DarwinBlinks

The saddest thing about The Rapture...

2011-05-22T11:14:00.001-07:00

was that it was given any attention at all. Sure, it was good media fodder for a week, even a 'trend' if you will, but ignoring it would have been a lot more harmful to christianity than continuing to make it a dominant theme in our culture. Instead of christianity being mocked, it's the foolish preacher who predicted the Rapture that is ridiculed. The media focus should have been on the ridiculousness of the Rapture concept in and of itself. But ultimately, mainstream media promotes christianity in ways both subtle and overt. And it's not merely because a majority of Americans identify themselves as christian, it's part of a larger agenda. A subject for another time...or perhaps a novel.

But one good thing could come out of all the media hype leading up to the Rapture that never arrived is that christians may turn away from their faith, receiving the first hint that it's just one broken promise after another. If even one christian abandoned his/her faith because of disappointment over this Rapture nonsense, then I have to admit the media hype indeed served a "higher purpose".

2011-04-22T20:55:00.000-07:00

EARTH DAY VERSUS GOOD FRIDAY

This year, we’ve had the odd confluence of holidays in which Friday April 22 is both Earth Day and Good Friday and since they both happen to fall on the same day it provides me with the rare opportunity to compare and contrast the two.
One is the most important day for ecologists and environmental activists, the other the most important day for christians.
christians might argue that christmas day is the most important date on the Christian calendar, but it really isn’t when you get down to it.
It’s today, good Friday. For the basis of christianity—and Christian faith---is centered on christ’s death, his alleged sacrifice of his mortal body so that god his father would forgive the rest of us mortals our sins, just so long as we believe in him. Not sure how the son of god dying wipes out my sins, but that’s a topic for another essay.
Good Friday, despite the name, is the centerpiece of the christian prioritizing the afterlife above life itself. It is what I term the Christian ‘hatred of life’
Earth Day, on the other hand, is a complete celebration of natural life on Earth along with serving as a ‘call to arms’ for people to do more for the world in which they live and that provides them with everything they have.
Christianity’s environmental record is spotty at best; the ‘Wise Use’ movement is heavily indoctrinated with Christians. For those not familiar, the ‘Wise Use’ movement justifies environmental degradation so long as it benefits humanity—or more specifically, benefits the stockholders of large corporations who either pollute or rape the earth for profit.
Look no further to the prime symbol of Christianity—the crucifix, depicting jesus christ dying on the cross. While Earth Day’s symbol is a green ring or circle (with a rectangular block), a circle being a symbol of infinity.
There’s no getting around it, even more so on a rare day such as this when the stark contrast between these two celebrations is magnified, one holiday celebrating life (Earth Day), while the other venerates death as the highest ideal (Good Friday).

Cheery WinterGift!

2010-11-30T23:54:00.000-08:00

We have entered the season of WinterGift. In the world of DarwinBlinks, all December holidays are known as WinterGift, incorporating both the cool pagan aspects of xmas as well as the beloved gift-giving spirit of the holidays. People will greet each other and wish others a happy holiday by saying "Cheery WinterGift!"

As long as people buy things, retailers won't mind, trust me.

ALPHA release date...

2010-10-11T02:43:00.000-07:00

COMING SOON!

Stay tuned to DarwinBlinks for more info including public book readings!

Direct Connection Final Draft

2010-09-11T01:26:00.000-07:00

"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

With Every hand Against Me Notes

2010-08-16T00:54:00.001-07:00

Should have just ran for it, let them shoot me and just die there out on the streets.

Anything would be better than where I am now--trapped, at their mercy--to be killed or worse.

"We're doing to do far worse than kill you, Mr. Grimm. We're going to make you one of us."

FF Notes

2010-08-15T22:10:00.000-07:00

ANTI-BIOTICS = ANYBODYS

One afternoon, just any other afternoon, Pig was too cramped in his tighty, unable to relax and feel comfortable at all.

But unlike every other afternoon, Piggy decided that this isn't anyway for a Pig to live and that he was going to do something about it.

So he began kicking at the back of his tighty WHAT MATERIAL WOULD IT BE MADE OF in order to create some space behind him. When his legs tired, he rocked back and forth in order to slam his shoulders against the sides of his tighty in order to create space on each of his sides.

It wasn't long before one of the Two Legs was on the scene holding his zapper, a long pole with a vicious shock on the end, CONFIRM meant to subdue the raucous pig.

Now this Pig had never been touched by the zapper so he had no real reason to fear it, but he has seen many of his brothers and sisters touched with it and they would always squeal in horrible pain.

The Two Legs leans in closer with his zapping pole, but the Pig leans forward then quickly pushes back with all his new-found strength and proceeds to kick the back door of the tighty off its hinges, right into the knees of the Two Leg.

Two Leg falls back and loses control of his zapper, and it falls out of his hand, striking his knee, sending the Two Leg screaming in pain and fall backwards on his behind.

Animals don't laugh, so the response that followed from all the Pigs who witnessed what happened to Two Legs certainly can't be described as laughter, but it was the same type of pleasurable sound emitted as when his brothers and sisters are feeding or making love.

"Agora" is a must-see film

2010-08-15T01:10:00.000-07:00

mostly playing in metro area arthouse type theaters, but if you can see it on the big screen do so, because it's visually impressive. If the only way you can see it is on DVD, do so as well. It's a rare film for the progressive mind as it details the destruction of the great Alexandrian Library of antiquity, and a rare film it that its approach is primarily intellectual, not emotional, as most films tend to be emotion-based. Why? Because it appeals to a mass audience. But Agora is not concerned with such bottom-line concerns. The irony is that it also has a huge emotional payoff at the end, with the fate of the philosopher Hypatia. It's also above average in its cinematic technique, thus it qualifies as a 'great film' in that 1, it reveals truth, 2, it's cinematically innovative.

Marbles Press conference notes

2010-06-13T14:36:00.000-07:00

How do you propose to overcome the historical tendency for communes filled with intellectuals to be utter failures?

"We're trying to balance individuality within group living, cooperation without conformity. It's a fine wire, and it requires transcendence, but that's what we're seeking here. Not living life asleep, hiding in your individual hexagonal wax cell of a beehive apartment.

Marketing the Book

2010-06-06T16:19:00.001-07:00

Fans of Heinlein, Rand, Wilson, Nietzsche, Marvel Comics

THE FICTION OF DARWIN BLINKS IS STRANGER THAN TRUTH, THAT WAS MY INTENT, BECAUSE IT’S ALWAYS SAID TRUTH IS STRANGER THAN FICTION

Marketing the Book

2010-06-06T16:19:00.000-07:00

Fans of Heinlein, Rand, Wilson, Nietzsche, Marvel Comics

Earth Day in a christian-dominated culture

2010-04-22T23:14:00.000-07:00

Good to see the celebration of Earth Day in full throttle today, and that it has seemingly eclipsed such christian-tinged movements such as Wise Use, which justified excessive exploitation of natural resources on the spiritual foundation that such resources were "provided by god for humanity to use as they see fit". The anti-environmental counter-movement has its roots in right-wing christianity. Destruction of nature and failing to leave a sustainable environment for future generations means nothing to many christians--but not all. Hopefully, those who chose to remain christian in the 21st century at least will begin to adopt a more suitable eco-consciousness. The preference would be for christians to abandon their hollow faith and invest all that time and energy into environmental and other real-world causes. But even on Earth Day, that might be asking too much. Still, like any holiday, it's a day when one can stretch out hopes and dreams a bit further than on ordinary days.

Darwin Blinks will now be 2 books

2010-03-27T17:37:00.000-07:00

Darwin Blinks will be released in two sections; the first will be Darwin Blinks: Alpha (coming soon, they say) and the second will be Darwin Blinks: Omega. Each book will have its own unique cover, Alpha will feature the FireWheel of Darwin's visions and the cover of Darwin Blinks: Omega will be of The Marbles. Besides symbolizing 'beginning' and 'end', those are terms associated with christianity, so I'm utilizing the titles in an ironic sense. Finally, the division of the novel into two books represents myself, first, from the original inspiration of the book project the anti-christian worldview pitted against a country that was leaning towards theocracy, and second, representing my recent study of metaphysics, and my full endorsement of the existence of a metaphysical plane of reality. This knowledge and 'change of heart' enabled me to coalesce the original, but murky and undefined metaphysical aspects of the novel (particularly Darwin's "visions" early in the novel, and then the revelation that Ms. Cabal is a metaphysical being. Now all of those previously potentially contradictory 'spiritual' elements fit snugly into the novel reflecting my total worldview, along with the original, anti-christian themes and the themes of cultural transcendence, the latter of which will be explored in the second novel with the formation of the FireWheel Cult and then The Marbles.

Publishing two books allows me to get the 'world' of Darwin Grimm out there in the world.

KNBR's Tom Tolbert says Tebow TV spot could cause domestic violence

2010-02-03T17:23:00.000-08:00

On his KNBR Radio "Razor & Mr. T" show last week, Tolbert suggested Tebow's ad could cause fights between football fans gathered for Super Bowl parties who are on opposing sides of the issue and fueled with drink. As it is with most things, time will tell.

Why America is NOT a christian nation

2009-07-03T19:14:00.000-07:00

On this, the eve of another birthday in the relatively short life of America

Reba update

2009-07-02T09:49:00.000-07:00

Omega will include a "Reba" entry, the irony being she is an anti-christian resistance fighter with links to the burgeoning underground, but she doesn't recognize me as Darwin even though she sings his praises. She tells me about the underground resistance and it fills me with optmism. Later we make love and I'm coming close to thinking that Reba's golden blonde hair, disposition and purpose in life make her the ideal mate, so much that I'm considering abazndoning everything and joining her in the resistance, maybe even revealing who I am. But when she discovers my crucifix and that I have christian 'papers' (though faked), she runs away in the middle of the night from our hotel.

2nd to last scene

2009-07-01T10:53:00.000-07:00

After D'mona has rewarded Darwin with the ultimate prize, she remains submissive when they return to San Francisco. As part of that, she closes off his mind to her, he is the only sentient creature in the universe that she He waves that off, saying he wants them to resume a regular relationship, as they had in the Marbles.
"Just have one last demand..."

I left the Marbles to take a new direction in my life; going to work with a chap who says he can turn water into musical instruments/living works of art or to join a group of people trying to establish a new culture in the Plains (an area still divided by the civil war, of course the blinking would eradicate the need for that, or expedite the growth of this new culture.

Other option has me returning to the Marbles maybe with the option of moving out but there for now for safety. Then someone other than D'mona drives me to Snob Hill.

Entry XXXIII--Revelation

2009-06-30T19:51:00.000-07:00

AT SOME POINT SHE'LL WARN ME ABOUT THE THREAT THAT CHAD KING REPRESENTS, THE PRIVATE ARMY THAT COULD BRING THEOCRACY

CONCEPT OF METAPHYSICAL IMPERATIVE MUST BE INTRODUCED

Xmas eve is here again.

Like I expected it to go away just because of the Bye Bull.

But this is not just any xmas eve; it's safe to say this particular xmas eve means more to me than any since I was a wee one.

For it was exactly one year ago today--tonight/to be precise--that my life changed in oh so many ways.

Even feel different, in the most intrinsic ways; 365 days ago, I was depressed, aimless and alone--now I'm replete with success, purpose and companionship.

Hard for me to even consider all that's went down from where I was a year ago to where I am now.

Been shot in the face with piss and had a bomb explode right in front of me.

Oh yeah, wrote a book, too. Finished it, more importantly. That it got published and sold in real book stores and made real bestseller lists was less significant than my actually finishing it.

Met two amazing women; both are intriguing and attractive, but only want to spend the rest of my life with one of them.

But all that is to be commemorated later this evening; it's still daylight after all. Planned something special; wouldn't go so far as to call it a ritual, but since I'm going to be alone anyway, figured this was something I should do, to mark the occasion as it were.

Consciously contemplating my solitude triggers another obligation to be fulfilled this evening--calling Cassandra, some 3,000 miles behind me, back in her hometown Boston, celebrating the holidays with her large and extended Irish catholic family.

This holiday, anyway--New Year's Eve she's reserved for yours truly.

In fact, that's the night I think we're finally going to sleep together, though I never like to count those chickens before they're laid.

It's also a night--if all goes according to plan--that I propose to propose quite the proposition to one Cassandra Sullivan.

Weather permitting. DELETE

She's all I can think about these days; which is so hard to believe. I'm totally in love the same year I've gotten a book published and become a real author. All those years I was alone; no woman, no career. Now I've got both.

Problem is, still have to wait an hour (or is it two?) until Cassandra and her family return from their annual family xmas eve tradition of decorating a random coniferous evergreen out in the forests of the Northeast.

Until then, kill the time by sifting through endless emails yet perused from readers
far and wide...

Emerge from one of those naps where you're not sure what time it is. Not like waking up in the morning, when you know it's the morning. Takes me more than a few moments to remember it's late afternoon--and oh shit--have to call Cassandra.

Shit, what time is it? 4:21. Have to jog my memory to recall the schedule of Cassandra and her family; they have to be back home already, all snug in front of a picturesque New England fireplace, exchanging gifts and inside jokes, barbs and subtle insults with an intimacy that only families can share. The jokes and the insults are to offset the solemn, often hokey aspects of holiday get-togethers; a way of taking it less seriously.

Don't want to interrupt that; and besides have to wash some of the sleep out of my eyes, which I do at the bathroom sink.

Ha--even the water feels fresher against my skin than it did a year ago. Maybe they redid the pipes in the building while I was on tour. Or maybe it is me.

Debate hitting the pavement and pumping some fresh air into my lungs, but don't want to immerse myself in the whole xmas culture like I did a year ago, when I was punishing myself.

Have got Ms. Cabal to punish me now.

Or being away from Cassandra, that's punishment enough, I'm finding. Far bitter taste than licking Ms. Cabal's patent leathers.

