of the national security establishment and the wealthy elite they ultimately serve.

"Godson like to throw in little jokes with his generally serious raps, like this night when e told his minions that 'CIA' stood for 'Capitalism's Invisible Army' --and of course, they all laughed uproariously."

Can't say the same for my audience--but no one's walked out--yet.

"All laughed that is, except the curly-locked piercing hazel eyed Jude, one of Godson's twelve original disciples from San Francisco. Jude smiled, amused at Godson's acidic acronym, but refused to 'lose himself' to anything his alleged leader would say. For beneath the surface loyalty he accorded Godson, Jude was jealous of his infallible influence, and was just waiting for the chance to sell Godson out to someone--anyone--for the right price.

"For in Jude's twisted mind, if Godson could not see that Jude was about to betray him, then he could not be infallible after all. Jude's betrayal would prove how Godson was just another man, and not a prophet.

"But in actuality, this strong potential for betrayal from Jude was not lost upon the always-aware Godson, he simply chose not to act upon it at this time, confident in his ability to stem the tide of discontent.

"But none of that was an issue on that warm, tranquil Friday night as Godson sang protest songs 'round the campfire to close out the nightly 'connect'.

"At the end of this long, sweet evening, just before his flock was to stand up and head out to their individual tents and encampments, Christ rose first and extended his arms, signifying they were to remain seated:

"I need your attention for another moment my brothers and sisters...Forgive my dramatic pose, but these words are of a special importance...

"Tomorrow's rally is our chance to truly leave our mark upon the world beyond our circle. Each of you has allowed me to come into your lives and transform you and tomorrow this will be done on a much wider scale. Each of us will transform thousands, perhaps millions of lives."

The proud and eager smiles of disciples quickly evened out as christ continued:

"However, you must all know that tomorrow I will be asking you to take some risks, you may be confronted by the guns of the establishment police, you may even be arrested by them. I want you to remain strong in the face of any and all things that might go down tomorrow, and know that you are serving the greater good of ridding this country of the vile plague of corporate-controlled capitalism.

"Also know that no matter what happens to you, no matter where you are taken, I will be watching over you at all times."

"'Amen' every single disciple chants in unison, given their cue to do so when Godson lowered his head and eyes simultaneously, signifying he had completed his words.

"Only then was it acceptable for Godson's flock to depart, quietly, always showing respect for themselves and all others. Being overtly proud, or worse, brash and obnoxious was for capitalist pigs, not socialist revolutionary warriors.

"And even if any of Godson's disciples--male or female--did feel the queasiness of fear over the prospects of what tomorrow brought, not a one showed it as they departed.

"Once the speaking tent had emptied of all but Godson and his special lady, Mary Magdalena, he was feel to turn his attention solely to her and stroke her long brown hair while gazing deeply into her soft brown eyes. Mary smiled beatifically up at Godson as he took her hand in his and lead her out into the warm evening air, to his personal quarters.

"Certainly, Godson balled all the women of his cult commune--that was one of the perks of being leader--but Mary Magdalena was his one true love. She "got him" in a way no one else did. Godson bared his soul to her, and she did the same in kind; the connection between them was instant and intimate. She was his "Mary Mags" (as Godson called her, he was fond of giving nicknames to those who won his favor).

"Back in Godson's private tent she made sweet love to him, with her on top, just the way he liked it, in order to relax the leader before the big day that awaited them all tomorrow. Make no mistake, Mary Mags was good between the sheets--she had been a top-dollar call girl before she met Godson at Golden Gate Park one afternoon and he took her away from all that decadence and reintroduced her to the innocence she knew as a child.

"The next morning the sky was big and cloudless and sunny, which Godson took as a good omen. After a hearty communal pancake breakfast, he and his disciples packed into the old school bus they repainted and transformed into a revolutionary vehicle driving to the rally in the Los Angeles college district of Westwood, also home to L.A.'s Federal Building.

"By the time the Godson Family Bus pulled onto Wilshire Blvd, there were already thousands in attendance for the peace protest. Godson also drew a sizable crowd of opposition, apparently protesting against peace. And of course, there was the Man--LAPD, California University cops, L.A. county sheriff's, dozens of undercover FBI agents, informants posing as peaceniks and the odd smattering of state and federal intelligence operatives to assess the entire shenanigans.

"Quickly escorted by one of the protest organizers to a podium with a bouquet of waiting microphones, Godson launched into his scathing diatribe against the Persian War and the political right instrumental behind orchestrating that war:

"Godson said: 'We have to come to terms with the fact that President Harper lied to us about the reasons we went to war with Iran all those years ago. After that dirty bomb went off in Washington D.C., his administration immediately went on a campaign to illegitimately link the bombing with Pakistani terrorists.

"'The truth of the matter is that instead of a 'dirty bomb' it is a 'dirty trick' we have to examine more closely. What if I told you the dirty bomb in question was in all actuality triggered by domestic intelligence operatives on a mission to create an atmosphere of intimidation in Washington, one that would push both liberal and conservative elements towards declaring war on Iran.

"'But don't sit around waiting for the mainstream corporate media to come clean about the elements that were truly behind the D.C dirty bomb, no for that, you'll have to seek out the unheralded voices sharing reality--such as myself and other speakers at this rally here today.'

"A thunderous roar of applause followed for Godson, he was the most charismatic speaker of the event and at least some of the intelligence agents posing as hippies took note.

"Indeed, Godson had virtually everyone in the crowd eating out of the palm of his hand. Those jealous of him--including some of the other speakers whose whiny voices or trembling physical presence couldn't compare to Godson's magnetism--and even those diametrically opposed to his communal philosophy couldn't take their eyes off of him, so charismatic was he.

"A leader, some would go as far as to say a prophet.

"But rather than resting on accolades, Godson pressed on: 'Let me emphasize again that you cannot trust the corporate media--they're just as complicit as these right-wing elements I speak of, they work in concert, spreading the lies of the Harper administration.'

"More cheers. If it was audibly possible to get any louder, it became so.

"Godson didn't wait for the cheers to subside and kept on chugging: 'And sometimes it's not what the corporate media does tell you, it's what they don't tell you.
Let me explain what I mean by that--the major news stations like DVNC never reported that 90 percent of the people affected by the radioactivity from the dirty bomb were from the inner cities of D.C. Not a single politician or corporate captain inhaled so much as a fume. But the way the media portrayed it would have you think that the very structure of government was about to collapse. And most politicians kept their mouth shut because it was close enough where they still regarded it as a threat.'

"'You may wonder why I refer to it as the 'corporate media' That's because conservatives always falsely referred to it as the 'liberal media' in order to distort the fact that the media is hardly liberal.'

"'We're the real liberal media, right here, right people?'

"Godson hesitated theatrically, then corrected himself: 'No, check that--we're not just liberal. We're RADICAL!'

"Louder cheers.

"'And what do radical people do? Do we do what we're told?'

"'HELL NO!' The crowd shouted back.

"It became a call and response; Godson followed with: 'Do we shut up?'

"'HELL NO!' the crowd shouted back.

"'No, we shut things down! What do we do?'

"'SHUT THINGS DOWN!'

"This exhortation was followed by a roar more deafening than before, some would later swear that the ground beneath shook from all the stomping enthusiasm.

"Everyone who wasn't a cop was cheering full throttle. Except Jude; he faked his enthusiasm as he faked everything else. He was only sincere about making money and discrediting Godson. Soon, he'd have his chance at both.

"Back up on the podium Godson was all beatific smiles, holding sway over all he surveyed in the form of the chanting, cheering crowd filled with those of like mind.

"A moment later, Godson abandoned the microphone and stepped down from the podium, already past the point of words. Then, in a gesture as startling as it was expected, Godson gestured for the swelling crowd to turn around and follow him in swarming around the Federal Building they had just faced in protest, forming a human chain of thousands of interlocking hands, completely blocking all front, back and even emergency exits. No one could get in or out for hours, thousands of federal employees and private citizens alike were trapped inside.

"At first, the police were too small in number to do a damn thing about it. But heavily armed reinforcements were on the way. The State of California Army National Guard was put on alert, just in case the cops couldn't handle it.

"And Godson was in the center of it all, walking all around the circle again and again, checking for any weak links, all the while inspiring and mobilizing his minions by bullhorn:

"'Stay focused--and stay together, people. They can't defeat us, they cannot beat us. If we're truly sincere about bringing a socialist utopia to America, we've got to set an example and stand united. We're not a bunch of scared suburbanites all living apart from one another in their nuclear family units in their single-tract housing. We live together. We don't let anything rip us apart!"

"Cheers of solidarity reverberate and the protesters clench the arms even firmer together, actualizing Godson's words. He seemed to have mastery over physical reality.

"And of course, Godson was always the classic orator: 'Let the police haul us all away if necessary, but we are going to shut down the federal government's business here in Westwood California on this day!"

Louder cheers and tighter arms.

"It just so happened there was a very important meeting going on in the building at the time of the takeover, between big-time military contractors and a couple of U.S Representatives cornered in the conference room on the 23rd floor. Trapped by Godson's masses just like the common folk in the building.