Pang of guilt sends me to idle the time at the computer, going over emails from readers who want to connect, discuss ongoing issues, ask questions, etc etc.

Been neglecting responding to these, suppose it's all a bit too much following the book and the madness of the whole tour.

Shit, have done more and more has happened to me in the past year than I did and has happened to me in the all the years prior to that combined.

Ah, another email from Ben Chan; like that guy. Says he lives with his uptight family down in Silicon Valley. He's more into traditional Buddhism, but his family are "a bunch of conformist Christians" as he puts it. He said he's thinking of leaving it all behind and moving up to S.F.

Send him a reply of encouragement; this city could definitely use a bloke like Ben.

Also like what I'm reading from this self-described San Francisco dyke named Eliza. She hates xmas and treats xmas eve just like any other day.

One of these days, have to hang out with those two, especially considering how close they are to me.

On the other hand, have Anna all the way in Nebraska; she works as a nurse there in an abortion clinic of all places. Small wonder she's a fan of yours truly.

Anna said she's getting fed up with the heavy-duty christian scene there--she wishes my book tour would've come to Lincoln. Write back only half-joking that more copies of the Bye Bull would've gotten burned there than in Atlanta!

She's young in her 20's still. On the opposite end of the spectrum, yet completely relateable is Dr. William Tiller, who resides not far from here, up in Arcata. Arcata's a college town, but he writes that he liked being around all that "youthful energy" Says he used to be an abortionists in various parts of the country, and he's been shot, shot at and had his clinics bombed. None of that stopped him, until abortion was outlawed. Law and order gets you every time. He rationalized it an opportunity to do something else with the last chapter of his life at age 65. The only problem is, he's not sure how to fill the pages of this ongoing last chapter, made even more difficult by the death of his beloved wife of 42 years Bunny a few months ago. He misses being a doctor and helping people--even in a relatively reduced role as an gyn/ob

Glance at the clock; it's already past six--meaning past nine in the Northeast. The Internet might be a waste of time, but it sure fucking passes the time. It just has a way of absorbing one into a cyber-dimension that causes one to lose track of the other four surrounding dimensions.

Has to be okay to call her now, nine pm on xmas eve is usually the time when the eggnog begins flowing and things relax.

Open up the email she sent with the phone number and yep--there it is, she said okay to call after nine.

"Hi, Darwin?" she answers. Feels good to hear my name being uttered by a warm female voice that actually anticipates hearing mine in response.

"Yeah, how are you?"

"Good. Enjoying your favorite holiday?" she chides

"Yeah, a thrill-a-minute. But unlike last year, I won't see you this xmas eve."

She hesitates, having to think over what I said until she remembers, remembers that we crossed paths one year ago tonight.

Change the subject: "So how was the annual wild tree decorating excursion with your family?"

"Fun as always, someone brings a casket of brandy and we get sloshed--except for poor dear cousin Julius, he was the designated driver to make sure the rest of our lot got home in one piece to exchange gifts."

"Get any good booty?" I ask with faux greed in my tone

"Some clothes, a couple books, oh and a naughty teddy I think you're going to enjoy when I get back."

"I'm enjoying it already"

She giggles playfully in response. Damn it feels good to have this woman in my life. Icing on the fucking cake to an amazing year.

But still, want her in the flesh. "So...you're flying back in on the 29th?"

"That's right, honey! Five more days till I can see you."

"I'll meet you at the airport and we'll take BART back."

"Sounds perfect--and affordable. That cab I took cost a fortune."

There's a pause as someone on Cassandra's end speaks to her in the background...

"Okay, just a second" she says to the other person, not me. I'm still on hold.

"Sorry about that," she says quickly.

"S'alright."

"So I have to go, we're going to pile into a car, sober up with some coffee if we can find a coffee shop and then hit the midnight mass."

"Mass?"

Can hear her wincing over the line "I know. Do you hate me?"

"No, I don't hate you. Family tradition, I gather?"

"Pretty much."

"I also gather you haven't told them about me."

"Not on xmas. I just told them I'm getting serious with a writer."

Pause

"Now do you hate me?"

"Not if you're serious that we're getting serious. Hell, if I was dating me, I'd probably avoid talking about what I do too. "

"I am. You know, I got so many proposals from the actors and billionaires I provided security for, but I always knew I'd end up with a starving artist."

"As long as I know Ms. Cabal, seriously doubt I'll ever starve, or does that kind of comfort not appeal to your sense of romantic adventure?"

She laughs, "The time I've spent with you has already been adventure enough for several lifetimes."

"Not sure if that should make me relieved or nervous."

"However you want to feel about it..." she replies cryptically.

Don't do well with cryptic when it comes to relationships, but suppress my anxieties as we exchange goodbyes

"Is it okay to call you on the holy day tomorrow/"

She giggles, "Of course, just don't call too early. After midnight mass, the younger members of the family will have a nightcap or two..."

"Sounds like you'll be up till dawn. I'll call you tomorrow evening, xmas is pretty
much over by xmas night."

"Deal."

"Have fun in church--though that's the one time I can say I wish I wasn't with you."

"Yeah right, you'd probably get a secret thrill of attending mass, to see if anyone would recognize the oh-so controversial Darwin Grimm on enemy turf."

"Stop calling it 'mass'. Sounds like you actually have reverence for it, or something."

"What should I call it? An 'obligation'?"

"That's better."

We share a laugh, both wishing we could follow it up with a hug.

I'm wishing it, at least.

The end of her laugh is punctuated by a blaring noise in the background.

"So...I've already hung on this phone with you too long and I have a car full of half-drunk Irishmen honking--if you heard that."

"I did. So have fun with your lord and savior and drive safe and all that and I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Okay, honey, try to have a good Christmas, if that's even possible for you."

"My Christmas comes on the 29th."

SMACK!--She kisses the receiver and clicks off. Hope she cleans that thing on her end.

Stare out into space for a few moments, soaking in the conversation; it's been so long since I've had a connection like that with a woman that I'm so attracted to; it's kind of overwhelming.

In a dreamy kind of love-state, somewhat intoxicating; and in these post-drinking days, will take any kind of buzz I can muster.

Catch a glimpse of the darkness that completely permeates--shit, still need to go outside...

Something tells me to eat, so throw a coupla cold slices of za into the oven.

Could go back online while waiting for grub, but am drained after the convo with Cassandra, not in the mood for any more communication.

Fire up the tube, flipping 'round randomly until Pleasant's sticky-sweet visage is drawn--DVNC, 'natch. A medium-shot reveals the surroundings to be some sort of Crusaders-sponsored event in a park.

With all the neighbors again departed home holidays, no concerns about consideration and crank up the volume, in time to catch Pleasant spouting:

"...at this time I am leaving all my options open insofar as any political aspirations. You understand my ultimate primary political objective is to see America restored to her former glory, as she was in the years following World War II, before the cultural upheaval of the 1960's, when this country turned her back on the Lord and has suffered accordingly ever since."

Swallow hard every time he says that.

DVNC reporter: "As usual, Rev Pleasant remains non-committal when it comes to whether or not he will run for president of the United States in the next election. Most pundits do think he will toss his hat into the ring, either as a Republican or to form a new faith-based third-party, which is a strong rumor at this point. Such a third-party would likely siphon away millions of votes from the Republican Party, forcing them to compromise with Pleasant. To avoid such a messy conflict, the GOP might just invite Pleasant to run from the outset, though Rev Pleasant has not been bashful in his general denunciation of the 'secular turns' of the Republican Party. Time will tell, but for now, the ball is clearly in Rev Pleasant's court."

Had about I can take of that rabble--flick it off and then stick my crown out the window in the next motion. A slap of cool breeze necessitates a skull cap and peacoat.

For once have got energy to burn--which is good, gonna need it to stride up to the peak of Nob Hill...

California and Mason. Winded once I finally get here. Not sure if this urban scaling tired me out more last year than it did this go 'round.

That's about the only thing I don't remember about the one-year anniversary of this night...

Thing is, still not sure why I'm so compelled to do this; just know I belong up here and nowhere else.

Always weird on the rare occasion when I venture to Snob Hill, it truly does feel like a different city up here, a city of the elite, by the elite and for the elite lifted on the shoulders and back on the lesser city below.

Okay...now that I'm here...what the fuck am I supposed to do?

Look around for some sort of inspiration, a sign besides STOP, but there's nothing--or no one--to be found.

Granted, it's xmas eve, but it's gotten awfully deserted...almost eerie.

Wasn't like this last year at this time--there were people, families, as I recall, going to that big kirk down the street or some family gathering at some snooty residence.

Then there's the non-christians with money, who at this time of year, stay at the tony hotels up here in the clouds with the San Fran elite.

But no sign of those types either.

It's almost like everything's been cleared out just for me, providing an empty stage for a drama yet to unfold...

But that's preposterous.

Glad I donned the skull-cap when the wind kicks up fiercely sending a chill to the back of my neck.

A gust hits me smack in the face and something's in my eye...piece of dust, dirt, debris, whatever.

Rub against it with my index finger, and when it's all clear a moment later, notice an approaching figure...

One that I have no reason on Earth to recognize, but I do...probably because it's the only person on Earth I'd recognize:
FOOTNOTE: DARWIN ALLEGEDLY LOVES CASSANDRA YET THE ONLY FIGURE HE RECOGNIZES IS MS. CABAL

Ms. Cabal...

It's as impossible as it is totally fitting she should be here, on this day, at this moment.

And if it's possible, she's dressed in an even deeper realization of my fetishistic fantasies, as if designing her look with the sole intention of captivating my lust and reducing it to a motivational tool to get me to pull off yet another feat I would've previously thought myself utterly incapable of achieving.

But thigh-highs have a way of egging me on/inspiring me...

Indeed, she's completely discarded the corporate/office look she's employed on previous role-playing jaunts with me; instead she's drenched in a trenchcoat of the finest leather that decks her from neck to sweeping the floor. The coat is open so that I can see what lies beneath

RESEARCH DESCRIPT thigh-high boots displaying four-inch stilettos that crumble to dust every pebble, piece of debris or small insect that happen to be unfortunate enough to get under the pair of clicking heels.

She's donned in more leather than a herd of cows. Her head doffed by a military-style cap with shined visor that immediately announces her authority in all situations. The cap covers every slick strand of her impeccably coiffed hair, underscoring her discipline and attention to detail in all things.

Her neck and shoulders are encased by the upturned collar of her imposing-as-it-is-magnificent black trench coat that covers virtually her entire frame, shielding her from the biting winds that rip through my flimsy jacket like so many tatters

In the front, her coat is open sufficiently to reveal a black bodice

With her four-inch boot heels elevating her already impossibly long legs to the heavens, Ms. Cabal is everything, while I am nothing.

Certainly am nothing without her support, her power, her dominance demanding nothing less than complete and total submission.

A leather trench coat and wool cape shield her from the ever increasing brisk winter's wind. Her head is exposed, and why shouldn't it be--she must have paid $500 for her elegant coif, her black hair shimmering beneath the available streetlight.

Her forever piercing black eyes cut through me as always, throwing me off any possible game I possessed to begin with, giving her the advantage--as always.

She says nothing, forcing me to speak first--the way she wants it, "Ms. Cabal...? What are you doing here? I thought you were going to the Bahamas and--"

"Never mind that, Darwin. That was simply something I told you to distract you until the time was right."

"Yes, Ms. Cabal," accepting her deception without question.

"Follow me, Darwin."

"Yes, Ms. Cabal."

Relinquishing whatever will I had of my own, turn and follow her down the street, in the opposite direction I had been traveling, naturally. There's no chance in hell I could have been heading the right way. It's for her to correct me.

Speed up my pace to catch up to her while still remaining s half-step behind her. With her next query, her mocking tone comes colder than the blasts of Snob Hill winds.

"Are you enjoying your Christmas Eve, Darwin?"

"About as much as I can possibly enjoy a holiday you know I resent."

"Ask a silly question..." Ms. Cabal says whimsically

Can't help but notice that we seem to be walking towards that grand ol' kirk on Snbo Hill, St. Whoever, as I referred to it one year ago tonight.

"That's correct, Darwin," she answers my thought aloud, "we're going to to St. Barnabas."

Despite her total dominion over me, she actually expects me to enter that place?

Hell, if she's really planning on entering a church on xmas eve dressed like that, she's more radical than I could ever hope to be.

When we're within a few meters of the entrance, she stops suddenly and offers a command: "Hold that door open for me."

"Yes, Ms. Cabal."

Immediately move past the stationary Ms. Cabal and to the large, heavy church door. Feels like it takes every ounce of pitiful strength in my body to swing the door open and hold it sufficiently ajar that Ms. Cabal and her wide leather collar can walk through unimpeded.

Once she steps in, only then do I follow her...

If it's possible to be blinded by darkness, then it just happened to me.

What the hell happened to all the pews and the obedient flock, or even the part-time suckers making their once-a-year appearance to blow out the candles for the messiah's b-day?

Why don't I see ceremonial candles and stained glass depictions of angels in flight?

The only illumination comes from a few wall mounted torches, and even with that it's near impossible to see much other than Ms. Cabal's imposing outline.

Why don't I hear organ music pumping out "Silent Night" or pew-driven orations from a passionate pastor, trying his damnedest to make yet another xmas eve sermon sound halfway relevant to modern life?

As if on cue, another set of torches go aflame, casting a spotlight upon the sole object present to remind one that it's a house of christian worship.

But wouldn't you know it, it's a doozy:

An oversized, gigantic, frankly too-big-to-be-in-a-regular-church crucifix, larger than life-size, complete with a suffering christ, from the crown of thorns to feet with spikes driven through them. Its presence a reminder of its dominance over all things, especially me.

I'm to bow before that crucifix as subserviently as I will bow before Ms. Cabal. Fitting philosophically as it is masochistically.

All the while, Ms. Cabal utters not a word, the only audible sound is the clicking of her stiletto heels against the concrete flooring; as erotic as it is frightening.

She leads me to the center of this dark desolate kirk and breaks the silence with her lush commanding tone:

"Remove your clothing, worm."

Now that we're in the confines of privacy, she resumes calling me worm. It humiliates me as much as it makes me feel special, I'm not just another person she refers to by their first name or last name, like everyone else she encounters in her day-to-day life. No, I'm her worm.

Still, taking off my clothes in this chilly and drafty shithole is hardly the most enviable of prospects, but what am I to do but to comply? What other choice do I have?

None. Don't even have the freedom to get up, walk out of this room and leave it all behind and start a new quiet life with Cassandra. Ms. Cabal wouldn't have it; there is no escaping her.

"Yes, Ms. Cabal," I reply while pulling down my boxers, revealing my frozen flaccid penis for her to mock--or worse yet, utterly ignore.

But that humiliation is far from the removing my socks, producing a sensation must painful--the cold travels through the bottom of my feet to the top of my skull.

Ms. Cabal soon relieves me of the agony--or rather, she displaces it elsewhere.

"Worm, you should know better than to stand before me. Once you are disrobed, you are to drop to your knees."

"Yes, Ms. Cabal."

And as much as it does bring solace to remove my feet from the floor, as soon as they're replaced by my knees, the cold is nearly as bad and the grinding pain is instantaneous. Heaven help me if she intends for me to kneel before her for any prolonged period.

As I suspect she does...

Looking up at the crucifix, I feel christ's suffering at last.

"I neglected to remind you worm, that on this sacred occasion, in this profane place, you are not to call me 'Ms. Cabal', but rather refer to me strictly as 'Goddess'. Do you understand?"

"Yes Ms.--I mean, yes, Goddess."

"Good thing you caught yourself. As you are about to discover, Darworm, I truly am your Goddess." To underscore her words, she produces a nasty-looking leather riding crop, as if out of thin air, a reminder than any deviation from her command will result in painful punishment.

In this cold, a stinging whack or two from that implement would make me wish I had something hard to bite down on.

Occurs to me that despite all Ms. Cabal and I have been through together, despite the fact I wrote the book she wanted me to write and it was a success, it's as if nothing has changed in all these months since our last...encounter not unlike this one.

If anything, it's more extreme, more grandiose, which could mean that this is the finale...or just the beginning.

Thought I had left this whole fetish business behind, now that Cassandra is in my life.

But in this moment, as Ms. Cabal's begins walking to me, her majestic boots and incredible heels drawing ever closer, it's as if my relationship with Cassandra has ceased to exist, there is not a brain cell of space available for thoughts of anyone--or anything else--except for Ms. Cabal.

Make that Ms. Cabal's boot heels, for as they step closer, that is all I can focus on.

A mixture of erotic anticipation and forehead-dripping dread sweeps over me as her well-heeled heels come within licking distance.

"I think you know what to do worm, now get your head down and do it already."

"Yes, Goddess."

Not going to deny it any longer, paradox though it may be, an experience like this is the only time I'm to feel completely free. Totally separate from what I have with Cassandra; because there is no true freedom in that relationship, that's a one-on-one commitment. Furthermore, don't have the freedom to express myself sexually this way with Cassandra.

Can't say I prefer kneeling nude and about to truly embarrass myself--and by extension most of the human race--before one of the most powerful women in the world to making tender love with Cassandra. Namely because I have yet to make tender--or any degree of intensity for that matter--love to Cassandra.

Ms. Cabal's choice of words suggest she reads my mind like it was a giant obnoxious freeway billboard: "Do not fret, worm. I have no intention of coming between you and your new-found love. Who do think it was that brought the two of you together? This psychodrama is part of your continuing education, as it were. Let us say I am employing the best teaching method by which to impart this vital wisdom."

Suppose that's supposed to make me feel better--but it doesn't. Especially with her ensuing command:

"Now, be a good worm and clean that spot on the tip of my left boot."

That spot, a little dried piece of dust, or is it mud, consumes my entire field of vision, I can see nothing else but.

So all encompassing is it that could imagine myself diving into that spot and never re-emerging, spending an eternity exploring the microcosmic labyrinth within that modest spot.

And better that I plunge into it for an eternity than do what I am compelled to do for even a moment.

But the task at hand is to remove said spot from my tunnel vision, and more significantly, remove it from Ms. Cabal's otherwise pristine boot.

"Yes, Goddess."

What it comes down to is relinquishing the duty, and ultimately the humiliation, to my tongue, as it is the muscle that will be doing the dirty work.

As the tongue (no longer 'my tongue') leaves its former mouth behind and ventures out into the cold cruel atmosphere of this unholy holy place, its considerable length allows it to easily reach the spot, completely cover it and wipe it off in an efficient circular motion like a quick-wrist mop handled by a lifelong janitor cleaning up a hard to reach corner of a public restroom.

No particular 'flavor'--or any discernible taste is registered by the tongue's taste buds during the act, and that's probably for the best.

Once the spot is removed, the taste of fresh leather (If I had to guess, this is the first time these boots have ever been donned) dominates, and while it's not appealing, at least it's not dirt from god knows where. Can tell the tongue really appreciates that.

Though the tongue's assignment is complete, it remains hovering over Ms. Cabal's boots, for further instructions.

"Move your head out of the way," she commands.

I do so, and she takes a good long look at the tip of her boot, where the spot had been, and it apparently passes muster, for she releases the tongue from further duty and it is able to return inside my mouth and become part of me, after a little while.

Naturally this whole business had nothing to do with her boot being having a minute spot on it, but rather it serves a further reminder she can subject me to anything, and I'll have to take it--and comply.

Simultaneous to all this, odd as it sounds, there's a cleansing going on inside me, as I feel a total sensation of release.

It's like I'm in my proper place with Ms. Cabal once again; not by her side, as it was during the book tour, but at her feet, as it is now and has been in our most meaningful moments.

Also feeling infused with a sense of purpose that had been missing since the end of my Bye Bull thumping. Let's face it, outside of my time spent with Cassandra, have been drifting aimlessly.

"Crawl backwards, worm." Ms. Cabal commands.

"Yes, Goddess."

Already sore knees scrape against the cold cracked surface. Feel a trickle of blood descending from one, but am already so numbed can't tell if it's my left or right.

Just gonna have to bite the bullet, highly doubt she's got too many bandages or much of anything in the way of first-aid items in that trench coat, big as it is.

Stop for a moment, enraging her: "Did I give you permission to stop, worm? Keep crawling backwards."

Do so and even pick up the pace a tad, pleasing her.

It's not much longer till she orders me to stop.

"That will do, worm. I prefer that you remain a certain distance from me to physically represent the teacher-student dynamic we are about to undertake. For I have much to share with you, so much so I scarcely know where to begin, unprecedented for me.

"For this, and a multiplicity of other reasons, it is altogether appropriate that this exchange of knowledge should occur this night of all nights. Everyone else is merely receiving Christmas presents of material items, despite the emotional sentiments otherwise imposed upon a given gift.

"Ah, but not you, sweet worm, no, you are receiving the gift of knowledge; knowledge that no other living mortal has ever been exposed to."

An headrush of tidal wave proportions sweeps over me; if Ms. Cabal speaks the truth, then this night could be the pinnacle of my existence, reducing the importance of the writing the Bye Bull to a check-up to the dentist.

"I suppose I should begin by explaining why you are kneeling naked before me in a cold dark barren hollowed-out husk of a church, and why you were debased further by cleaning my boot with your tongue. I made you do this because you need to be cleansed and woken up. You will remain far more alert and pay far better attention to all I have to impart in this stark setting than if we were seated across the room from each other--or even if you were kneeling on my comfortable carpeting in some warm room in my house."

"Yes, Goddess."

"Do you know the other reason you licked my boot clean?"

"No, Goddess."

"That's disappointing. You should have intuited the answer. You licked my boot clean because you have to be reminded that you serve Me. For you will be serving Me again, Dar-worm, on a level that will require far greater dedication than writing the Bye Bull ever required."

A hard dry swallow in response, and not at the humiliating twist she spun on my name. No, it was that writing the Bye Bull nearly killed me, not to mention the book tour nearly literally taking me out. What more could she possibly want?

"After the holidays, and after your relationship with Cassandra intensifies, you are going to move into a new apartment--a larger apartment. I will get you into a great flat in the Upper Haight. You and Cassandra are going to move into that apartment, and then you are going to invite others to live with the two of you."

"Others?"

Ms. Cabal doesn't reply, but instead looks upon me with abject disgust: "Worm, if you are going to ask Me questions in the context of this psychodrama, you must do so by addressing me properly."

"Yes, my Goddess. Please tell me what do you mean by 'others'?"

"That's better. I am not referring to strangers, but rather to those of a like mind. They will be selected from among those who have corresponded with you, such as you were reading earlier this evening and among those who attended your book signings. Those who want to live in a post-Christian world, just as you and I do."

"Yes, my Goddess."

Wait...how could she possibly know I was reading the emails of readers and fans before I went out?

Still, mine is not to question why...mine is to listen to Ms. Cabal:

"Returning to the subject of the cult..."

"Cult, my Goddess?"

"Not the sort of traditional cult you're familiar with; it not be patriarchal--or matriarchal for that matter--not a cult with mindless zombie followers and a frothing-at-the-mouth demagogic leader--no, yours will be a truly self-aware cult."

"In other words, it's not going to be manipulated from the shadows by U.S. intelligence."

"Even on your knees, you are a witty little worm; that is why I chose you."

"Chose me, my Goddess?"

"Yes, I chose you for so many things, Darworm. To write the book, to be the face and voice of a new movement, to form a cult that will serve as the underpinning for a transcendent culture."

"I never wanted to be a leader, my Goddess."

"I'm quite aware of that, Darworm. It seems amusing you would even presume I would envision you as any sort of leader, bowing before me as you do."

Even in this miserable situation, with my knees aching as they do, can't help but crack a smile at the ludicrousness of my concern, properly parodied by Ms. Cabal.

"Now, no more interruptions with declarative statements, you are only to speak if you have a legitimate question, for we have much ground to cover."

"Yes, my Goddess," comes my obligatory response.

MOUNTEBANK OF AMERICA

"After Cassandra returns from her vacation, you are going to ask her to live together."

"Will she accept?"

"Probably."

"You don't know that for certain, my Goddess?"

"No--and if I did, there would be no point in existing on this physical plane."

Curious comment, but not sure if it's worthy of a question. When in doubt, punt, so my mouth stays shut.

Stern as she is, Ms. Cabal throws me an optimistic bone in her response: "Cassandra will likely accept your offer because she loves you...

"Yet she still has apprehensions about living with you and those could lead to her declining your offer. She does not want to jeopardize your nascent relationship due to the conflicts that inevitably arise from cohabitation."

Ms. Cabal tells me this like she's doing a chemical analysis, not dealing with human emotions. And in that one reply, two startling considerations; one, that Cassandra loves me, and two, how the hell could Ms. Cabal possibly know that?

Since the conversation has veered clearly in the direction of Cassandra, can't help but think of when I first laid eyes upon her, one year ago tonight; when I passed by her after the series of visions on Nob Hill.

My humbled eyes tilt up and meet hers that radiate nothing but certainty. The question that pops in my mind seems wholly inapt, but then recall Ms. Cabal's apparent knowledge of Cassandra already 'loving' me when she (Cassandra) hasn't even expressed that to me.

"My Goddess, did you arrange for Cassandra and I to meet...?"

She smiles in answer to my thoughts. "What do you think?"

"I thought it all just a coincidence my Goddess; me seeing her last xmas eve, and then on the movie set, and then you hiring her to provide security for me."

Ms. Cabal's laughter is neither mocking nor wicked, but portioned out of pity.

"Listen to yourself; you really think that particular chain of events was mere coincidences? After all that has transpired in your life in the last 365 days, how you've gone from utterly ignored to undeniably influential, the visions you've had that have come to fruition, you think any of it was ever coincidence?

The force of her rhetorical question nearly tears a hole through me; certainly leaves me feeling two inches tall, a dumbass for even asking and for ever doubting her.

"By the end of this conversation, you will cease to believe in such fallacies as 'coincidence'. I brought you and Cassandra together to serve as the foundation for the new culture based on the practical application of your writings.

"Also, I knew that you were seeking a sexual partner--and while you derive perverse sexual pleasure from our fetishistic encounters, such as the one we currently indulge in, ultimately this is not a sustainable dynamic. At least, not for the more conventional sexual expression you are seeking. Crude though it may be, you'd rather be to top of Cassandra than under my heel."

Wish I was as sure of that as she seems to be.

"I will have my real estate agent find you and Cassandra a suitable apartment; there's a simply charming Victorian flat in the Haight that would be ideal once the expansion to include the members of the larger cult commences."

Everything is so planned out in Ms. Cabal's mind, ever since we met--before that, actually; getting me to write the book, getting me to go on promo tour, getting Cassandra and I in a relationship and now, getting me to start up a cult-house filled with readers of the Bye Bull.

But what about the things she didn't plan for; the piss attack, the bomb?

Like she said before, if she knew everything that was going to happen, there's be no point in doing anything. Though she hardly seems to be leaving much up to chance.

As she demonstrates with her latest uttering: "By next Christmas eve, you and Cassandra and anywhere from six to eight of your readers will be living together, as a unified group holding the official position of being blatantly opposed to Christianity's undue influence in America."

"My Goddess, what influence will we have if we're just another gaggle of alternative types living in the hippie section of town?"

"That's just it, Darworm, you will not be 'just another' anything.

"One reader--Simon Miller--who will be contacting you soon, is particularly significant, as he is one of the most brilliant physicists on the planet, on the verge of one of the most momentous discoveries in the field of applied physics."

She says no more. Intriguing, but will learn more about it when the time is right--in other words, when she wants to tell me, so I opt for misguided humility instead:

"Is he truly so brilliant if he's reading me, my Goddess?"