"Naturally, Godson knew that meeting would be happening, that's why he had the protest planning committee switch the date to this one; likewise it was no spontaneous gesture on the part of Godson to lead the crowd into bodily sealing off the building.

"But it wasn't long before wave after wave of SWAT teams and just about every active cop in Southern California were on the scene, forming a much meaner circle around the circle of protesters.

"It was a classic standoff, one that could have went on for hours and maybe days. Except for the fact that all the rich and powerful folks didn't want to spend days--or even hours--trapped in a building encircled by hippies encircled by cops.

"So a few calls were made and before long, the cops shot tear gas into Godson's chain of humanity.

"It wasn't long before it all became a confusing, cloudy mess and Godson realized that with hundreds of cops bearing down on them--and more on the way, a lot of people could get seriously hurt, and he didn't want that.

"As always, pacifist Godson was about turning the other cheek, not standing his ground and fighting. That was for the macho all-American who kicked ass and asked questions later, not Godson's way.

"So, before things got completely chaotic, Godson gave the order to his disciples to tell the others to cut and run.

"And within minutes, the majority of protesters broke their arm-in-arm chain and vacated the Federal Building, scattering in a thousand different directions, Godson safely whisked away by his four of main disciples, Jude nowhere to be seen.

"The cops arrested a few dozen protesters, but Godson and eleven of his chief disciples got away scot-free.

"For there was one disciple arrested that day; Jude.

"An arrest in name only. In actuality, it was made to look like an arrest; all prearranged with Jude that he would be taken into custody, so his ratting out Godson wouldn't be so obvious.

"Yet even the 'ratting out' was a pretense; Jude was a government plant from the very beginning, prior to his even having become of one of Godson's chief lieutenants. From the get-go, Jude's intent, his mission, his raison d' etre was bringing down Godson's radical movement from within, before it spread out of manageable control for the Feds.

"In other words, Jude and the federal government were determined to squelch the movement before it became something real--a legitimate threat to the ruling capitalist power structure."

"Once under custody, Jude gleefully 'revealed' to the Feds the location of Godson's high desert commune, and they wasted no times formulating a plan to first set-up, then raid and arrest Godson and his disciples.

"For his services as a paid informant, all 'charges' against Jude were dropped and he was also reimbursed $15,000 cold cash, which he promptly blew on a crazy weekend of synthetic drugs, hotel rooms and hookers.

"Because it was never about the money for Jude, it was about bringing Godson down. He didn't want to live in a world that Godson and his followers were working towards. At the heart of it, Godson was pretty conservative; not in a 'family values' sense (remember the drugs and hookers) but in a sense that he didn't want to cooperate in communes, he like the atomistic individualistic prevailing culture in America and didn't want that taken away.

"Jude then met one his contacts at a diner for a briefing as to the next stage of the operation. The contact assured Jude would be paid another $15,000 for his involvement. Jude agreed and hopped on the next bus to San Bernardino.

"Godson and the other disciples all welcomed Jude back with open arms, so glad to see their brother released from the clutches of the Man. If Godson suspected Jude of being a plant, he said nothing different, nor did his actions towards Jude betray any untold feelings Godson may have had in any way.

"Despite the debacle at the federal building, Godson was determined to make a big splash and bring attention to his movement. This time, Godson and his cohorts organized a rally in downtown L.A. that drew a coalition of leftist and radical organizations; over 100,000 people of all colors, creeds, genders, political orientations and sexual preferences.

"Simply put, it was a liberal paradise--and a conservative nightmare.

Scan ahead to another line that has me wincing through it--hope my voice doesn't sound too strained as I plow through it:

"But conservatives have never been known to...passively accept what they perceive as a nightmare break out into waking reality.

"Knowing that Godson's crowd was behind the rally, the cops were in full force, a much stronger presence than in Westwood. However, since it was a peaceful demonstration with all the necessary permits (obtained by protest groups that had not participated in the Westwood mess), the cops actually had to provide security when most of them really wanted to bash heads.

"But all that could change with a little help, which arrived in the form of a band of undercover provocateurs (recently paroled convicts being paid by the Feds) posing as a band of black-masked anarchists moved through the crowd, starting trouble, picking fights at random. More specifically, some would grab salaciously at female's body parts, forcing their husbands/boyfriends but to defend them. That, coupled with others in the crowd resenting the anarchists violence and standing up to them, lead to a melee breaking out; one of sufficient size that the police could justify moving in on the entire scene.

"Again came the tear gas and as it had in Westwood, chaos ensued. Jude made sure he stayed close to Godson at all times, as instructed. The fighting broke out before Godson could speak, he was standing impotently at the microphone bouquet, trying his best to maintain control, but it was hopeless. Godson had lost his people, at least on this day.

"A few cops had been standing by the podium the entire time. Suddenly, a long haired young male hippie named Brian Roberts pulled a snub nose revolver from his belt out from under his 'Godson for President' T-shirt pulled a snub nose revolver out of his belt, and shot one of the cops dead, right in front of Godson...and Jude.

"Instantly, a dozen cops from out of nowhere swarmed on the hippie assassin, Jude and Godson, arresting all three.

"Later under questioning, Brian Roberts 'confessed' to the crime, claiming he was actually hired by Jude, Jude having told him to commit an act of violence in order to 'raise the stakes' of their movement. Roberts said Jude told him that his mentor Godson had preached that 'authority pigs' needed to start 'dropping dead' because the police had shot, beat and killed so many protesters and activists over the years.

"Jude told Roberts that Godson said it was time to 'balance the scales', and that he wanted one of his flock to make a brazen revolutionary statement. It was Jude's idea for the hippie lad to wear the 'Godson for President' T-shirt.

"After the hippie's confession, the Feds indicted Godson and Jude for conspiracy to murder the police officer. Godson maintained his innocence and insisted he defend himself in the trial. Jude broke Godson's heart when he agreed to testify on behalf of the prosecution in order to receive house arrest probation.

"During the trial, Jude gave damning court testimony declaring under oath that Godson gave the 'shoot order' to the hippie killer via a secret hand signal right before the hippie assassin squeezed the trigger.

"Video footage introduced into the courtroom taken from a local Eye-Phone camera OR WHAT WAS THE NAME I CAME UP WITH showed Godson waving his hands in some kind of gesture but that could have been about anything. Still, it was good enough for the prosecution and apparently, the stacked jury.

"When Jude later testified Godson had already established cells of disciples throughout the country, already in place in order to overthrow the government, Godson was charged with sedition as well as conspiracy to commit murder, which lead to a separate trial and more convictions.

"The government railroaded Godson during the actual trial, with not only the jury, but Godson's own defense attorney stacked in their favor. After being found guilty, in the penalty phase, Brian Roberts and Godson were found guilty of murdering the cop and given the death penalty.

"In Godson's 'terrorist trial', he was convicted even faster, despite the lack of evidence. The government's prosecutors argued that given Godson's tremendous charisma and influence, he should be executed immediately, before he could start a radical movement from death row.

"Not surprisingly, the courts agreed and Godson was sentenced to die 40 days after his conviction for domestic terrorism."

"During that time, Godson's disciples and his old lady Mary Mags said they would keep their master's message alive after he died. They would write books and make films about Godson and his teachings, so that his philosophy would live on forever.

"That comforted Godson after he lost his last, farcical appeal and faced death by lethal injection.

"On Judgment Day, Godson had his last supper of baked salmon, string beans, sourdough bread and peach cobbler for dessert.

"After his meal, Godson received some 'special visitors' in the form of LAPD, still angered that he ordered the death of one of their own. The six men brutally tortured and beat Godson, not sure whether to take more relish in the fact he was a cop-killer or a no-bathing free-loving peace-preaching hippie.

"The off-duty cops armed to the teeth really worked the prophet over; clubbing Godson in the ribs, pistol-whipping him across the face (breaking the bridge of his nose in the process), then literally whipped him with a leather lash one of them had confiscated from a kinky hooker.

"Since he was slated to die anyway, one cop stabbed Godson in his side a couple of times. Not enough to kill him, but sufficient to make him suffer in bleeding agony.

"That kept him alive, but on the verge of death until the final hour struck and the Governor refused to stay the execution. Godson was then marched through Death Row to what may as well be called the 'death chamber', where the prisoner is executed.

"As Godson was brought on display for the final time before government officials and family members of the police officer who was killed by the provocateur.

"Before being injected with the fatal chemical cocktail, the voice of the prison warden came through the speaker in the death chamber: "Do you wish to make a final statement?"

"Godson tilted his head up, looked directly into the warden's eyes and nodded his head.

"Then, from bloody mouth, split lips and broken jaw, Godson issued his final words:

"'It is easier for a nuclear warhead to pass through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich military contractor to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.'"

"Wasting no further time, the prison guards strapped Godson's lanky form onto a gurney; Godson's arms are swabbed with alcohol and then two IV's are inserted, one for each arm. The second one is a back-up in case the first fails.

"Following connection of the IV lines, first, saline drips were started in both of Godson's thin arms; this to ensure the three chemicals don't mix in the IV, preventing them from doing their job of killing.