Her frown stings harder than any whip: "This isn't the place for self-deprecation, Darworm, please refrain from it in the future. If you weren't the type of writer that would inspire a mind such as Miller's, then you surely would not be kneeling before me."

Right. I'd be forever ignored or at best, passed over by Ms. Cabal, just like so many other starving writers in San Francisco.

And for the first time since we entered this blackened church, find myself looking to the future, am looking forward to doing a little web research on this Simon Miller. Wonder why he hasn't contacted me yet? Or maybe he has, and I've just overlooked his email, or perhaps letter.

Looking forward to it; that is, if and when she releases me from this bondage.

"Following the successful formation of the cult and the inevitable transition period until the group becomes a fully functioning unit, you will not be without support. Along with my unwavering support, investors will see to it that the cult is financially sustained. Keeping the group together will be the responsibility of you and the other members of the group."

"Are we to be an experiment, my Goddess?"

"There is no time for experimentation, as I will make clear to you. Just as the Bye Bull was an unquestioned success, so shall the cult be an even greater achievement."

"My Goddess, I can scarcely imagine Cassandra living with me, let alone her agreeing to live with a whole group of strangers."

"Please refrain make rash assumptions, Darworm. Though time is of the essence, this will be a gradual endeavor, I understand this completely. Naturally, you will have to convince Cassandra of the importance of accepting the cult. As the two of you are still feeling each other out as opposed to physically feeling each other, there is still much you do not know about her. I assure you there is a side of her that would be open to this, so that is the part of her you must reach."

Thoughts are divided over mulling just how difficult that's going to be along with the increasingly frightening realization that Ms. Cabal knows exactly where Cassandra and I stand--down to the fact that we have yet to sleep together.

Ms. Cabal resumes her reassurance: "Keep in mind Darworm, that Cassandra not only cares for you deeply, but she is influenced by your thinking, your ideas. As are many people, and rightfully so, because you have a veritable endless stream of ideas to be shared that have not been expressed previously. That is why the cult will be successful."

Jesus, when she talks about me like that, feels like she's kneeling before me.

"What am I to name this cult, my Goddess?"

"Now, Darworm, you should full well I always turn over the creative reigns to you. Naming the cult will be entirely up to you. Or perhaps up to you and Cassandra, or even you and all the other members of the cult will decide upon a fitting moniker.

"Initially, it will just be you and Cassandra living at the future cult house; for the two of you need to learn how to live with each other before you can begin to learn how to live with others, especially in a transcendent dynamic such as the cult promises to be. You've both been in solitary confinement for so long, you both need to adapt to the challenges of cohabitation.

"You in particular, Darworm, have been antisocial for much of your adult life. Although your encounters with me and your experiences on book tour have opened you up to a large degree, there was still that distance, that detachment from people. Standing before an audience reading excerpts from your book while standing on a podium is hardly the same as sharing a bathroom with them."

Her phrasings have the capability to lift me out of body up to the highest heavens as equally as dropping me face-first in the lowest gutter. Through it all, I remain kneeling, enraptured.

"And you need not be in any rush. I want you and Cassandra to live together, just the two of you, for awhile, settle into that dynamic0. I know you have been anti-social for most of your adult life, so just living with one person is going to take some time for you to adapt and adjust."

"Yes, Ms. Cabal." She's right as rain; that's been my biggest fear as far as living with Cassandra--or any roommate for that matter--romantic or strictly platonic, after all these years of being alone and set in my ways.

How will I deal with having to share things and with not being in total command of a given situation? Can my ego handle it?

But that's not to be considered right now; not with so much before me, with so much to ask...

"May I ask why you want me to form a cult, Ms. Cabal?"

"Well, my darling Darworm, that is one of the most basic questions that gets to the root of it all, now isn't it? Why? What is the purpose of gathering together a disparate group of Bye Bull readers to live together in a Victorian flat in the middle of San Francisco?

"Ironically, despite the many pearls of wisdom I am going to share with you on this evening, I am not going to reveal to you the full extent of my plans for the cult, for frankly, that is to be an organic entity, and while I most assuredly have designs for the direction of this soon-to-be-formed grouping, it is not germane to this conversation. Perhaps at a later time.

"Also, I no intentions of overwhelming your prefrontal cortex this evening with an overabundance of information.

"However, it is entirely appropriate that I address the essence of your very valid question--the cult will be formed as an central focus, an opposition point at which those who oppose christianity can gather, with the altogether modest aim of building a new culture that exists beyond the parameters of organized religion.

"As you have pointed out so eloquently in the Bye Bull, when left unfettered, Christianity seeks to first compete rather than cooperate and then dominate rather than facilitate."

"Why do you keep calling it a 'cult', My Goddess? Doesn't that word, what it means, everything it implies, have all kinds of negative connotations?"

Ms. Cabal's response is laced with the appropriate irony: "Everything you've done has negative connotations to the majority, Darworm, you be acutely aware of that. As I mentioned previously, yours will be a 'self-aware cult', not one that is subject to the whims of a deluded demagogue. You will be the cult that 'knows' it's a cult and acts accordingly."

"You mean when we kill ourselves, we'll know the reason why."

Goddess cracks a smile at my dry flippancy. "Your cult--your 'group', if you prefer, will always be one leg up on the media, science, high tech, corporation government and religious groups like the Crusaders, cultural trends and society in general. Yours will be a cult without a leader, for each member is a leader. Yours will be a cult that does not flame out in disaster. Yours will be a cult that outdoes the culture."

Sounds impressive. Also sounds completely impossible, but then, hasn't this entire past year been impossible?

So avoid the macrocosm and instead focus on the micro: "My Goddess, may I ask why you think I'm capable of pulling this off, and why you chose me to write the book in the first place?"

"The Bye Bull is the answer to your second question, dear boy.

"As for your first query, the only thing I know you're capable of pulling off is your pathetic cock, night after lonely night," she responds with cold humiliation.

On one level, a slap in the face. But naturally, it brings excitement to my lower region.; an arousal that will not be satiated; on the contrary, satiation would defeat the very purpose of my being here.

"As for the cult, I chose you to be the catalyst behind its formation--as opposed to deigning you its 'leader'--is for essentially the same reasons you wrote the Bye Bull--and you see how successfully that turned out. You are intellectual, nonconformist, not encumbered by family in any way, and you possess that 'wanting to change the world' quality so vital to...pulling this off, as you so colorfully phrased it.

"Your anti-social nature provided the solitude necessary for you to foster your ideas over the years, and then, express them on the page for me in a matter of months. If anything, those tendencies will like likely serve you well in selecting the members of the cult--and keeping them around--for you don't need them around to fulfill any deficiency lacking in your self-possession but rather to serve the higher purpose at hand."

Intriguing paradox; because I don't need people, I'm better suited to bring together a disparate group of Bye Bull readers united for a common cause. Based on the premise I possess some sort of innate radar unencumbered by ego or insecurity enabling me to more sincerely interact with all these new strangers/anti-christian warriors I'm to live with.

If so, then Ms. Cabal does indeed know me better than I could ever hope to. Try as I might, I'm too busy being me to self-analyze sufficiently. At least in comparison to self-pulling, that is...

There is a pause in the proceedings...yet, calculated as Ms. Cabal is, she must be deliberately allowing me a moment to gather my thoughts

And despite all that is before me, all my long-term always planning-and-living-in-the future mind can really focus on is the impending cult. Seems like she wants that as quickly constructed as I was to write the book. She's already made several references for the necessity of expediency

But why...?

Have to ask.

"My Goddess, may I ask why the rush to form this group, if, as you say, Cassandra and I will have difficulty just managing to live together? Won't introducing a whole group of strangers upset whatever delicate parameters of living together that Cassandra and I will likely at best tenuously establish?"

"I'm well aware of the risks at hand, Darworm, however there are far greater risks on a larger scale, such as you witnessed on DVNT earlier this evening."

Earlier this evening? What are these fantasies of which she speaks? There was no 'earlier this evening' There was nothing before this present state of being, nothing before bowing before Ms. Cabal in this vacant, meaningless church.

Nothing which I can imagine could possibly be true.

Such a cliche to say that it felt like a lifetime ago; far as I'm concerned, there was no existence before this moment.

Against my better judgment, flog my memory and recall the chain of events that preceded my arrival here, not necessarily which lead to my arrival for here, for that appears to be solely without cause, but rather, just the events themselves...

For a time, my conversation with Cassandra floods my mind. Do my best to mentally push that aside until another memory fills the void. Ah yes, there it is. I was indeed watching DVNT earlier this evening.

And then, it all comes back to me in a flash flood--Pleasant, it was about Pleasant. And his aspirations to run for president.

And the rhetorical question comes to me as easily as any thought ever has: "Is the cult then intended to meet whatever challenges Pleasant as President would bring?"

"Yes Darworm, Pleasant and the interests that surround him seek to alter this nation as radically and quickly as it ever has been transformed, but they can only completely do so from the powers afforded by controlling the executive branch of the U.S. government."

"Do you really expect him to win, my Goddess?"

"It's not as simple as that Darworm, but then you should well know it never is. Do you recall, even in your heightened albeit distorted state of awareness, what was said on that DVNT broadcast you watched earlier this evening?"

A momentary pause, but nothing from my dullard brain.

"Of course you don't," she continues. "What it said was Pleasant may form his own political party based on his Crusader following, but that the GOP might offer him a deal, the Vice Presidency in exchange for giving up the third-party run, which we all know would doom the Republicans in November. And they can't afford to give up the White House to the Democrats, not when they are so close to establishing their de facto theocracy. Banning abortion was just the beginning, especially if Pleasant himself ascends to office.

"Furthermore, Pleasant represents an even greater threat than his compatriots on the religious right even realize."

"And what is that, my Goddess?"

"I hardly need remind you that Pleasant is a Christian Reconstructionist."

"Thought he was a a Dominion Theologist, my Goddess," I manage to wince as my left knee stiffens up even tighter. Will I pass out from the pain before Ms. Cabal tells me all I'm to hear?

"Publicly Pleasant would never admit to that, but you are correct, Darworm. Even in your...diminished capacity you realize it's just a matter of semantics. The Dominion Theologist will tell you flat out that biblical law should supersede secular law. The Reconstructionist will tell you that Christians should put their faith in 'all areas of life."

"The Dominion Theologist is just being more honest, my Goddess."

"Precisely. Though you may be weak in the knees, you are still strong in the mind, my shivering worm."

Do my best to hold my body still, already just impressed her, want to keep the momentum going.

Which is promptly blown by my awkwardly asking: "And how am I--we, the cult, whoever, how are we prevent that, my Goddess?"

Her angry response comes harsher than the most acrid venom that could ever be spat directly into my eyes.

"You are not going to 'prevent' anything, Darworm--that is not the intended function of the cult. Rather, it will serve as a locus for those disparate elements of the current 'culture at large' that will unify for a common cause--to develop an entirely new culture running on a parallel track from the America that Pleasant and company will be shaping.

"The more the Crusaders tear down and destroy the nation, the more of it your new culture will rebuild and replace."

And for the first time, a razor-thin slice of the full scope of her machinations becomes apparent to me.

This isn't about selling books, or establishing me as an established author, a 'name brand' with which the well could be continuously pumped for a new book every other year, I'd become a self-contained cottage industry, though ultimately just another cog in her publishing machine at Apogee Writ.

In my cynical heart, that's what I thought this was really all about.

But still, need to express the insight, and ask the critical question:

"My Goddess, you mean to say you didn't bring me here tonight to tell me I'd be writing another book?"

Her scoff fills the vacuous remains of this house of worship: "You tell me, Darworm, how exactly does one follow up authoring the Bye Bull?"

She has me there, doesn't she? Even with my knees ready to split asunder, can still relish the manner in which her seemingly spontaneous responses are laced with double meanings--if not more. She mocks me and answers my concern with equal aplomb.

"No one is more aware than I of the seemingly endless series of questions running through your mind regarding your concerns for the cult. But I tell you to put your mind at rest on the subject for the remainder of the evening; now is not the time to dwell on such things, by telling you about the cult I sought to impress upon you the essential reason for our gathering here. Additionally, you have yet to hear from my lips the most devastating disclosure. It's safe to say, Darworm, that when you leave here, the cult will be the last matter on your mind."

Hope that was 'devastating' as in awe-inspiring, and not devastating as in ending with me splitting open and melting.

"Now that all depends on how you react to it, Darworm."

Wait a minute...

I didn't say that aloud, did I?

I just thought it, didn't I?

"Yes, Darworm, you only thought it."

Then that means...

"Yes, I read your mind. I calculated that resorting to such a parlor trick would be the proper means to introduce you to the truth."

The 'truth'? What the hell does she mean by that? What, she's been lying to me all this time?

But still a more pressing question to pose:

"So you didn't actually 'read' my mind, did you my Goddess? It was a 'parlor trick' as you just said, right?"

"Wrong. I 'read your mind' insofar as that idiomatic expression has any validity; specifically I am telepathically aware of all your thoughts as you process them, as your thoughts are connected to a Universal, or Ultimate Consciousness, which I have complete access to. It was a 'parlor trick' in the sense that it was a trivial display of my capabilities."

"My Goddess, you're saying can do more than just read my mind...?" I ask, afraid of the answer.

An answer that never comes. An answer that doesn't have to.

"That's not the question you are to ask me, Darworm."

Take a feeble stab: "My Goddess, who are you..?"

Crane my stiffening neck up to her tireless visage to find her smiling approval.

"I'm you, Darworm."

How's that?

"I'm Cassandra."

Come again?

"I'm Pleasant."

Now that's just wrong.

"Or rather, you are all organs of...Me."

Boy if the expression on my face looks half as dumb as I feel...

"I'll understand if that is not a sufficient answer, Darworm. But that's only because you still haven't asked the proper question..."

Wrong question? If not asking 'Who are you?', then...

"...What are you?"

Beatific beaming spreads across her face--apparently I asked the proper question.

"I am Goddess. I don't send souls to hell, but I'm not above casting judgment." You may also refer to me as Infinite Consciousness"

And there you have it. Everything wild, weird and downright insane that has happened in my life up until this exact moment has officially been topped.

Really not sure how to react; am I supposed to cry? Laugh? Bow down and grovel at an even lower level and worship Ms. Cabal/Goddess even more devoutly?

Almost too much to accept; everything I’ve stood for, written about, been almost blown up for, all that is rendered completely meaningless in one reply from Ms. Cabal.

The wound is seasoned as she corrects me: “Darworm, since you are now aware that I am aware of your thoughts, you are to address me as ‘Goddess’ in your thoughts as well."

“Yes, my Goddess”

There is nowhere to run from her.

“No, there isn’t.”

Goddammit.

Swallow hard and jerk my head up to see if she’s been morally offended.

Instead she smiles wide:

“Don’t worry, Darworm, you’ve taken nothing in vain.”

Sense of relief overcomes me--and I find that annoying. Don't want a god, or a goddess--even if it's her. Still getting used to all this.

And to her credit, Ms--err, my Goddess, is letting me 'take it all in' as it were, letting me process the inscrutable info she's downloading into me, allowing me time to formulate a suitable question:

"My Goddess, hat does that mean, when you say you are...Goddess?"

Despite the redundancy, it seems Ms. Cabal approves of my query:

"Darworm, as I am not only aware of your present thoughts, I am also fully conscious of the sum of your knowledge on the subjects I am about to impart to you. I primarily chose you to author the Bye Bull because of your cogent, fresh and well-reasoned arguments against virtually every facet of christianity, and most critically, your ability to write colorfully and with a sense of humor as well as a sense of style."

Filled with a pride don't really think should be indulged in whilst naked shivering and teetering on wobbly knee.

"However, and this is the proper context in which to reveal this piece of information to you, you were also chosen due to your insight and acceptance when it comes to metaphysics at-large. Remember your lecture in Chicago?"

In this present state, takes awhile to activate my powers of recollection to recall the content of that Chicago lecture; the memories of the book promo tour tend to blend all together in a mental morass after a time.

Press harder to find the neural connections storing that particular memory RESEARCH--and now I do indeed remember discussing the metaphysical origin of existence as opposed to christianity's flawed teleology.

As her mind is forever linked to mine, it is only after I become conscious of the memory of the subject matter of the Chicago lecture that she smiles approval and continues:

"There you have it. It was precisely such wisdom on your part that cemented your selection as the writer, to fully encompass the entire spectrum of the anti-Christian argument, the ability to offer a rational alternative to some of the 'larger' questions that Christianity purports to answer.

"You have the knowledge and the articulation to impart a legitimate explanation that not only offers, as you rightly stated, a 'progenitor' Christianity's teleology, but one that outright trumps it."

"Trumps"--recall using that myself at the lecture in question. Again, it's hard not feel a sense of pride over Ms. Cabal's praise, and such a sensation informs me this evening isn't all bad. In fact, it might just be the opposite...

"Such knowledge and open-mindedness on your part Darworm, will also permit you to more readily assimilate the truth about myself,"

Again with 'the truth'...

"Yes, the truth, and nothing but. In Chicago, you spoke correctly of the uncaused first cause being the source of all existence; that if the Christian God does indeed exist, that entity is subordinate in the 'chain of creation' to the uncaused Absolute

"Because you, in your mortal position, from your mortal perspective, are only able to speculate on possible existence of God, you cannot say unequivocally whether or not there is a God, specifically the 'God' of the Christian bible. To your credit, you cleverly used such uncertainty to portray the Christian God as being a jealous, petty subordinate to 'his' spiritual betters."

The accolade swells me with pride; and while she wasn't even at that lecture, have to keep in mind she's been everywhere with me every time.

"Quite true, Darworm." she answers my introspection.

"But I, in my infinite position and infinite perspective can in fact assure you that there is no 'God' as defined by Judea-Christian monotheism."

My Goddess pauses, almost stepping back as it were, to allow me sufficient time and space to absorb the widest reaching implications of this Knowledge. For with that one simple sentence, everything I have written about and adopted as my credo most of my adulthood is now justified as it could only ever have been justified.

The feeling of pure vindication overcoming me overwhelms; I've been right all along, christianity has been wrong all along. It makes a lifetime of hard work seem like a lifetime of excessive hedonism.

It's like the hottest wettest orgasm of my life, even though in reality I kneel with shrunken shivering balls.

Find this so life-affirming manage to summon the audacity to peer past my Goddess' shoulders and up at the life-size and lifelike crucifix constantly watching me like some cheap oil painting of a person with eyes that followed you no matter what side of the room you walked to.

"And what of that character...?"

A warm smile envelopes her face and seals me with such reassurance that it momentarily absorbs the cold from my heart, soul and most importantly, from my balls.

"The sins of the father are indeed revisited upon the son."

Smile inside is far wider than the one crossing my face.

But my Goddess has more to delight:

"Jesus Christ never existed. Not even as an earthly prophet, I'll spare you that compromising rationalization. Christ was concocted as the 'Son of God Messiah' in the first century A.D. by the early ascetics in order to form an alternative to the dominant pagan practices of the time, such as Mithraism. In order to better assimilate the newly founded Christianity into the culture at large, those elements of Mithraism desirable to Christianity were incorporated into the theology.

"This is consistent with the complete lack of historical documentation regarding the life of Christ until the first century, A.D."

A sheath of comfort slips over my entire form, couldn't be more content if I were snug in a down mattress beneath satin sheets with a temperature of 72.6.

And for the first time this evening, am able to look up at the hanging crucifix square in the eyes on my own terms.

If it's possible to feel utter exaltation while simultaneously subject to complete humiliation, I'm pulling it off.

Finally, a pioneer...

Best thing is, my Goddess is far from finished dispensing knowledge, or the 'Truth' as she calls it:

"The 'God' of Christianity--or from any other monotheistic religion for that matter, would not have been capable of functioning--for lack of a better word--in the metaphysical paradigm that was resultant in the formation of physical reality.

"With all of the essentials such as love and hate, good and evil etc already formulated in the metaphysical plane, there was never an element of judgment present, for how could the metaphysical judge the physical on what it had completely provided it.

"It's akin to handing a child a book of matches and then having the audacity to scold him when the house burns down

"There is no metaphysical component or consciousness that would stoop to
such insecure, rash, petty judgments. Those are for the province of the material world, which is precisely why the material world was formed, to be a source of conflict, passion, drama, high or otherwise.

"Christianity is in fact a product of the more irrational elements of the metaphysical plane, so if anyone is to do the judging, it would be Christianity that would be facing a plea bargain to receive a more lenient sentence."

"But my Goddess, if you are, as you say, 'Goddess', are you not casting judgment by your intervention into mortal affairs, directly funding the authorship and dissemination of the Bye Bull?"

"Again, Darworm, I must commend you for

"What am I, then? I am the more complex, developed Consciousness that came to existence after some of the more base emanations came to pass...Wisdom...Understanding...Passion...Reason...Creativity...

Her words flow fluid, dripping down the throat of my ear like the sweetest nectar o' the gods...Goddesses.

Surely this knowledge is a greater coup than writing the book, seeing it published, seeing it sell successfully, the ego boosts of the book tour, all of it.

Just to know that I was right about the biggest mystery of all--and it wasn't some lucky guess, it was ascertained through arduous external research and lonely bouts of internal contemplation.

It's as if the culmination of my life is marked at this precise moment, by what my Goddess hath just revealed, no matter that I'm a witness to it in naked aching humiliation.

Might as well be donned in the most regal majestic attire seated atop a golden throne or astride the noblest white horse lofting a jewel-encrusted staff of some sort.

Seized by a sudden apprehension--since she can read my thoughts anyway, opt to phrase it aloud between parched lips:

"What does this all mean for evolution--and intelligent design?"

"It means the reconciliation of both--there was intelligent design as far as the metaphysical component, but of course it has been evolution that has spawned the development of life in the physical plane. Larger more complex lifeforms did indeed evolve from smaller, simpler lifeforms, it was all part of the Intelligent Design plan. The notion that a human being, a gorilla, a tree, or what have you simply was plopped down on this planet by some overseeing all-father defies all reason.

While that affirmation may not not register as a victory for hardcore atheists, tis a triumph for those otherwise anti-christian.

"My Goddess, I am still confused as to your true nature, when you said you are 'Infinite Consciousness'. Like the mythical christian god, you are infinitely too complex to have been the uncaused first cause. You are not Absolute Awareness, not are you Self-Awareness. Yet you are not 'god' with a capital g, because that god does not exist."

"Correct. I am the sum product of all of the emanations that came before me. Consciousness as distinguished from mere 'mind'; for without consciousness, the mind is not possible.

"Once I came fully into existence, the purpose first manifest in Self-Awareness--that of creating existence beyond itself--was now fully realized on the metaphysical plane. The purpose was now transferred to my existence, that of Infinite Consciousness.

"Knowing that I had come from the emanations of an existence before me, I knew I had to also produce emanations beyond me, for what greater 'original sin' is there but stagnation?"

Is it any wonder my Goddess opposes the same stagnation that christianity never fails to provide? Judgment about judgment be damned!

"In this state I was able to first conceive of the physical plane, of an existence in which a seemingly infinite number of beings could experience consciousness, while simultaneously proving a mirror by which I could 'experience' myself, as it were.

GAME THEORY

"And once the physical plane had been established, it became increasingly difficult for me to remain as an impartial passive viewer because I realized that the Metaphysical Imperative was not being realized."

"And what is that my Goddess"

"The will of the individual entity being permitted to flourish, for I would not have descended into matter if I did not want the conscious entities emerging from Infinite Consciousness to be mindless drones.

OR SHE COULD BE THE EMANATION OF JUDGMENT

STILL HAVE TO EXPLAIN WHERE MS. CABAL FITS IN, AND INTRO INTO FORMS IF NECESSARY

"My Goddess, how did you become Ms. Cabal?"

"To answer that question, you must understand how an individual Unit of Awareness--what is commonly referred to as a "soul" comes to be manifest in the flesh.

"As I have already delineated, spirit descended into matter in order to 'play a game', to experience all the visceral and carnal pleasures and pains that go into the life experience."

Note that Ms. Cabal places special emphasis on the word pains; even when describing deep metaphysics, she always manages to reference the fetish.

"Therefore it is a deliberate entry of the spirit into matter, and this extends into the individual Unit of Awareness choosing the particular body it wants to enter, with the intent being to offer as interesting experience possible on the material for that particular Unit of Awareness

"Therefore, it was really nothing for me to choose to descend into the conceived child of HER PARENTS, to ensure that I would have the wealth necessary to wage a legitimate war against Christianity.

"You see, Darworm, the difference between me and other Unit of Awareness, is that I retrain full command of my metaphysical existence--enabling me to alter reality at my slightest whim."

"Then why don't you, my Goddess? Why don't you just snap your fingers...or blink your eyes...and just be rid of the whole damn thing?"

Know I spoke improperly, out of turn, but it was just weighing too heavily against me to hold back.

"It is a valid question, but also one that answers itself, if you look at it from the perspective of the Metaphysical Imperative.

LECTURE TOPIC: THE TRUE NATURE OF SPIRITUALITY, THROUGH INTROSPECTION, NOT RITUALS DESIGNED TO TIE ONE TO A SPECIFIC RELIGION

CHRISTIANS CAN'T GET OVER THE EGO DRIVEN 'MADE IN THE IMAGE OF GOD' MINDSET, THEY HAVE TO COME TO REALIZE ALL THINGS GOOD BAD BEAUTIFUL AND UGLY WERE MADE IN THE IMAGE OF 'GOD', OR MORE PRECISELY THE METAPHYSICAL PLANE OF FORMS

'Then Plato was right?"

"Plato was indeed correct/
After Revelation, "I have to admit I felt pretty silly calling her 'my Goddess' for such a long stretch, no longer!"
WHY SHE PUT ME THROUGH IT (REFER TO DIARY)
SCIENCE OF IT ALL; VIBRATIONS (OCCULT)
THE IMPERATIVE OF INDIVIDUALITY (AA BLOG)
WHY SHE CHOSE AMERICA, BECAUSE THIS IS THE COUNTRY, DESPITE ITS MYRIAD OF CONTRADICTIONS, THAT MOST CELEBRATES INDIVIDUALITY. IT'S WHY AMERICA IS THE RUDEST COUNTRY. CHRISTIANITY IS THE DOMINANT RELIGION NOW, SO THAT CHOICE WAS MADE FOR ME.

THREAT OF PLEASANT
"The forces that seek to transform every culture down to every single living person into a Christian will soon have the means to do so--even subverting the individual will."

Those words bring a sudden chill much sharper than any of the breezes and my nudity could come close to matching.
THIS FORESHADOWS MY TRANSFORMATION

"I took this as to be too great a threat to the Metaphysical Imperative. For the first time in all existence, physical or metaphysical, I allowed myself to become Judgmental, which then provided the justification for my direct entry into the physical plane in order to subvert the aims of the Crusaders and those insidious interests grouping around them."

"You've mentioned them before, my Goddess. Who are these 'insidious interests' that would lay down with Pleasant?"

"The heads of certain corporations, along with very rich and very influential investors who do not wish to see the status quo subverted. They believe that Christian culture is the best for profits."

That's even more sickening to these than hearing that war is good for profits.

THE VISIONS I HAVE
"In the end, Darwin, you will be doing far more for me than I will ever do for you."
CONCLUSION

WHY SHE PUT ME THROUGH VISIONS AND SUBJUGATION

"I long considered the best method for motivating you, little Darworm. On the surface, as yu might hear on your favorite talk show Monica, one would attribute your isolation to antisocial tendencies and a fear of intimacy in relationships with women
But being gifted with the ability to peer into the deep waters, I am well aware that it is not a conventional 'fear of intimacy' that drove you to isolation, but rather for two distinct reasons; one, your innate iconoclastic nature wouldn't accept the restraints and conventions of a archetypal post-modern relationship."