"The first intravenous injection Godson received was sodium thipental, an ultra fast-acting barbiturate that rendered the messiah unconscious in 4.2 seconds. The prophet Godson never looked more of the flesh than when he was sleeping, artificially induced or not.

"Then it was time for the big boys; starting with pancuronium, which caused a fast-acting complete and sustained paralysis of the diaphragm and other respiratory muscles, which caused Godson to asphyxiate.

"But if that was enough, to complete this unholy trinity, the third chemical, potassium chloride, stopped Godson's sacred heart from beating--at least on the mortal, physical plane.

"And then, it was over.

"Naturally, all this took place on a Friday, and all the disciples (save Jude) and Mary Magdalene, who were protesting outside the prison gates, swore that at the moment of Godson's death (three in the afternoon), storm clouds that had been slowly gathering all afternoon, suddenly poured forth with thunder, lightning and rain in a most torrential downpour.

"Thus, Mary and the disciples didn't even need to wait to see and hear the news broadcasting the official confirmation; from that storm--they knew. Their leader, their inspiration, their messiah, their Godson...was no more.

"They drove back to San Bernardino, to get away from the place of death and to be where they had so many great memories of lie with Godson.

"Still, for Mary and the disciples, the remainder of that Friday and all into Saturday was a endlessly sustained depression...until...

"That Sunday morning, something wonderful happened. When they awoke, the disciples and Mary were greeted by the spirit of Godson hovering above them, the rising desert sky to his back.

"Godson told that his flock he would be joining his Father in Heaven now and that the disciples should carry on his work and spread his philosophy throughout the world.

"He also advised them that taking advantage of his status as a martyr--especially if his innocence could be prove posthumously--could go a long way in promoting Godson's dream of a world socialist government.

"Before he vanished for the final time from the material plane, Christ admonished his faithful followers: 'Turn over the money-changers everywhere! Live together as one! Cast aside material possessions and material concerns! Peace is the only answer, war is the root of all evil!"

"Of course, these were things they had all heard before, but then, Godson told them something new: 'And most of all, beware of those who would use my name and my words to benefit their personal and corporate financial interests--those who seek to sully my name by using my teachings to justify a pro-capitalist philosophy. Do not confuse my longing for equitable treatment for each individual human being to be any kind of sanction of a free-market economic system.

Another line that has me swallowing twice while allowing myself to consider all the starched shirts in the audience--but Ms. Cabal wanted these men to hear this--she didn't want a word edited out.

"Godson concluded: 'For there is very little freedom in the free market system. Freedom for the few, freedom for the exploiters. Let my last statement to the world be: From each according to his ability, to each according to his need.'

"And then he was gone, only the sunny Sunday morning remained."

"Mary and the disciples then set about to spread the gospel of Godson as far and as wide as they could across the land."

Pause and decide to 'step out' of the book for a moment, to give some context to my audience. Hold Bye Bull up and close it, then look up and directly at the heart of the audience, to signify I'm no longer reading text. Thing is, have to speak before anyone applauds and then everyone thinks it's over and I look like a bigger fool than usual.

"Thank you for your patience and I hoped you enjoyed that first section of what I'll be reading for you. That was the fictional section of the passage, and now I'm going to read the non-fiction portion. I just wanted to make note of the transition, rather than potentially confusing anyone out there, I know it's a lot to absorb and digest, along with your meal.

"So without further ado, let me continue reading from my book Bye Bull, again this is the 'Fallacies' chapter, the essay entitled 'Jesus was NOT a capitalist.'

"For any readers struck incredulous at the notion that a character (Godson) patterned after jesus christ could be portrayed in any kind of Marxist/socialist light, such as making any kind of statement based upon the Marxist dictum of 'From each according to his ability, to each according to his need", a quick history of the phrase is necessary.

"While Karl Marx is generally regarded as the father of the phrase, there is some question as to where to slogan actually originated before Marx popularized it. It may have first been used by Louis Blanc WHO IS HE in 1840, as a revision of a quote by the utopian socialist Henri de Saint Simon, who claimed that each should be rewarded according to how much he works.

"On the other hand, the phrase has also to the French communist Morelly who seemed to have a more radical agenda as proposed in his 1755 Code of Nature WHAT IS THAT?
He wrote "Nothing in society will belong to anyone, either as a personal possession or as capital goods, except the things for which the person has immediate use, for either his needs, his pleasures, or his daily work.

"Morelly also wrote: Every citizen will make his particular contribution to the activities of the community according to his capacity, his talent and his age; it is on this basis that his duties will be determined, in conformity with the distributive laws."

"However, we actually have to go back much further than the 18th Century to find the primordial source of Marx' bromide. Far enough back until we're in the pages of the
New Testament. Opening up to Matthew's collection of parables on the 'Kingdom of Heaven', specifically 'The Talents' parable, where Jesus declared that even those who bear 'less fruit' in the fields will be rewarded than those who bear 'more fruit'. Perhaps this sounds just, at it may well be; however, it is not compatible with American capitalism.

"In 'Acts (allegedly scribed by Luke) the lifestyles of Christ's Apostles (upon whom Godson's disciples were based) are portrayed as being communal, without individual possessions and included the phrase '...Distribution was made unto every man according as he had need'

"Sounds uncannily like the Marx quote, doesn't it?"

Pause to take a sip of water and to quickly survey the audience; while most flash boredom or only offer an ego defense of indifference, flashes of genuine surprise at my revelations in the expressions of some fuels my confidence.

Having taken the pulse of the room and with my throat sufficiently refreshed, take Bye Bull by the horns once more:

"The central question posed by this essay: Is Christianity truly the religion of free-market capitalism, of economic conservatism?

"Yes, this is what we have been told for years--generally by Christian conservatives, this is what we are told today, and this is what we will be told well into the future. That is, as long as we accept it.

"However, if christianity is alleged to be based on the teachings and actions and wisdom of Jesus Christ, it certainly isn't compatible with conservative free-market values.

"For despite the cloak of conservatism that has been draped upon it ever since the Catholic Church turned it from an ascetic philosophy into a globe-spanning empire, Christianity has had a liberal, and yes, even a leftist tradition running through it.

"Enough so that casting the second coming of christ as a neo-Marxist hippie revolutionary--in the character of Godson--is not so far fetched.

"Again, the contrived association between Christianity and political/economic conservatism can be traced back to the Catholic Church's appropriation of the religion from the original Christians, a clannish sort who IS WHO PROPER HERE
tended to adopt a superiority complex based on their conviction that their faith, exemplified in their ascetic lifestyle, was inherently superior to the decadence of the Roman pagans.

"The asceticism of the original Christians restricted overindulgence in everything from sex to food to limiting more abstract concerns such as pride and judging others.

"It should also be noted that the Catholic Church reinterpreted previous Biblical texts to created a newly synthesized Scripture. Another term for it would be "watered down". In other words, they distorted whatever legitimate truths may have existed regarding Christ and the 12 Apostles, and instead portrayed them as living the lifestyle those in power at the time deemed suitable for salvation.

"In this way, the Catholic Church exploited this previously sincere (however misguided) asceticism by transforming it into a system of control, imposed on the faithful by convincing them that the only path to Christ and that heavenly salvation was to live a life bereft of creature comforts and to always submit to the authority of the Church. This lead to a pleasant period of history aptly titled 'the Dark Ages'.

"However, the exploitation of asceticism in Christianity was just getting warmed up, peaking with the rise of a Protestant denomination known as Calvinism.

"As previously noted, the connections between Christianity and the political and economic philosophy of Marxism stem back from the the teachings of Christ himself, yet there is a more tangible connection that must be explored.

"And this would be the connection between Calvinism and Marxism. Calvinism was founded by the obviously humble John Calvin, who published his first religious tract in 1536 Switzerland. WHEN WAS IT NAMED CALVINISM? IN HIS LIFETIME? Calvinism was a particularly harsh derivative of Luther's Protestant denomination.

"Luther transformed the soteriological chessboard by declaring that it was faith and faith alone, not good acts, that ensured safe passage into Heaven. Calvin amended Luther by claiming that not even acts of faith guaranteed salvation. Those who were saved were called 'the Elect.' Salvation was predetermined--in other words, God decided whose soul would be saved or not before one was even conceived in the womb.

"This leads one to wonder precisely what methods were utilized by God to possibly determine in any kind of judicious manner whose soul was saved and whose was to perish.

"Calvinism is known for its rational linking of the concept of war directly with spiritual salvation, and in doing so served as one of the roots of the crucial Marxist concept of dialectical materialism."

Obviously a term at least some of the members of this big-shot club are familiar with; when I pause for another sip of aqua in this increasingly warming room, more than a few flash wider eyes at learning these connections I'm laying out.

"Peace was a sin in the Calvinist system, because that meant Satan had been victorious. War amongst humans on Earth was meant to parallel the ongoing war between God/Christ and Satan, and was thus virtuous, as it would ultimately result in heavenly utopia according to this warped doctrine.

"Marxism, some 300 years later, is largely similar in that it promotes a 'final battle' between the worker class and the capitalist exploiters. Conflict between these two entities was encouraged by Marxist theory because it would result in utopia, a worker's paradise on Earth.