"And the second reason, my Goddess?"

You're not getting off the hook that easily, Darworm. Exercise a modicum of introspection and the answer should come to you."

That's just the thing, isn't it? Getting harder to concentrate as the pain around my knees intensifies, but she's not letting me off the hook as she put it, so have to divine the answer before we can proceed.

Doesn't really take all that long to derive at the real reason; that it takes away from my 'higher purpose' of being a writer. The time and energy needed to sustain a relationship depletes the time and energy needed to be an artist--particularly when you're not living off that art and you have to devote so many odd hours a week to earning income.

It's the thing that always ruined the vast majority of my previous stabs at being in a legit LTR (long-term relationship for the clueless), that I could never make another person--a girlfriend a bigger priority than whatever writing project I happened to be working on at the time.

VISION

FIREWHEEL AND MARBLES HAVE TO BE IN THE VISION

Another wave of silence, this one more chilling than the air

"Crawl towards me...not on your hands and knees, but as a worm would, slither towards me. Rub your belly and your genitals against the cold hard floor. Make it hurt, you know I do not care."

Of all the humiliations suffered at my Goddess' hands to date, this is the most miserable

Reaching the edge of her hobble skirt

Crane my neck up to gaze upon the crucifix: "What of him...?"

Ms Cabal: "No Jesus Christ either, he was just a man."

For a lecture: "If you hold up the 'jesus myth' to a light of examination, it falls apart quite easily, like a gossamer web"

VISION:

When the vision overcomes me, it's not like a dream. A dream is flimsy; only half-glimpsed, ready to be discarded by a sudden noise in the external world that jerks me awake or even broken from within if I gain sufficient control of a dream suddenly turned too malevolent.

These visions are inescapable, all-encompassing, eyelids being held open by clockwork clamps with no possibility of closing them or looking anywhere or at anything but the Vision, with a capital V.

As I crawl towards the crucifix all I see is Jesus, replaced by the hobble skirt

During the height of of the vision, I hang from the cross and jesus slithers towards Ms. Cabal

Visions of buttf'ing Ms. Cabal

Darworm, as I am not only aware of your present thoughts, I am also fully conscious of the sum of your knowledge on the subjects I am going to relate to you. Were you better schooled in various esoteric occult wisdom, I need not be so rudimentary, but it is your previous resolute rejections of any and all metaphysical schools of thought that made you the ideal candidate to author the Bye Bull, so it with great pleasure that I now educate you on the fundamental origin of existence.

"And I can think of no better place to start than at the beginning.

“Or should I say, the non-beginning.”

Sounds reasonable either way.

"For it was neither the beginning nor the end, neither the Alpha nor the Omega.

"It was Awareness and nothing but Awareness.

"Absolute Awareness."

"I have heard something about that, my Goddess, but I thought it all began with the eternal state of Being."

"At this level of the metaphysical plane it is largely a matter of semantics, Darworm. Besides, the key is the act of Self-Awareness that was committed by Awareness or Being, whatever you prefer to call it."

"Self awareness, my Goddess?"

"Yes, it was undeniably inevitable that Absolute Awareness--or Absolute Being--perform the act of Self-Awareness, for what else could Awareness be aware of other than Itself?

"You should realize that this rather obvious logical conclusion is in actuality the most profound concept of all--for it is describing the formation of a separate existence beyond Awareness--or 'Being', which eventually resulted in the formation of the physical Universe you and I presently inhabit."

SCENE WILL END OR NEAR THE END WITH PLEASANT ANNOUNCING ON DNVC THAT HE IS FORMING A CRUSADERS POLITICAL PARTY AND IS RUNNING FOR PRESIDENT

new film "Public Enemies" is an example of 'The Villain Metaphor'

2009-06-07T09:58:00.000-07:00

Check if I already expressed this or if either I or Ms. Cabal should express this; she could do so during "Revelations" after she makes the reference to existence on the physical plane being more like a film than a play. Or it could be used in one of Darwin's speeches on book tour.

"And speaking of film, have you ever wondered why it is that the villain is predominantly--if not always--most interesting and often times, actually preferred over the hero? It can't be said that the villain is "rooted" for; at least not consciously, but perhaps subconsciously. But there is no doubt that the villain is preferred over the hero in a fictional--and often times a real life scenario--and that is because the villain appeals to the innate desire for freedom, for leaving the rules and the regulations behind. Most people are surrounded by rules, regulations, family, government, religion, and it is only through the venue of film or other fictional formats that they can express that long suppressed but still dormant need to live free, or at least freer, to break the rules...to commit the taboo...to defy the gods."

In Public Enemies it is criminal John Dillinger who is glorified and romanticized, not law enforcement. People secretly long to rebel, to stand up to the establishment, to think for themselves, but it's easier and more comfortable to become part of the establishment.

That conflict is at the center of drama parallels the sought-after drama that motivated the spiritual to descend into matter in the first place.

Abortion Doc assassinated in Kansas

2009-05-31T11:41:00.000-07:00

Shot at a church, if that isn't an example of christian hypocrisy, nothing is.
Of course, in the novel Darwin Blinks, abortion has been completely outlawed so this form of terrorism can't take place. Will the culture of Darwin Blinks ever see women regain their right to choose and determine the destiny of their own bodies? Keep reading...

upcoming 2nd act entries

2009-03-21T18:16:00.000-07:00

PROGRESS
RISE FROM THE ASHES

DREAM SEQUENCE, LIKELY FOLLOWING 'RISE', DREAM OF STANDING ON NOB HILL, BLINKING AWAY CHRISTIANITY, NOW CONCRETELY THE ENEMY

BREAK UP; CASS AND PALMER

MINDSEX

FIREWHEEL INC; last entry, Marbles are planned and Pleasant becomes V.P.

POSSIBLE LAST 2 ENTRY TITLES OF ACT II WILL BE

GOOD LIFE IS CONTRADICTION...

...BECAUSE OF CRUCIFIXION

CYCLE: THE BEGINNING
CYCLE: THE MIDDLE
CYCLE: THE END

NOW DARWIN BLINKS: ALPHA (FIREWHEEL IMAGE)

DARWIN BLINKS: OMEGA (MARBLES IMAGE)

BEFORE CASSANDRA LEAVES, SHE PREDICTS THAT EITHER, A, THE CLINIC WILL BE DESTROYED, OR THAT THERE WILL BE SOME TRAGIC EVENT, LIKE THE CLINIC, THAT WILL BE EVEN WORSE AND IT WILL DESTROY ME

AFTERWARDS, D'MONA TELLS ME CASSANDRA WAS THE GREEK MYTHOLOGICAL CHARACTER KNOWN FOR HER CRIMSON BEAUTY, AND HER PREDICTIONS THAT WERE NOT TO BE BELIEVED

"Should I believe them?" I ask D'mona.

Entry XLV--Media Day

2009-03-15T19:38:00.000-07:00

My arms slept better than I did last night; tossed and turned on both of them in futile intervals to get a decent shift of slumber.

But the shift was far from decent so the DVNT makeup artists will be hard-pressed to remove the bags out from under my eyes.

Ugh. Haven't had to wake up this early since the day everyone moved in here. But that was something to look forward to; this is an obstacle that we can't wait to get around.

At least, I can't wait to get around, but nobody seemed overtly thrilled when told that they were needed to hang around the house all day while we get filmed by a TV channel that pretty much opposes the Bye Bull--and by extension, all the Wheelers, who came here because of whatever they got out of their respective reading of the Bye Bull.

Thought I caught a keen glimmer in his eye, but then he comes across as a bit of a showboat, like he wants to catch the reflected attention I receive.

Well, this will be his chance to shine under a solo spotlight, as it were. Want--no, will insist to the producer that each os us is interviewed individually. Don't want this to be 'Darwin and his sycophants variety hour'

Main thing will be the Round Table meeting; I told them I had a surprise to spring on them and that seemed to ratchet up their enthusiasm about the whole thing a notch or two.

Not Eliza though. She isn't too keen on surprises. Course, hearing about the clinic will not a surprise to Doc or Anna, who are both firmly commited to working at the clinic whenever its doors open.

Also decided am going to let the other Wheelers know that Doc and Anna were informed about the clinic first--not because I was playing favorites, but because they were both invited to work at the clinic and had to be given time to consider the offer.

The woman laying sound asleep next to me also knows, but getting her within fifty feet of any DVNT camera isn't likely, so she isn't going to be talking much about the clinic.

All I wanna do is climb back under the warm cover and spoon with Cassandra, but responsibilities beckon. Swear, of all the things Ms. Cabal's made me do, this is probably the worst. So dreading this encounter with the DVNT producer, not to mention the entire day beyond that point. Trying to compartmentalize things at this point, a rare zen-approach for me.

It's the only way of maintaining my sanity through this; trying to subsume the whole shitty day ahead of me would cause me to spontaneously combust.

Think I'd rather endure another blown-up bookstore than have to deal with these TV schmucks and have to appear on camera. Thought my publicity seeking days were at an end.

Rub another layer of sleep out of my eyes; that leaves 11 to go. Lean over my shoulder at the motionless form of Cassandra, deep in coma. She sleeps as still as anyone I've ever known. At least anyone I've ever slept with. Always wonder if it's an extension of her having to be so rigid when she worked security.

She doesn't sleep like a great painter.

But sleep she will do, because pretty much the last thing I wanna do is wake her up on a day she was looking forward to even less than I. Cassandra's not camera-shy, she's shy period, and she wants no part of these proceedings.

Even getting her to attend the Round Table meeting we have scheduled for later on today (early evening actually) is going to be dicey at best. Hopefully she'll wake up a few minutes before it starts and I can get her to just wander to the Table in a semi-awake state.

But even if she doesn't, not going to press the issue. For one, can't blame her for not wanting to be on-camera, and two, I don't want DVNT here myself.

Takes every kilogram of will in my innards to push myself up and away from the warm and seductive bed...

...but I wanna get into the bathroom before any of the other early risers, like Anna, do.

Absolute worst thing about living here is ten people having to share one real bathroom. Obviously that kind of overuse requires overkill when it comes to cleaning; we alternate shifts to make it gets the onceover st least twice a day.

There's another toilet in a very small room, akin to a closet, but only one legit lavatory.

Saints be praised; I am indeed the first arrival and am able to rinse out my cleancut dome in the sink, shave and splash cold water in my face. Finally summon the nerve to lift my face up to the mirror and find the bags are indeed well-packed. But again, if it's not good enough, that's for makeup to fret over.

Entry XLIV--That picture of Gerri Santoro

2009-03-15T19:12:00.001-07:00

First time it sinks in that I'm home again is when a big ex-jock yup in a three-piece clips half my body with his sharp elbow and sharper briefcase.

First time I've been downtown since I moved away...and it hasn't changed a bit.

Lived and worked here for so many years, but truly had enough of the place. Did my time, as it were. Have absolutely no desire to return now that I've tasted life out in the neighborhoods.

A surreal headrush overtakes me as I emerge on Market St. after ascending from the dull lighting of the Montgomery St. station.

It's usually warmer-and sunnier downtown than it is in the Haight, and sure enough, the glare sends me scurrying for my sunglasses.

As always, Ms. Cabal offered to send me a town car or limo or something, but would rather come here on my own terms--as futile a gesture as that may be.

Straight down Montgomery, searching for our meeting spot. End up passing it; the low-key entrance to Circa, the even lower-key restaurant Ms. Cabal owns.

Don't even need to inform the doorman who I am; he recognizes me spot-on even though I don't know him from Adam...or Eve, if he dresses that way after hours.

"Mr. Grimm, welcome to Circa. Ms. Cabal is expecting you, of course. Please follow me."

He's even more of a swisher than Ms. Cabal's butler--and I also notice he seems to relish calling her 'Ms. Cabal', whereas for me, it's more of a requirement.

He leads me past the common riffraff and to a secluded backroom in which only one table is situated. The table at which sits Ms. Cabal.

Busy as always, she fiddles about on her laptop, not acknowledging my presence as the waiter seats me and hands me a menu all in one well rehearsed smooth gesture.

Everything in and about Ms. Cabal's life is impeccable. Everything, that is, except for me.

The wait stands at silent attention as I half-read the menu, waiting...

After conducting her business, only then does Ms. Cabal raise her chin and meet my eyes with her smoldering gaze, still potent on a sunny afternoon.

"Hello, Darwin, thank you for coming."

"Hello, Ms. Cabal. You're welcome."

Only after my proper response does she relinquish her grip on my eyes, and by extension, my entire being.

She gestures blithely at the menu half-danging from my fingers, cuing me: "Order anything you like," Ms. Cabal says to me, then turns to the waiter, "I'll have the Alaskan baked salmon."

Damn her continual precise assuredness, never gives me a chance to order

Flip the menu to the waiter in resignation, "Salad of the day, French dressing."

"Very good sir." He responds ever so professionally, even though I know he's suppressing a sneer at my decision to forgo the vinaigrette choice of dressing.

With the waiter out of earshot, can speak more freely with Ms. Cabal, "I didn't know we were going to have meetings in public anymore, I thought they were confined to dungeons and places like that."

Without looking up, Ms. Cabal promises me, "If you would like to be entombed in a dungeon, I can arrange that quite easily. I'll simply tell the waiter to cancel the salad and no one will be the wiser."

Gulp down hard at least twice if not more; not sure if Ms. Cabal would actually do it, but do know she's certainly capable of doing it, and that's all that matters far as I'm concerned.

As always, Ms. Cabal doesn't allow any misconceptions to linger and proceeds to clarify, "Dungeons are not necessarily because you have been been exceedingly pleasing me; I could not have imagined the Cult being more of a success if I had completely constructed it myself out of raw subatomic particles."

"Thank you, Ms. Cabal." It's always good to be on her good side.

"But as I informed you at the onset of this venture, I always had much more extensive plans in mind when it came to this organization and that which it will represent and that which it will become.

"Already having published a decidedly feminist-leaning book and now having co-founded a cult that counts women as half its membership, the next logical step is for you to become involved with a woman's clinic."

"An abortion clinic?"

"Yes. There is need for one in the South Bay."

"Yeah, I read about the last one down there closing last month. But how the hell am I going to open up an abortion clinic?"

Having already read my mind to understand exactly where I'm coming from, Ms. Cabal answers, "Darwin, how often are you going to forget how wealthy I am? Not to mention the access I have to the world's top venture capital investors. Money is never an object."

"Then why not open up your own clinic?" I ask rhetorically, knowing how wrong I am before the last words left my lips.

But to rub it in, she tells me anyway, "For the same reason that I did not write the book myself.

"And you realize you won't be in this alone; at FireWheel alone you have Doctor ? and Anna Belmont is a nurse at your disposal."

"Yeah, if they'd even agree to do it. They became Wheelers to live, not looking for jobs. I mean, Doc's retired."

The disgust in her eyes is more than I can take, have to look away, across the room at anything, nothing, just not her eyes.

Not that it matters. Not like I can escape her voice, her presence:

"Darwin, you should know by now that I would not have even brought up Anna and Doc's names unless I knew they would be amenable to our proposal. I should clarify; Anna will jump at the chance. Doc will take some convincing--that's where you come in. You can convince Doc to work at the Clinic."

Know I shouldn't challenge her, but what the hell: "Why is it so important to have Doc be part of it? Surely there are plenty of unemployed abortionists we can hire?"

Her eyes morph into sinister slits as she informs me: "Because I wish to better integrate members of the cult with this venture. The continuity is critical to maintaining our unified vision. And frankly, I'm more than a little disappointed that you do not share that vision at present.

"You will share it in the future," Ms. Cabal assures me and the shiver covers me from the part in my hair to the annoying callous on the bottom of my pinky toe.

But it's not a shiver that lasts very long, because I know she's right and before too long I'll come around to her way of thinking. It's just that she springs everything on me all at once, it's hard to process everything and come to sound decisions sitting here. Especially with my stomach starting to grumble.

Right on cue, my custom salad is placed before me and it's green fresh and confirmed delicious once the first forkful is placed in my mouth.

"Do the main courses taste as good as the salad?" I ask.

"Why don't you order one and find out?" comes her rhetorical response.

Fortunately, the obligatory pause in our conversation that comes with the consumption of food slows things down, allowing me to catch up to my thoughts, Ms. Cabal already long since having done so.

It also allows me the time to formulate questions I'm usually so shitty at coming up with on the spot.

"Why is an abortion clinic the next most logical venture, if those were your words?"

"Actually, you said it better than I did originally. That's why you are the writer."

She takes another seemingly scrumptious bite of her salmon before answering my question:

"And it is your writing you should be reflecting back upon. What was the subject matter that garnered the most attention? The most controversy? The most emotional and visceral responses?"

Crunch on an crunchy crouton that contrasts perfectly with the crispness of the lettuce. Even I'm not so dense that it takes me that long to recall: "Abortion. The essay on women's rights."

"Precisely. More than anyone else, the Bye Bull struck a chord with women. It's been women that put you on the bestseller list and it was women who made up the majority of your lecture audience."

"I thought you put me on the bestseller list."

"And what gender am I?" she rhetorically reminds me.

Before the croutons are wiped out, start to come around to Ms. Cabal's way of thinking. (Like when don't I?)

I mean, eventually the cult had to do something, right? Something in a social context, I mean.

And I suppose working toward women's rights was an inevitable direction, if we were truly to go up against christianity.

More I think about it, more it appeals to me-what will better piss off the bomb-hurlers than if I start a clinic? What better way to raise a middle finger to all the motherfuckers who burned my books and threw bombs at me or got a secret thrill in their pants when they heard one was thrown at me.

And what the hell, if Ms. Cabal's footing the bill for all this, might as well just go along for the ride like I have everything else since I first met her.

Soak up the last of my inappropriate dressing with the last forkful of lettuce and at that moment, allow my mind to be excited about the idea of the clinic.

If this time with Ms. Cabal has taught me anything, it's that the human mind can dictate one's interest or lack of interest in a given subject. Simple--and as complex--as that.

Naturally, I need not express my new found conviction in words--Ms. Cabal has already picked up on my latest reflection and she smiles approval.

A hyper headrush of spontaneity sweeps over and renders me gushing: "Can't wait to tell the others about it; I'll convene a special meeting tonight, I think everyone's going to be home."

Her warms smile of endorsement is instantly discarded in favor of stern advisement: "You'll do no such thing. You will inform the other members of FireWheel at the special media event I've planned. I want the cameras to document the moment when you first share the announcement for the FireWheel Clinic with your co inhabitants."

"Media event?"

"Yes, DVNT will be shooting a documentary inside the flat."

"You're asking me or you're telling me?"

"What do you think?"

Look away, grinding my teeth in frustration. Always kneeling before her. And why not? Wouldn't be in this position, wouldn't be with Cassandra, would be stuck in my crummy apartment not far from here if not for her. Besides, didn't I just decide 4.2 minutes ago that I was going along with the whole clinic idea? But DVNT? I've always despised their conventionality. Now can they possibly serve our interests?

Again, no need to vocalize--either speak it or think it, but no need for both--and she's already answering my concern:

"The publicity generated by a DVNT report will aid greatly in the funding of the clinic's construction and maintenance."

"Yeah," I counter weakly, "but do we really want all those cameras snooping around FireWheel?"

"Snooping? You're being paranoid, Darwin. No one at the cult has a thing to hide. DVNT will be there a week from Saturday. You are to make sure that everyone is present and available for the entire day."

"That'll be real easy," I snap back

"I'm not concerned with how easy or difficult it is for you Darwin, just make it happen. You have over a week, and nothing else to do with your time. I won't ask you again."

I'm more enslaved than an atheistic serf during the Middle Ages.

She doesn't appreciate that thought: "Why don't you finish your salad and think about how you're going to make sure next Saturday runs as smoothly as possible rather than indulging in self-pity."

Stuff the final wedge of Romaine, tomato and one more of those tasty croutons into my mouth with resentment that she picks up on and won't let go of:

"You're not any kind of 'slave' Darwin, anytime you want to give this all up and leave this all behind, you are welcome to do so. But you know in your heart we are building towards something here and you're not about to give that up to what, return to your previous life? So please just go along with the plans I am laying out before you and the reason I invited you to lunch today."

Determined not going to think my thoughts around her, but just speak them all--creeps me out less when she responds.

"You're inescapable. It's not like I can possibly doubt you, now can I?"

For the first time in a long time (ever?), she didn't expect that from me and she readily acknowledges it, "That is why I chose you to be my writer Darwin, it's not many who catch me off-guard--I fully anticipated you to continue battling me on the subject. Apparently it doesn't take a cold dungeon to render you compliant with my desires."

Can't help but self-consciously twist my head over shoulders left and right, to ensure no one heard her allusion to our cellar dwelling. Another futile gesture on my part; our backroom location ensures complete solitude.

Also realize our conversation has come full circle from discussion of literal dungeons to virtual slavery.

She looks over my empty plate and then up at me: "I know you don't want a ride home, so you are free to leave anytime you wish."

Meaning I should leave now, she's done with me. Which is fine, so I rise from the table, wiping off my chin as a means to conjure one more question:

"As for this clinic...what exactly will be my role?"

"Why Darwin, you'll be the clinic's Executive Director, of course."

Knees go all spaghetti, throat hard apple lump at the prospects.

Ms. Cabal catches my fright and laughs, "Relax, I'm kidding. Do you think the custodianship of a woman's clinic would be entrusted to an introverted male writer with absolutely zero experience in the area?"

A sharper, more condescending laugh follows and that would really hurt if it wasn't so true.

Ms. Cabal sends me off with one more verbal sticky note: "Remember Darwin, you are to have that discussion with Doc as we discussed. I will call you early next week so we can firm up more details about the clinic and the DVNT shoot."

"Yes Ms. Cabal." Also learned to never end a conversation with her with anything but complete compliance. Can argue and disagree and challenge in between, but not when it's time for me to leave her presence.

And leave it I do, and before I exit our private back room, can already hear her back on the laptop, communicating with the rest of the world.

A calming relief to hit the busy frantic frenetic downtown streets; can walk and burn off some of the nervous energy that is invariably stored up whenever I have an encounter with Ms. Cabal.

Fast as my pace is, mind is racing much faster than feet with all that is about to transpire. Jeez, just when I was getting used to living with nine other people after a lifetime of solitude, now I have to deal with building a woman's clinic and entertain pukes from the TV channel that scores number one in ratings with assholes between the ages of 18 and 49.

Took the Muni underground back to the upper Haight, and though the street itself was packed as it often is, I was essentially oblivious to them all.

Dragged my feet up the stairs to the flat and into the hallway and down to our room. Was glad no one was lurking about, not in the mood to talk.

For that reason I'm not thrilled to see Cassandra painting; always feel like been throough the wringer whenever I've had an encounter with Ms. Cabal and this time is no different.

AT SOME POINT
Even though Ms. Cabal instructed me otherwise, going to tell Cassandra about the clinic. She deserves to know/But is it because she deserves to know, or because she'll be rightfully pissed when she finds out I didn't tell her first?

Doesn't matter, going to tell her. What's Ms. Cabal going to do, suddenly appear in a cloud of smoke and freeze Cassandra so she can't hear?

My fear is laughable, or would be, if I didn't know just what Ms. Cabal is capable of--pretty much anything and everything.

Slowly remove my coat; generally hate prolonged deliberate measured actions, but really hoping this time they help me unwind from the encounter.

"So how did your meeting go with Ms. Cabal? You said you were going to eat at her restaurant? How was it? What did you eat?"

A rapid succession of questions like that means she's in a good mood; a welcome relief. Take a quick glance over at her painting and it looks like it's going good.

Figure I'll start with the easy answers: "Had a salad. Pissed off the waiter when I asked for French dressing on the salad of the day."

Cassandra playfully pops her head out from the easel, rolling her eyes: "Hm, I wouldn't know anything about that, now would I?"

Of course her comment is totally sarcastic--pretty much every time we've dined out, I've managed to piss off at least one waiter or a cook if not both with my 'menu modifications'

We share a laugh and it feels good, like when we first kissed.

Damn, if she could just be like this every day...or even every other day, I'd settle for that, and it would do wonders for our relationship in the midst of Firewheel

Do my best to keep the conversation innocuous until it's time to drop the bomb "The food was good--for a salad; the restaurant was fine--I didn't really look around at it much. You know how I am..."

She nods complete understanding.

"She made an interesting proposal..."

"She wants to marry you?"

"That sort of proposal wouldn't be interesting, it'd be outlandish."

Never realized how much the creative process--and success with it--was so integral to Cassandra's mood.

"She wants to open up a woman's clinic--an abortion clinic. She wants it to be an extension of the FireWheel cult.

Cassandra ducks her head back behind the easel, resuming her brushwork and ostensibly, to mull over what I just disclosed.

"That sounds great."

"Really? You really think so?"

She throws me a funny look, as if surprised how geeked I am over all this: "Yeah, sure...why wouldn't I? I mean...I keep thinking of that picture of Gerri Santoro."

"Who?"

"Santoro. Gerri Santoro. Back in the 1970's, when women libbers were fighting for abortion rights, they used a picture of her to symbolize their cause. It was a real gruesome picture of her after a botched abortion went wrong and left her dead."

SHE APPROVES, SAYING SHE KEEPS THINKING OF THAT PIC OF GERRI SANTORO, PLUS IT MIGHT BE A CHANCE TO GET SOME OF THE WHEELERS OUT OF THE HOUSE

SHE ACTS LIKE FIREWHEEL IS AN EXPERIMENT THAT'S GOING TO END SOMEDAY; AND MAYBE IT WILL, BUT ONLY IF THAT'S WHAT IS MEANT TO BE BUT NOT BY DESIGN--UNLESS IT'S MS. CABAL DOING THE DESIGNING

SOME POINT

Feels like my heart is up in my throat; having to broach the subject of the clinic with Doc is making me more nervous than any time I had to ask a woman for a date. With woman, it was the fear of rejection. With Doc, it's the fear of having him leaving, leaving FireWheel that much weaker.

Had to wait for the opportune time for Doc to be alone; as he is now, reading a novel that looks like it's called Presumptuous Proposal. Can tell by where the book is open that he's still early into the read, which is a good sign, don't want to bother him during a climactic moment.

Also wanted him to be alone because I want to ask him this with Anna absent; she could affect his reaction, and ultimately, his decision, by her presence, either positively or negatively, and don't want to chance it.

Course he'll discuss all this with her at some point before making an ultimate decision--I want him too, but don't want her here running potential interference when I first lay it on him.

"Hey, Doc, how would you like to un-retire?"

"How's that?"

Should've known better; un-retire's not even a word. Besides, so nervous, I'm breathing too fast, and I spoke too fast:

"I mean to say, how would you like to go back into practice, at least, working for the soon-to-be--, or at least, eventually-to-be-formed FireWheel Clinic for Women."

Really impossible to describe the complex look on Doc's face as he attempts to process what's just been laid before him. Can see a mix of joy and anticipation that meaningful purpose brings--but also the guarded reserve that comes with his age and the uncertainty wrought by this sudden challenge to his retirement/the notion that he had retired.

But think the joy and anticipation are winning out: "What would you need me to do...?"

His response is optimistic; he didn't shoot me down, or try to pin me down for money, just "what do you need"--which is also a more positive phrasing than if he had asked "what do you want?"

Still, am going cautious with this, every step of the way:

"Certainly no one's asking you to work full time--"

"Who's 'no one'?"