"Like Calvinism, a lack of conflict is negative in Marxist Communism, because that means the oppressive capitalist masters are pacifying the masses utilizing any number of various opiates, including religion, as Marx pointed out. The bitter irony for both Christianity and Communism is that it was the Christian denomination of Calvinism that gave rise to 'godless Communism.'

"But perhaps such a contradiction is appropriate, for it seems the contradiction si inescapable for the Marxist. For is it not true that only through the clash of opposites endemic to dialectical materialism that the workers can finally overthrow the shackles of ownership oppression? (When exactly the conflict was to give way to a worker's paradise remains unclear, but it's always just a 5-year plan or two away)."

Pause for a drink and let some of the club members sporting stetsons have a deep chuckle at my 5-year plan crack, as I figure most of them to be staunchly anti-pinko so they'd especially appreciate it. And through humor they can be won over (though not sure how many of them appreciated my twisting of the alleged polarities of Christianity and Communism. They're one in the same when you boil it down, just got to get more folks to see that.

But for now, stick to the good book:

"But it is not merely at this extreme variant of Calvinism and Communism that christianity defies any concept of political conservatism.

"For Christ himself was no conservative. He was a single man; never married. Consorted with prostitutes. Opposed the crass money changers in the temple and the corrupt Roman government.

"In other words, he was a long haired revolutionary with questionable values who messed with the establishment.

"Here are just a few examples, direct 'quotes' from the boy-God himself:

"Christ as peacenik pacifist:

"Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God. [Matthew 5:9]

"Resist not evil: but whosoever shall smite thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. [Matthew 5:39]

"I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despite-fully use you, and persecute you; [Matthew 5:44]

"Christ as anti-conspicuous consumption activist:

"Watch out! Be on your guard against all kinds of greed; a man's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions. [Luke 12.15.]

"You cannot serve both God and Money. [Matthew 6:24.]

"But when you give a feast, invite the poor, the maimed, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you. You will be repaid at the resurrection of the just. [Luke 14:13 &14.]

"Christ reminding Christians to keep their religion private and not try to influence the culture with it:

"And when thou pray, thou shall not be as the hypocrites are: for they love to pray standing in the synagogues and in the corners of the streets, that they may be seen of men. Verily I say unto you, They have their reward. But thou, when thou pray, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut thy door, pray to thy Father which is in secret… [Matthew 6:6 & 7]

"From just this small sampling of Jesus soundbites, it's apparent that Christ wouldn't have been a big fan of the conservative Christians of present-day America wearing their religion on their sleeves, all the while oppressing the downtrodden; not 'giving a feast' to the poor.

"And it seems unlikely that Christ quoted above would have supported the US Persian Wars that essentially decimated the Muslim population around the globe.

"In short, the link between conservative American politics and the biblical interpretation of Christ could not be any more tenuous, if not an outright falsehood.

"And with this mountain of evidence, despite everything most of us have been told throughout history--and certainly in recent history--can there be any doubt that Christianity leans towards the political left of the spectrum?

"For the last half-century at least, the morality of Christianity (both evangelical as well as less extreme denominations) has been strictly associated with the political right, even though the words and actions of Christ clearly reveal a liberal leaning.

"Therefore, it should surprise none that in today's current culture, most liberals and progressives eschew Christianity, although many do not possess the courage to abandon it completely. At least not in any large-scale sense.

"This attachment stems from a dubious sentimentality for Christianity that otherwise rational and clear-thinking liberals and progressives possess; a sentimentality that might be based in nostalgia (stemming from their belief in God/Christ as children; nostalgic Christmas memories also forms a link that binds left-wingers to the religion they have generally left behind in all facets of their lives).

"Even worse, there are doubtless countless 'libs' and 'progs' who still have yet to transcend the fear that after death, her/his 'immortal soul' will be 'judged' by God/Christ, and that atheists may be subject to eternal damnation in that literal hot-tub from hell, the proverbial 'lake of fire'.

"This lingering fear in many libs and progs, the product of years of indoctrination beginning in childhood if not infancy, makes it impossible for the liberal to make the full commitment of abandoning Christianity and rejecting it from top to bottom, meaning even failing to argue against the flawed metaphysical aspects of Christianity, i.e., questioning its logical legitimacy.

"Rather, the liberal takes the easy way out and looks the other way, generally ignoring the dangers Christianity poses to the culture at large.

{FLESH OUT THE CONCEPT OF 'TOP TO BOTTOM' REJECTION OF CHRISTIANITY. THERE IS A LOT MORE TO BE EXPLORED THERE}

"Other factors preventing the liberal/progressive from making a 'clean break' from Christianity could be family considerations; parental pressure to appear at church, having a wife/husband/friend/lover who does not share her/his anti-Christian sentiments.

"Usually, it takes the extreme nonconformist; the artist, the punk, the street kid, politicized lesbians and gays, the awkward intellectual, etc--in short, someone capable of wholly rejecting Christianity and even outwardly opposing it. Often these individuals do not fall into the camp of 'liberal' or 'conservative' Some may be genuinely described as 'anarchistic.'

"The majority of liberals are ultimately still too conformist and plugged into the institutional-based system-at-large to reject Christianity as must be done on a widespread basis in order to lessen its undue influence on the culture at large.

"Even more disturbing is the relatively recent phenomenon of liberals/Democrats/socialists/etc who have attempted to make the connection between Christ's teachings as portrayed in the Bible and a more leftist point of view. As previously noted in this book, it is a legitimate connection--unlike that alleged between a capitalism/conservatism and Christianity--however, the liberal legitimizing of Christianity still undermines the undermining of Christianity proposed by this book. In this way, liberals sustain Christianity, instead of moving beyond it.

"And maybe they don't want to move beyond it, some would posit. Fair enough, but for those of us who do wish to see the culture move beyond the shackles of Christianity, most liberals and progressives seem to be hurting more than helping the cause.

"If Christianity continues to co-opt the political left to a substantial degree, then it truly will be left to the anarchists and the scientists to overcome the religion's debasement of virtually every aspect of human existence.

"Another consideration; let's say the dream of the religious right in this country someday comes true, that the Constitution is replaced by religious rule, by biblical law. Would that system be in any way compatible with our modern day, corporate controlled culture?

"Unlikely, as morality, rather than money, would become the first priority when making business decisions, but business is not predicated on morality, it's predicated on making money.

"So let it be concluded that the notion of Christ--and therefore Christianity--being compatible with political and economic conservatism is as implausible as the Resurrection itself...

"...but that's another fallacy for another page."




"Again, that concludes the text of 'Christian Fallacies: Christ was NOT a capitalist" from my new book Bye Bull. I did want to make a quick footnote that as I was reading aloud to you I realized that I had failed to include an important detail in the final draft I submitted to Ms. Cabal

"And that is the term 'Dark Ages', which most scholars today dismiss in favor of the terms 'Middle Ages', but it is only since the 19th Century that the term 'Middle Ages' came into vogue, before then it was 'Dark Ages'.

"Why the change? It could be the increasing influence of religion and spiritualism in reaction to the Industrial Revolution or the fact that enough generations had passed since the horrors of the Dark Ages that they were romanticizing the period. Oh, how they loved to romanticize in the 19th Century!"

That draws a few laughs from the stuffed shirts, so naturally I pour it on.

"Yes, the intellectuals, poets and writers of 19th Century Europe generally lived in enough comfort--provided by the very industrial revolution they resented--that they could sit around and romanticize Medieval Europe, instead of facing the harsh reality it represented--but that's what I'm here for."

A few more laughs mixed in with the cheers.

"Since we're on the subject, The phenomenon known as the "Jesus Movement" was the Christian manifestation of the hippie counterculture in the late 1960's into the 1970's, and is attributed by some sources as laying the foundation for the post-modern Evangelical born-again movement that has subsequently gained political ascendancy in the U.S.

The contradictions of Christianity being linked with right-wing conservatism instead of its proper alignment with left-wing socialism will be a central exploration in the following essay on Christian Fallacies.

Despite the increasing influence of Christianity in the US and the world at large in our present culture, it is true that since the Enlightenment, and as the revolutions saw the replacement of Christianity with democratic governments and central banking, the Church was no longer in a position to contain progress, as it did for the previously millennium, it was forced to reinvent itself as an 'alternative' to the alienating stresses and strains that accompany modern society. (As if life in medieval, feudal Europe was a breeze...)

For millions of those who fail to make interpersonal connections with others (even their spouses in some cases), a 'personal relationship' with Christ is offered to the believer.

That's a personal relationship, as opposed to all those unfilling 'impersonal relationships' most people tend to spend a lot of time on...

Naturally, this 'relationship' between Christ and the worshipful is completely subjective, there is no objective means to verify if a person is actually engaged in a relationship with one Jesus Christ.

You just to have...faith that a whole bunch of Christians are actually in a personal relationship with a prophet/alleged deity who died some two thousand years ago.


Corresponding to the notion that Christianity no longer dictates (or rather, suffocates) progress, but now posits itself as the 'underdog' (a laughable notion). This technique was excessively exploited around the turn of the millennium, as Christianity cast itself as 'on the attack' from a liberal, secular immoral post-60's culture run amuck.

You heard correct, the most dominant religion on the face of the planet was threatened with extinction by a TV show and a couple of rock bands...

As we have explored and shall ex;ore, Christianity would have more in common with the 60's counterculture than it would ever acknowledge.

But ever the contradictory entity, Christianity has offered itself as an alternative to the sex'n'drugs'n'rock'n'roll scene, as well as (and more significantly) polarized to feminism and women's progress in general, as previously explored in this book.

Lower my head in such a way that it queues the audience the reading is complete.. The resounding applause takes me aback, it's almost too much to receive--yet another impossibility Ms. Cabal has made possible. Never thought my writing, my words, my ideas would be listened to and well received by such persons I always just assumed were my enemies.

As the clapping is prolonged it verges on becoming an embarrassment until it occurs to me that they're probably cheering as much if not more for Ms. Cabal than they are for me.

But in the next instant hear not a single clap or guffaw as eye contact is established with Ms. Cabal, and in her expression she somehow manages to tell me she was pleased with my performance, and maybe even proud of me (though I may be reading too much into that).

But as soon as that contact is broken, and Ms. Cabal returns her attention to the circle of fabulously rich men around her, feel completely stranded up here, not sure what my next move should be...until the club officer NAME mercifully approaches to lead me off stage and back to my table.

On the way, shake the hands of a few of the club members who had heretofore ignored me, but subsume my ego with the satisfaction over Bye Bull's spreading influence.

Upon reaching my table, am afraid to make eye contact with Cassandra for some reason; like something changed for her, me or the two of us while I was up there. (Again may be reading too much into it all; this has been a most unusual evening).

Ms. Cabal won't even let me sit down: "Darwin, come here, I have someone here you simply have to meet."

Simply. (Notice she didn't say a word about my successful reading--but then, the look she gave me when I was on stage meant more to me than any words).

Squash my ego yet again as I move around the table to meet the man seated next to Ms. Cabal. Like so many of the men here, he's extremely well-dressed and presumably very wealthy, carrying himself with the sort of humility only a rich man can afford to have.

He's very thin, and his deeply set eyes, making it hard to discern the color. Hazel? Grey, maybe?

Not that I really care about his eyes, his designer clothes or his patrician nose that defines his aristocratic countenance, but I'm going to be introduced to all of them just the same.

"Ted, this is Darwin Grimm. Darwin, this is Ted Stanapolous, an investor friend."

We shake hands; his grip tighter than I prefer, but at least he's not overbearing about it. All the while am hung up by Ms. Cabal's curious description of Stanapolous as an "investor friend". Is that what the uppercrust call a 'fuck buddy'?

Cassandra is ignored by Ms. Cabal, as far as introductions go, while probably okay with her being regarded as merely 'hired security', it bothers the piss out of me.

"I enjoyed your book thoroughly Darwin," Ted tells me, "this little reading you just gave was like icing on the cake."

(He actually read Bye Bull? Ms. Cabal wields more power than I imagined). "Thanks very much, I'm glad you liked it, Mr. Stan-Stana-polis"

He laughs somewhat condescendingly at my fumbling of his name, as if a prominent author should know better. "Please Darwin, call me Ted."

Nod his way as Ms. Cabal informs me, "Darwin, you should know that it was Ted who made the arrangements for us to stay in the guest wing of the club."

"Is that so? Thanks again, Ted."

"Not a problem, Darwin. Always glad to patronize an artist."

"Oh yeah? Where have you been all my life?"

Everyone laughs, but soon enough, Ms. Cabal is back to business:

"Darwin, Ted and I are meeting some other mutual friends in Georgetown for drinks. Tela and Cassandra will escort you back to your room when you're ready. You probably want to turn in early so you have as much time tomorrow for D.C. sightseeing before our flight to Boston. Tela has drawn your itinerary for tomorrow to ensure giving you options as far as what you'd like to see.

I'll see you on our flight tomorrow."

"We should be going. Have a good night, Darwin."

"Thank you Ms. Cabal. And it was nice meeting you, Ted."

"Nice meeting you, Mr. Grimm."

"One more thing, Ted? Since you said you like the book so much, what was your favorite part?"

Even said it in a way that makes it sound like I'm doubting he ever picked up the book, let alone thoroughly enjoyed reading the whole damn thing.

Ms. Cabal hurls a pair of daggers from her eyes straight to my gut, but fend them off in my jealousy and await his response:

He certainly casts a thoughtful gaze, as he looks to the sky and mutters: "That's hard to say..."

Ha! Exactly something a bullshitter would have to say.

Then Ted's expression changes, as if he suddenly snatched out of mental thin air just what he was searching for.

"Yes, that's it--"

Damn, he did read his Bye Bull. Unless Ms. Cabal coached him.

That's getting a bit too paranoid.

Glance over at Ms. Cabal to find she's had enough: "If you're finished, Darwin, Ted and I will continue with our evening plans. I'll see you on the plane tomorrow."

"Have fun," I offer with a dash of bitter.

And that's that. She and Stanapolous exit flanked by a phalanx of beefy security guards. Look over at Cassandra playing with what appears to be chocolate raspberry cake and have no doubt she could take them all.

Plop down in the nearest chair; first chance I've really had to decompress since the plane landed. Before dinner was busy reading over the 'capitalist' essay

Been ready to go back up to my room for some time but am not going to disturb Red's dessert. But don't want her to notice I'm waiting cause then 'duty calls' and she'll ditch the dessert, so I walk across the room, watching the rich and powerful finish their meals and down the drinks, hoping to catch some earshot talk of my essay, but it seems like mostly fragments of business deal verbiage. Others are beginning to leave, some heading towards a sealed off roomed with a plaque reading 'Cigar Lounge', while others head out in the same general direction as Ms. Cabal and Ted.

Know Cassandra's watching me all the while, and she probably knows I'm doing this cause I'm waiting on her, but continue my lap around this dining hall just the same.



Cassandra greets me with some kind of newspaper in her hands

"Did you see this?" she asks, anguish etched on her face as she hands me a folded newspaper so that a particular article is front and present in my view

Hard to miss: Does Darwin Grimm hate liberals as much as he does Jesus?

Below the headline is a picture of me from the Atlanta book signing--alongside one of me attending the Atlanta bookburning. Great.

Really not in the mood to read the article--or look at the pictures; not exactly the way I prefer to unwind after appearing in front of a crowd.

I walk past Cassandra's outstretched hand, and she seems taken aback by my abrupt reaction.

Walk over to the mini-fridge and grab a bottle of water to pick my cottonmouth

Now feel more than a tad guilty of taking out my frustration on her, so I resume acknowledging the article:

"So what paper was that in?"

"You really want to know?"

"I'm asking you, aren't I?"

"Hold on, I have to look at it," she laughs to herself, probably realizing she didn't even bother to find out what it was she was reading in the first place.

She unfolds the paper, thumbing backwards from the story to the front page:

"It's the 'Capitol Corner' a free weekly, seems kind of like 'Bay Protector' back in San Francisco."

"Then it's liberal. Where'd you get it?"

"From Tela." CASSANDDRA IS PISSED THAT THIS COULD REPRESENT A BREACH, A COMPROMISE IN SECURITY
BUT I REMIND HER IT WAS I WHO ADMITTED AT THE ATLANTA BOOK STORE I WAS AT THE BOOKBURNING

"Oh."

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just...I'm not surprised that she's the first to know about something controversial."

"That's her job, isn't it?"

"Are you defending Ms. Cabal?"

"She does sign my checks."

"Mine, too. Just wish she could have spent some of that money to prevent this from hitting the press."

"She's not in the business of censorship, Darwin. To her, any publicity is probably good publicity."

"Take out the word 'probably' and you're on to something."





I TELL HER I SAW HER LOOKING AT ME LOOKING AT MS. CABAL AND SHE ADMITS HER ATTRACTION TO ME, SHE FELL IN LOVE WITH MY IDEAS, HENCE THE PAINTING AND NOW SHE'S FALLING FOR ME

I TELL HER I SEE HER AS MORE THAN A BODYGUARD AND IN THAT SENSE I WISH SHE WASN'T MY BODYGUARD, JUST A FAN I MET

HOW DO WE KISS

AFTER THE KISS, SHE PULLS BACK, SAYING, BUT I AM YOUR BODYGUARD, AT LEAST UNTIL THIS BOOK TOUR IS OVER, SO I CAN'T GET UNPROFESSIONAL AND PUT YOU AT RISK

ME: BUT WHAT IF I SAY IT'S ALRIGHT IF YOU'RE UNPROFESSIONAL AND LET YOUR GUARD DOWN

IT'S NOT FOR YOU TO SAY, DARWIN, MAYBE THINGS CAN BE DIFFERENT WHEN WE GET BACK TO SAN FRAN, BUT NOT UNTIL THEN

Between this and the chap at the book premiere party back in SF, it seems like she's make a deliberate, yet completely unstated attempt to turn me away, that's she's not interested in any kind of sexual relationship with me, no matter how kinky or depraved and removed from any sense of conventionality.

Truth be told, I've felt far closer to Cassandra, really, ever since I met her back on Halloween.

But there's that bodyguard/client gap or wall dividing or separating us, whatever stupid metaphor you prefer.

"Why do you have to call her Ms. Cabal?"

"I don't have to."

First lie I've ever told Cassandra.

And a shitty one at that--she doesn't believe it for a second. "Sure, you don't, Darwin. You're awfully uptight around her."

"She's a very powerful woman--and I owe everything to her. Wouldn't be here in this luxury suite right now if not for her, I'd be back in my crappy apartment in San Francisco."

"Is that so bad? Being in San Francisco, and living humbly?"

Know where she's getting at, but I choose to deflect her angle: "Not at all. I'm in it for the art, like you. All this is to promote the book--a temporary indulgence. A once in a lifetime experience for me, that's for sure. Never thought I'd ever be on a book tour, can tell you that."

"Hey, I meant to tell you; I was really impressed by what you said today at the bookstore."

Not overly impressed: "Everything I said is in my book and you've already read it>"

"I know, but it was...different hearing you say the words. Besides, I don't remember everything I read. I only read Bye Bull once, it usually takes two or three readings before I really retain a book's content."

"Same for me, pretty much."

"I'm more of a visual artist, you know? My memory's rooted in pictures--images, I don't easily recall words, or long passages from books or articles.

"It wasn't just what you said, but how you said it, you got so real about women and their general relationship to religion; the good and the bad of it, you pretty much said it all."

"Thanks. It means a lot to me coming from you."

Finally decide I'm going to tell Cassandra about my feelings towards her, how it felt like fate that we should meet, ever since I saw her whisk by me on the previous xmas eve.

She also has something to admit to me, but she hopes it doesn't freak me out, because I'm so damn logical and rational with my anti-christianity.

"Not as much as you may think" I assure her

She tells me she's been in a "psychic, etheric" relationship with me since that xmas eve. That's how the painting came to her, she describes that process of creating it and tells me the story.

"As crazy as it sounds, I feel like I was...meant to protect you, especially promoting your work of art, as you have been on this tour. I know to someone who's as anti-christian as you, that might seem strange."

"Not at all. You've heard my lectures, I'm anti-christian, but not anti-mysticism; I don't deny the existence of a spiritual reality."

"I've heard sections of your lectures," Cassandra is quick to correct me, "I occasionally have to concentrate on my job."

"That's why I could never be a bodyguard," I opine with a crack, "too much concentration."

Our lips meet, and it's even more amazing than I could have imagined. Just hope I'm doing a decent job at my end, and leave her wanting more.

Instinctively, passionately, I wrap my arm around her shoulder...

But instead of drawing closer to my display of affection, her next motion is to draw away and shake her head

"I'm sorry, Darwin. I shouldn't even have kissed you. It's not professional--"

"Who cares about that? I mean, here, now, when we're all alone like this."

"I'm still guarding you, even now, Darwin. That's what Ms. Cabal paid me to do--not to sleep with you."

Place my hand gently as possible on her shoulder, "It isn't like that and you know it. And Ms. Cabal wouldn't have to find out."

Knew that was a lie before it even crossed my lips. There isn't a thing in this goddamn world Ms. Cabal doesn't know.

But I don't care. Just know I want Cassandra--here and now.

But she doesn't want me. At least not here and now.

She takes another step back.

"I'm sorry, Darwin."

Her final words on the subject.

She exits into her room, closing the door.

END OF SCENE













NEXT SCENE IN BOSTON SHOULD HAVE ME COMPARING THE PROTEST THERE TO ATLANTA

OPENS W/ SOMETHING ON WOMEN, THE MOST PERTINENT
RANT ON WOMEN AND CHRISTIANITY

MAYBE GIVE THIS TALK IN BOSTON
"If you've read any of the signs of protest out there--and you really should, some of them are hilarious, I took photos and I'll be posting them on my website as soon as I get a chance.
"Since I can't piss off the residents of this town any more than I already have, why not get deep into the never controversial topic of Women and christianity.

"Some of you have read I'm a feminist. No doubt some of you have also read that I'm a sexist pig."

The collective laughter emitted from the audience is sufficiently knowing to confirms my suspicions on the matter.

"I can tell you this--I wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for the strength of a woman. I'm referring to my publisher and professional confidant, Ms. Cabal And I know all women can have her power--not to be like Ms. Cabal, but to harness such power in the manner she does. With such power, women don't need christianity and will in fact find it to be a hindrance in their lives and progressions."

While speaking, I intentionally seek out the eyes of the women in the crowd, it's important to make a brief, yet impacting impression on them, and also use the split second glance to gauge their reaction to my words.

I've also used the arena of the live monologue to introduce some freedom into my
Or should I say, more freedom than I usually permit myself.

Undisciplined discipline.

"Any discussion of women and christianity has to touch upon the pagan origins of christianity. Just like the Sacred Feminine, the pagan derivation of christianity was suppressed for centuries by the church.

"Here in this day and age, we can discuss those once shrouded and forbidden origins, many of which still surprise the average person to this day.

"One of the religious mystery groups of Ancient Greece, the Orphics, set a template for christianity by preaching that all non-followers of the Orphic faith were doomed to spend eternity filling one sieve with water from another sieve, an unending task.

"Even before I wrote this book, I heavily researched the true origins of christianity. Take Mithraism, like Orphism, a progenitor of christianity, it was such an influence on the christian faith that followed it, but why was it supplanted by christianity?

"For the simple fact that Mithraism failed to utilize the overwhelming--and overbearing conversion tactics and methods of christianity it was not able to

"It's kind of like life. If you're honest, fair and propose that people think for themselves, you generally get squashed--or if you're fortunate, merely overlooked. On the other hand--and often with the other hand, if you cheat, take shortcuts and appeal to the worst in mankind, you end up on top.

"And so it was that pagan religions were both squashed and overlooked by the rapidly emergent church in Rome.

"It was merely a transference of power, from decadent emperors to hypocritical pious popes. In the process, the much more valid pagan religions were forced to the shadows, covertly maintaining their traditions in the underbelly of their christianized culture.

"The suppression of women by the christian church has logically paralleled their suppression of the pagan religions; for women represent the same thing the pagan religions do--man surrendering his reason to erotic mystical passions.

"christianity merely asks that their flock surrender their reason to adhering to a strict moral code

"Was thinking of saving this for Boston, but given Roe v Wade, Washington seems a much more appropriate place for me to explore a little concept I like to call...

"The Moral Imperative for Abortion.

"An unwanted child vs a desired abortion

"Abortion as an act of a woman to dictate the destiny of her own body. christian morality views a woman's body as a vessel destined to carry a baby to term.

"Women who are anti-abortionists are among life's greatest mysteries. It's understandable why short-sighted males want to control women's bodies and view them as their rightful property, but for women to turn on other women at the most intimate level is deplorable.

"I understand there are many women who would never have an abortion for a variety of reasons, often times religion/moral are not among those reasons.

"One of the aims of the essay was to explore the unique appeal christianity has to women, how it holds them stagnant, undermining the progress of their own gender.

"Though I am loathe to speak in collectivist terms, it is plainly evident that christianity subordinates women, and while recognizing the tremendous gains that women have made in the last century, those things are at peril if this secular world should ever give way to a theocracy. Theocracy may sound absurd at best, paranoid at worst to most of you, and even I doubt the likelihood of sustained success of a theocracy. However, that is a topic for another city, Denver, I think, so if you want to see it, you'll just have to follow me there."

A few laughs float up from the crowd, the kind of laughs that suggest following me from city to city is as absurd as the possibility of theocracy.

"Therefore, when women perpetuate christianity in any of its varied forms, they are just perpetuating a system that provides a false spirituality that diminishes the opportunities for women to advance in the material world.

"Women are told the ideal female figure in the christian faith is a virgin, who was conceived by a possibly friendly ghost otherwise known as the holy spirit. If you want more on the holy spirit, you'll have to join the tour in Boston. Hey, it's helluva lot closer than the Rockies.

"To this day, nuns in the catholic church must remain unwed and celibate. An obvious fact, but if woman took a step back and really looked at it, would any of them remain catholic? Especially if they knew that the origin of nuns was as concubines for the catholic church back in Rome?

"Christianity exploits the female tendency to prefer illusion to reality. Lest you think this is a sexist statement, it can be attributed to the patriarchal system that oppressed women and denied them the opportunity to contribute to the creation of society. Being denied full access to reality, women turned to the inner world of the imagination. A strong imagination was also critical to mothers seeking to entertain their children with stories at bedtime and otherwise in an era long before TV and video games.

"Women also tend to be more ethereal in their thinking and certainly more prone to intuition.

"When christianity found that the devil was a very powerful tool and the sin most associated with satanic practices was sex; the subtext is that women were evil and must be subjugated.

"Women were associated with the morally inferior; evidence of this is found in the double standard that a sexually liberated woman is a slut or whore, such a man is a virile stud to be admired and envied.

"Women were cast in this position because they represent man abandoning his spiritual ideals for the lust that is granted between a woman's legs

"The catholic church of the dark ages required a scapegoat in the fifteenth century in order to justify its hold on the populace, the pagan religions that had served the role so well in the nascent church's rise to dominance had either been stamped out or driven underground in rudimentary fragments.

"This new scapegoat was conveniently found in the guise of witches--and the association of witches with magic, black or otherwise made it much easier to ally witches with the devil than it was pagans, because it's a logical contradiction that a religion that refuses to acknowledge the existence of a being such as the devil would actually spend a whole lot of time worshiping said prince of darkness.

"And it wasn't just the catholic church that saw the 'witch fever' that spread across Europe (and later, to America) as a convenient apparatus, Luther and Calvin advocated burning and killing witches in order to rid the countryside of their wickedness.

"But were witches truly viewed as a threat? Of course not; besides the aforementioned subjugation of women, establishing the reality of witches was a means by which a given religion could rally the faithful flock to oppose the very real threat of satan and his human agents--witches. Convincing the masses that devil is real also solidified their belief in god/christ and the metaphysical/spiritual world in general.

"Perhaps even more critically, the tangible existence of witches (whether any of these ladies possessed any tangible powers is another matter altogether) allowed the church to absolve god the burden of creating evil in the world. It has always been quite the theological dilemma for monotheistic religions that preach worshiping uber-benevolent deities to explain evil in the world, namely, Why would a god of pure goodness allow the existence of evil, pain and suffering into a physical plane that he created?

"With the devil, that valid philosophical question is avoided altogether--god has nothing to do with it, for it is the devil who is the spawn of all evil, and his human agents, like witches, and today, gays who want to get married are those who spread his evil across the physical world.

"One final note on this trip down memory lane; previously in this text there was a reference to 'the Dark Ages' that describes the period of Western history when the Catholic Church dominated and oppressed the European culture at large. But how many of you have heard about the Burning Times? This was a horrifying century from 1550 to 1650--not that long ago in relative terms--in France, Germany and Switzerland that saw the trial--and execution of witches, although the 17th century did see the end of capital punishment for witches, with the practice subsequently spreading to the paranoid shores of the fledgling American nation, dealing with native tribes and harsh winters.

"Imposing their religion over all things gave the pilgrims a sense of control--and women were controlled as much as any element of the New World.

"So to summarize, we find a ridiculously large amount of reasons why women should not surrender to christianity's seductive charms

"One, by suppressing women, christianity assured it would remain a patriarchal institution. Two, by denying the Sacred Feminine, christianity rid itself of the pagan aspects of christianity (and the pagan secret origins of christianity itself), Three, it perpetuated the notion and subsequent reality that women were merely vessels designed to carry a man's child to term. That is why abortion is so central to the religious debate these days; it has little if nothing to do with saving unborn lives, because any of those hypocrites would have their daughter get an abortion if there was a nasty inconvenient or even scandalous pregnancy, but rather it has everything to do with controllng women, their bodies, and their freedom of choice. Four, women's sexuality was used as a device to induce guilt, that favorite standby of christianity. A mentally healthy human being realizes that true feelings of guilt, remorse, etc only comes from within the individual, it cannot be legitimately be imposed from the external world

"If you'll indulge me a moment--and perhaps, you indulge every moment I stand on this podium, but be that as it may. I'd like to speak about women in broader terms--no pun intended--as a way of understanding why many of them are so damn faithful to an anti-feminist religious system."

LACK OF IMAGINATION, PURPOSE, THE NEED FOR EXTERNAL STIMULATION


"You've probably noticed that I often use the term 'christianity' where it may be politically correct to say 'the catholic church' or simply, 'the church', but that is because christianity is the driving force behind these malignant manifestations such as the catholic church and the subsequent oppression of women that is the topic on the table--or podium, as it were--tonight.

"For too long, christianity as a religious system has gotten off both the metaphysical and philosophical hooks; the blame for some negative aspect is generally assigned to a particular denomination, catholic being first and foremost. Although it is evangelical christianity which has come to dominate the American landscape in this context.

"But attacking or singling out one particular denomination is never going to solve the large problems that christianity both represents and presents to the culture at large. Therefore, I choose to refer to christianity as a whole

WHEN I'M DONE READING

"That concludes the text of 'Christian Fallacies: Christ was NOT a capitalist." I did want to make a quick footnote that as I was reading aloud to you I realized that I had failed to include this in the final draft I submitted to Ms. Cabal

"And that is the term 'Dark Ages', which most scholars dismiss in favor of the terms 'Middle Ages', but it is only since the 19th Century that the term came into vogue, before then it was 'Dark Ages'. It could be the increasing influence of religion in reaction to the Industrial Revolution or the fact that enough generations had passed since the horrors of the Dark Ages that they were romanticizing the period. Oh, how they loved to romanticize in the 19th Century!"

That draws a few laughs from the stuffed shirts, so naturally I pour it on.

"Yes, they lived in enough comfort--provided by the very industrial revolution they resented--that they could romanticize Medieval Europe, instead of facing the harsh reality it represented--but that's what I'm here for."

A few more laughs.

I've been asked about that by some readers--or maybe they're people who hate my guts, so just thought I should address that one

FOR THE Q&A LATER. THIS Q&A SHOULD BE MOVED TO 'HUB BUB'
"Mr. Grimm, do you deny the existence of a soul, of life after death?"

"Nothing of the sort. I do deny that said soul is subject to eternal damnation--or eternal reward. Either one would be a contradiction in the context of my general cosmology, which I've outlined in a previous lecture in Chicago. To understand that, you'll have to get a audio or video copy--I'm not repeating it here.

"But the evidence--such as it is

"I do not place all my proverbial eggs in the basket of science--in the sense that I am open to more than science is willing to accept. However, I am extremely cautious in downplaying scientific achievements and discoveries, for they are among the finest in human history, if not the most laudable, for they have made the human experience all the more bearable."

"On the other hand, I don't find it necessary to rule out the legitimate existence of a spiritual realm or plane in order to effectively diminish christianity. As I said in Chicago, christianity perverts true spirituality.

"And correspondingly, it perverts the legitimate nature of the soul. I've read a myriad of books on the subject, and there is some awfully compelling evidence to suggest a state of existence beyond the physical shell.

"When you start getting too specific about such matters, that's generally when you run into problems. Whether or not the soul--the unit of awareness that is a microcosm of Absolute Awareness MAY EXPAND UPON THIS--retains the human personality after mortal death is an open-ended question.

"Then there is the consideration of reincarnation, which some apocryphal writings suggest jesus christ himself preached, that he was actually part of a more mystical jewish sect called the essenes, and christ himself spent some of those infamous "lost years" in places like India, gaining esoteric occult knowledge, which he then brought back to Jerusalem."
Since Thanksgiving is late as it can be this year on the calendar, it gave us almost an extra week leeway to squeeze in this near two-week tour before the holiday kicks in. The plan is to fly back from LAX to SFO on the Sunday night before Turkey Day.
After all, people have to have adequate time to prepare to prepare those dead birds.

WHEN I GET BACKSTAGE

Cassandra greets me with some kind of newspaper in her hands

"Did you see this?" she asks, anguish etched on her face as she hands me a folded newspaper so that a particular article is front and present in my view

Hard to miss: Does Darwin Grimm hate liberals as much as he does Jesus?

Below the headline is a picture of me from the Atlanta book signing--alongside one of me attending the Atlanta bookburning. Great.

Really not in the mood to read the article--or look at the pictures; not exactly the way I prefer to unwind after appearing in front of a crowd.

I walk past Cassandra's outstretched hand, and she seems taken aback by my abrupt reaction.

Walk over to the mini-fridge and grab a bottle of water to pick my cottonmouth

Now feel more than a tad guilty of taking out my frustration on her, so I resume acknowledging the article:

"So what paper was that in?"

"You really want to know?"

"I'm asking you, aren't I?"

"Hold on, I have to look at it," she laughs to herself, probably realizing she didn't even bother to find out what it was she was reading in the first place.

She unfolds the paper, thumbing backwards from the story to the front page:

"It's the 'Capitol Corner' a free weekly, seems kind of like 'Bay Protector' back in San Francisco."

"Then it's liberal. Where'd you get it?"

"From Ms. Cabal."

"Oh."

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just...I'm not surprised that she's the first to know about something controversial."

"That's her job, isn't it?"

"Are you defending Ms. Cabal?"

"She does sign my checks."

"Mine, too. Just wish she could have spent some of that money to prevent this from hitting the press."

"She's not in the business of censorship, Darwin. To her, any publicity is probably good publicity."

"Take out the word 'probably' and you're on to something."

Then as if right on cue, Ms. Cabal enters (from where I haven't a clue). And like in Chicago and San Francisco before that, she has a strange man on her arm. At least strange to these eyes.
OR THIS COULD TAKE PLACE AT HOTEL
I'M THERE ALONE, REFLECTING ON THE LECTURE
MS. CABAL APPEARS WITH INVESTOR 'FRIEND' ON HER ARM AND CONGRATS ME
THEN CASSANDRA APPEARS
WE TALK
KISS
SHE LEAVES

Not that I really know about such things, but it's pretty evident that he's extremely well dressed and presumably very wealthy. He carries himself with the sort of humility only a rich man can afford to have.

He's very thin, and has deeply set eyes, making it hard to discern the color. Hazel? Grey, maybe?

Don't really care about that, his designer clothes or his patrician nose, but I'm going to be introduced to all of them anyway

"Ted, this is Darwin Grimm. Darwin, this is Ted Stanapolous, an investor friend of mine."

We shake hands; his grip tighter than I prefer, but he's not overbearing about it, at least.

Cassandra is ignored by Ms. Cabal, as far as introductions go, which is probably fine with her being regarded as just 'hired security', but it bothers me.

"I enjoyed your book, thoroughly Darwin," Ted tells me.

"Thanks very much, I'm glad you liked it, Mr. Stana-polis"

He laughs at my fumbling of his name, "Please, call me Ted."

I nod as Ms. Cabal informs me, "Darwin, you should know that it was Ted who provided the hotel room we're staying at here in Washington."

"Is that so? Thanks again, Ted."

"Not a problem, Darwin. Always glad to patronize an artist."

Never had anyone ever say that to me before "Where have you been all my life?"

Everyone laughs, but soon enough, Ms. Cabal is back to business:

"Ted and I are headed out to have dinner in the Georgetown district. There's an amazing restaurant he's been wanting to show me. There is a limo parked out front waiting to take you back to the hotel whenever you're ready to leave. Order anything you like from room service. I'll see you in the morning before we head out to Dulles."

"Ah yes, that airport named for a great American fascist," I can't help but quip.

The laughter doesn't come so quick or generous this time from either Ted or Ms. Cabal. Maybe Ted's granddad hung out with Dulles himself back in the day.

"We should be going. Have a good night, Darwin."

"Thank you Ms. Cabal. And it was nice meeting you, Ted."

"Nice meeting you, Mr. Grimm."

"One more thing, Ted? Since you said you like the book so much, what was your favorite part?"

Even said it in a way that makes it sound like I'm doubting he ever picked up the book, let alone thoroughly enjoyed reading the whole damn thing.

Ms. Cabal hurls a pair of daggers from her eyes straight into my heart, but fend them off in my jealousy and await his response:

He certainly casts a thoughtful gaze, as he looks to the sky and mutters: "That's hard to say..."

Ha! That's something a bullshitter would have to say.

Then his expression changes, as if he suddenly snatched just what he was mentally perusing out of thin air

"Yes, that's it--EXAMPLE"

Damn, he did read his Bye Bull. Unless Ms. Cabal coached him.

That's getting a bit too paranoid.

What really gets me about the whole thing is the way Ms. Cabal's dressed. So overtly sexual; a blouse that hangs off, revealing part of bare shoulder.

A shoulder I want to sink my teeth in. It's pure agony standing here and watching her about to go out for the evening with another man. Especially now that I've tasted her. Unless I was dreaming that.

Also find my eyes drifting towards the expanse of cleavage Ms. Cabal has chosen to reveal

In my peripheral vision, can tell that Cassandra is watching me looking at Ms. Cabal in this way, and in a way I wish she wasn't looking at me, in another way I don't give a shit

SHE COMMENTS ON IT, EMBARRASSING ME






At the hotel or private estate, D'mona tells me she's going off to dinner with the investor who's putting us up. She's dressed overtly sexual, not in her usual professional/business attire that I'm accustomed to.

Divert my eyes from her cleavage and she comments on it, further embarassing me.

MS. CABAL LEAVES FOR THE EVENING AND THEN CASSANDRA CHECKS IN ON ME, SAYING SHE'LL BE RIGHT NEXT DOOR. I ASK HER TO STAY AND TALK, SHE SITS ON THE BED NEXT TO ME

I TELL HER I SAW HER LOOKING AT ME LOOKING AT MS. CABAL AND SHE ADMITS HER ATTRACTION TO ME, SHE FELL IN LOVE WITH MY IDEAS, HENCE THE PAINTING AND NOW SHE'S FALLING FOR ME

I TELL HER I SEE HER AS MORE THAN A BODYGUARD AND IN THAT SENSE I WISH SHE WASN'T MY BODYGUARD, JUST A FAN I MET

HOW DO WE KISS

AFTER THE KISS, SHE PULLS BACK, SAYING, BUT I AM YOUR BODYGUARD, AT LEAST UNTIL THIS BOOK TOUR IS OVER, SO I CAN'T GET UNPROFESSIONAL AND PUT YOU AT RISK

ME: BUT WHAT IF I SAY IT'S ALRIGHT IF YOU'RE UNPROFESSIONAL AND LET YOUR GUARD DOWN

IT'S NOT FOR YOU TO SAY, DARWIN, MAYBE THINGS CAN BE DIFFERENT WHEN WE GET BACK TO SAN FRAN, BUT NOT UNTIL THEN

Between this and the chap at the book premiere party back in SF, it seems like she's make a deliberate, yet completely unstated attempt to turn me away, that's she's not interested in any kind of sexual relationship with me, no matter how kinky or depraved and removed from any sense of conventionality.

Truth be told, I've felt far closer to Cassandra, really, ever since I met her back on Halloween.

But there's that bodyguard/client gap or wall dividing or separating us, whatever stupid metaphor you prefer.

"Why do you have to call her Ms. Cabal?"

"I don't have to."

First lie I've ever told Cassandra.

And a shitty one at that--she doesn't believe it for a second. "Sure, you don't, Darwin. You're awfully uptight around her."

"She's a very powerful woman--and I owe everything to her. Wouldn't be here in this luxury suite right now if not for her, I'd be back in my crappy apartment in San Francisco."

"Is that so bad? Being in San Francisco, and living humbly?"

Know where she's getting at, but I choose to deflect her angle: "Not at all. I'm in it for the art, like you. All this is to promote the book--a temporary indulgence. A once in a lifetime experience for me, that's for sure. Never thought I'd ever be on a book tour, can tell you that."

"Hey, I meant to tell you; I was really impressed by what you said today at the bookstore."

Not overly impressed: "Everything I said is in my book and you've already read it>"

"I know, but it was...different hearing you say the words. Besides, I don't remember everything I read. I only read Bye Bull once, it usually takes two or three readings before I really retain a book's content."

"Same for me, pretty much."

"I'm more of a visual artist, you know? My memory's rooted in pictures--images, I don't easily recall words, or long passages from books or articles.

"It wasn't just what you said, but how you said it, you got so real about women and their general relationship to religion; the good and the bad of it, you pretty much said it all."

"Thanks. It means a lot to me coming from you."

Finally decide I'm going to tell Cassandra about my feelings towards her, how it felt like fate that we should meet, ever since I saw her whisk by me on the previous xmas eve.

She also has something to admit to me, but she hopes it doesn't freak me out, because I'm so damn logical and rational with my anti-christianity.

"Not as much as you may think" I assure her

She tells me she's been in a "psychic, etheric" relationship with me since that xmas eve. That's how the painting came to her, she describes that process of creating it and tells me the story.

"As crazy as it sounds, I feel like I was...meant to protect you, especially promoting your work of art, as you have been on this tour. I know to someone who's as anti-christian as you, that might seem strange."

"Not at all. You've heard my lectures, I'm anti-christian, but not anti-mysticism; I don't deny the existence of a spiritual reality."

"I've heard sections of your lectures," Cassandra is quick to correct me, "I occasionally have to concentrate on my job."

"That's why I could never be a bodyguard," I opine with a crack, "too much concentration."

Our lips meet, and it's even more amazing than I could have imagined. Just hope I'm doing a decent job at my end, and leave her wanting more.

Instinctively, passionately, I wrap my arm around her shoulder...

But instead of drawing closer to my display of affection, her next motion is to draw away and shake her head

"I'm sorry, Darwin. I shouldn't even have kissed you. It's not professional--"

"Who cares about that? I mean, here, now, when we're all alone like this."

"I'm still guarding you, even now, Darwin. That's what Ms. Cabal paid me to do--not to sleep with you."

Place my hand gently as possible on her shoulder, "It isn't like that and you know it. And Ms. Cabal wouldn't have to find out."

Knew that was a lie before it even crossed my lips. There isn't a thing in this goddamn world Ms. Cabal doesn't know.

But I don't care. Just know I want Cassandra--here and now.

But she doesn't want me. At least not here and now.

She takes another step back.

"I'm sorry, Darwin."

Her final words on the subject.

She exits into her room, closing the door.



what brings us together to kiss, to be physical?







LATER WHEN I'M ALONE WITH CASSANDRA

I HESITATE, ALMOST NOT SURE WHAT TO DO, HAVEN'T BEEN INTIMATE WITH A WOMAN IN SO LONG...HAVEN'T KISSED IN SO LONG, I'VE CLOSED MYSELF OFF TO SUCH INTIMACY OVER THE CHASM OF BITTER YEARS
IT'S ONLY THE DEPRAVED SEXUALITY MS CABAL OFFERS THAT I CAN ACT UPONfGod