Chuckle over Doc's sharpness, "I'll explain all that--I'll explain everything, just as long as you agree to do it, cause don't think we can pull it off without you."

"Who's 'we'?"

Could give him another stall, but figure owe him something; don't want to lose him before he's even joined up:

"The Clinic will be founded by me, of course, and D'mona Cabal. Do you know her? She published the Bye Bull."

Instant recognition flashes across Doc's engaging face; if we could all be as youthful as he is at his age. Doc makes me feel old, and maybe one day I'll tell him that.

"Of course," Doc responds, but then a quizzical look takes over, "I didn't realize you were still involved with her."

Swallow hard due to the myriad of implications of his statement--though I'm entirely positive he meant it in the most professional manner.

Still, my response stumbles out of the gate, "Uh, yes, actually, eh, I, that is we, still do business." Some clarity comes. "That is to say, she invests me in my ideas. Or if she doesn't invest in them, she finds someone who does."

"That must be wonderful; to have someone so powerful like that in your corner."

Internalized bitter chuckle; usually it's me sitting in the corner with Ms. Cabal; but Doc doesn't need to know that. Although power does play into it, that's for sure.

"Yes," I respond politely, "it's a tremendous advantage if you're an idea guy with no money, as I tend to be. She can turn my dreams into reality--she already has--and there is a tremendous opportunity with this clinic before us to make a difference."

jesus, better slow down there, Darwin, you're beginning to sound like a promotional pamphlet.

Shut up as Doc seems to be locked in thought--I've said enough; not many words are necessary when it comes to Doc, just give him the basic facts and he'll process the rest and come to a sound decision. Already realized that about him in his short time here.

And neither does it take him very long to reach a classy conclusion: "First of all, thank you very much for even considering me, especially at my advanced age, for such a prominent honor--"

"Your age is irrelevant, Doc, you--"

"Please, let me finish while I have the words assembled in my mind. Though I did officially retire, I will admit that I have felt an emptiness in my life ever since. An emptiness I have attempted to fill both by moving in here with you and the others, and more recently, by engaging in a relationship with a woman some 40 years my junior>"

All I can and allow myself to do--is nod.

"But there is nothing like the interaction with a patient and the satisfaction in guiding a patient through an ordeal like abortion. If people only knew the pain in being an unwanted child,they wouldn't be so quick to condemn abortion."

Nod total agreement, adding: "Anyone who opposes abortion hasn't thought the issue through. Certainly no male who opposes termination of pregnancy has ever thought it through."

My conviction seems to embolden Doc, or at least ply him more flexible. "So if, and only if, I agree to this, when would this start? What would my specific responsibilities be? Would Anna be involved?"

"I don't know, I don't know, and yes. In fact, I was hoping you'd discuss the issue with Anna, and save me the tension and the trouble, frankly."

My request brings a bemused smile to Doc's face: "Why, Darwin, was it really so difficult for an experienced public speaker like yourself to approach a humble old man like myself?"

"Harder than all the speeches I'd have to give combined, Doc, let me tell you."

Doc seems almost touched at my admission. "Why, son?"

"Because I didn't want you to think I just invited you to live here to recruit you to work at some medical clinic--especially being that you made it clear that you are retired when you moved in here, not that you probably ever suspected I'd be inviting you to join the staff at a woman's clinic.

"I'd never want to lose your friendship, Doc, especially now that I've known it."

Touches Doc even more, and he deflates some of the emotion by cracking, "I know you just said that to get me to work at your damn clinic."

That draws a much needed laugh from me. "Thanks for making it easy on me Doc. Take all the time you need to think it over."

Course, what I want to say to Doc is: "Listen, Doc, you'd better say YES by next Saturday, 'cause that's what Ms. Cabal is expecting..."

But all I do is flash a parting smile his way and stroll down the hallway back to my room. Just have to hope he's going to say yes and I won't have to try to conjure up some other way to convince him.

Marbles Notes

2009-02-10T00:16:00.000-08:00

While traditional monogamy was the rule at the FireWheel cult, polygamy will develop at The Marbles

The opening ceremony will begin with gigantic white cloth coverings, pitched like tents, over the Marbles. When the 'tents' are released and the 3 Marbles are finally unveiled for the first time standing amidst nature, reflecting brilliant sunlight, as complete entities, the sight is jaw dropping. Even D'Mona is shaken, and she knew what it was going to look like through her meta-visualization.

AS PART OF THE OPENING TOUR, THE ROUNDTABLE WILL BE SHOWN TO THE PRESS, A LEGACY/CARRYOVER OF THE FIREWHEEL CULT

Wrist Rash

2009-02-07T00:30:00.000-08:00

EXT--TENDERLOIN--DAYTIME

Several of the FireWheel Cult are venturing about the City, acquainting some of those unfamiliar, such as Anna and Gina, with various neighborhoods. Gina--and Eliza's eyes are drawn to the various strip clubs--and streetwalkers--that heavily populate, this, San Francisco's skid row for all intents and purposes.

We come across a bizarre protest--but one so appropriate, it almost feels like Ms. Cabal orchestrated the whole ordeal from behind the scenes--even though she is nowhere in visible sight.

Future scene

2009-01-11T05:28:00.001-08:00

Sitting around watching that movie about the modern-day return of christ that I was an extra in with the cult.

Wrist Rash

2009-01-03T21:51:00.000-08:00

TO BE ENTRY #42 AS OF NOW

Sunlight spreads over Cassandra's face at just the right moment, pushing a smile across my own as I hover over her sleeping form, chin propped securely on my palms.

How much do I love watching her like this? Should get up early--before her--every morning for the experience.

The solar kiss reveals her lovely faint freckles dotting her nose and the outskirts of her supple cheeks. Don't think she's ever looked prettier than right now

Ol Sol's rays enough to wake her gently, without a hint of distress

The way it should be, for once she comes to full consciousness, it won't be easy for her...

Her eyes part slowly, and those adorable pale blue pupils greet me like no pair I've ever known.

Pull my arms in, releasing my chin from my palms, and in the same motion bend down to kiss her as gently as the sun did

"Mmmmm" she purrs

"Good morning, honey"

"Mmmmm-morning"

She's never sounded happier--to these ears, at least.

A fringe edge of the sunlight brushes up against her hair, cuing me to rub my hands through its silky texture, so sensuous to the touch

She motions to return the favor...

Only to find she can't.

"Jesus, is my arm that asleep?" she wonders as she tries to lift the other limb--to no avail

Only then does she twist her head to the left and right--to discover both wrists are bound fast by thick black leather strands, affixed to the bedposts.

An attempt to move her legs reveals that both her slender ankles are likewise attached firmly to the posts at the foot of the bed by capable straps o' leather. Being in a deep sleep, it took her this long to realize she was tied up thusly

"Darwin--what is this?"

"This is you agreeing to more."

"More what?"

"More people living here."

Can see a million thoughts suddenly racing through her mind; her forehead practically vibrating

First question she's capable of verbalizing spills forth: "How...many more people?"

This is the key response as far as this dynamic is concerned; if I don't answer with unwavering conviction, then she'll be liable to crack the split in the stone and resist my overture to expand the cult...to fill the house.

Answer her as assuredly as I have in any conversation we've shared.

"Seven more...so we have an even ten members."

This is all sounding weirder and weirder to her--and that's alright, I understand, really I do, just have to let her get it out, I reckon.

"Members? Members of what?"

"Why, the cult we're forming, of course."

"Cult? What cult?"

"I'll be happy to tell you all about it, baby--but I'd prefer to do so with you out of bondage. So why don't you just agree to it and I'll set you free, okay?"

Her eyes set firm, her mouth draws tight and realize I'm in for a fight, "No--no, it is not 'alright'--I can barely stand living here with Simon, how the hell am I going to handle living with seven more people?"

Smile down at her, shrugging my shoulders, "Don't know honey, that's for you to figure out."

Again, varying emotions and thoughts speed through her mind, traveling light years in total distance, but it's just that hesitancy that I seize...

The indecision writing her expression, for Ms. Cabal told me that Cassandra secretly longs to be dominated and this is becoming clear

But that doesn't mean she's not going down without a fight:

"No, Darwin, I don't want these people moving here in--I've put up with enough!"

Though it makes me feel shitty, I don't cave in, and set my eyes coldly and my mouth tight:

"No, you've just begun to put up with it..."

Without another breath, push myself off of the bed, standing over her, as I quickly pull a thick white cloth from my back pocket.

Just long enough to tie it around her helpless mouth and gag her proper. And I'm quick enough that I manage to pull it off before she could cry out for help (Not that she'd likely do that anyway, given her personality).

Too late either way; from now on her every scream is but a muffled frustration.

Now that she is suitably subdued, can relax my pace, and stroll rather gingerly out the door and am out the door before she can inhale a single breath of her own.

Since I'm abandoning my bedroom for this little charade, will have to take temporary residence in one of the 'spare rooms'--also a temporary state, for these rooms soon won't be 'spare' if Cassandra gives in to me and this room is filled with brand spanking new culties.

Make that when Cassandra gives in to me.

Nothing in here except a leftover mattress from the previous occupant and a clock radio of suspect operation.

Gonna have to snatch up one of the couch pillows if I intend to spend any legitimate time in here.

And knowing Cassandra's stubbornness, it could be a stretch.

But cannot waver, got to see it out.

But am not going to do that, sitting in here obsessing on the matter. It's times like these I wish I still wrote--still had some purpose.

Actually I do have a purpose--forming the cult. But to work on that, I have to get on the Internet, and the computer's in the bedroom.

Reckon I could ask Simon to use his laptop for that rare nanosecond he's not using it.

Then again--why the fuck am I being such a wimp about it? I can go in there and use the computer any time I want, who gives a shit if Cassandra doesn't like it?

Reason I didn't think of it sooner is that I'm new to this domineering thing...

Later that day, I'm making a faux chicken sammich in the kitchen, Simon is making a rare appearance, overcooking some pea soup it appears.

Only until it's bubbling does Simon declare it worthy of being served into the bowl waiting on the kitchen counter

Just as he's to pour it, there's a loud BANG!--and his waiting bowl jumps an inch in the air; it must be Cassandra lifting all her limbs at once to force part of the bed to raise of the ground and slam back down. Lucky no one lives below us.

Simon turns to me as if he expects I will have an explanation.

Andthat I do, but not sure I want to reveal it to him.

Still, want to come up with something, especially after--BANG!--it happens again

"UH...I think Cassandra is moving some things around in the bedroom."

Most plausible lie I can muster on the spot; after all, he'd never dare enter our bedroom

"I understand" Simon replies, completely buying it.

"Thanks," I respond, "you might wanna wear headphones for the rest of the night--or weekend, for that matter."

Simon nods his further understanding--and questions no further, finishing pouring his split pea soup into his bowl, steady at present.

Although after the fifth or sixty bang, couldn't really blame for getting a little suspicious...

Suspicious about what? Is he really going to think I have my live-in girlfriend tied up to our bed?

No, I don't think Simon is even capable of such suspicions.

Maybe if he lives here long enough, he will be...

Simon snatches a few crackers from the cupboard to go with that soup and without looking at me, scurries off back to his room, which is pretty much where I want him to be anyway for the time being.

Apart from all this.

Never did ask him about using his laptop. Oh well, I'll figure out what I want to do later...

For now, content to plop my ass in the comfy recliner and just turn up the TV set so loud it renders me oblivious to any banging or similar noise emerging from the bedroom.

Surf for awhile until finally settling on good ol' DVNT--right now it's some news show round table discussion on the upcoming election--basically a not-too-subtle promotional vehicle for Pleasant's campaign. Main topic at hand seems to be whether Pleasant should run as an independent candidate on some sort of 'Crusader' ticket or sublimate his ego and ambitions (for the time being, at least), and serve as veep to some Republican, paving the way for his election in eight years.

Pleasant in the blank house; that's all this country needs to go straight down the tubes.

There's a pause before the commercial and in that transitional moment think I hear Cassandra SLAM! again; and in that moment reflect on Ms. Cabal's notion that by tying that woman up to bed she shares with me and getting her to agree to permitting a bunch of my readers move into this flat, that somehow is going to prevent America--and the world--from going down those aforementioned tubes and becoming an everlasting theocracy.

Like to say I'd believe it when I see it, but then, I'm not in the business of believing.

A few hours pass, which I filled mostly by watching a made-for-cable movie about alchemists in the 17th century; not too bad.

Feeling a bit guilty by this point...no, not about Cassandra, but that I haven't done any work as far as contacting the potential cult members.

Slowly return to the bedroom, opening the door with some admitted trepidation, half expecting to find Cassandra frothing at the mouth like that demon possessed chick in that one 70's movie, with the bed levitating above the floor and shit.

But no, she's fast asleep. Guess the struggle got the best of her and she figured the best way to deal with it is to sleep it off.

Either that or she passed out at some point from lack of sufficient nourishment.

Just as well, can't stomach this domination thing 24/7, so it's a lot easier to respond to emails by pretending she's just asleep like she'd normally be.

First task at hand is choosing who to respond to first--Anna Belmont, a nurse from Nebraska, seems as good a choice as any.

It's times like these wish I had asked for pics of all these prospective roomies; it'd be easier to keep track of them via visual categorization.

But didn't want to bias any of my choices--even subconsciously--by seeing a picture I might judge one way or the other--even subconsciously. It doesn't matter what any of them looks like, just that they have a dedication to living together to create something better.

The lone exception being Palmer, who I already met--numerous times--on the book tour.

But for now, back to Anna:

Anna, this is Darwin. How are you? I enjoyed your last email and the links to those medical websites. Good news, it looks like we're closer to making the cult a reality. So you can start packing your bags, it's just a matter of time.

Hit SEND and then back to the main file to see who should gets the next one...

Sift through the candidates; after all, don't want to send this email to everyone who've I've considered, because they're not all moving in here. I'll invite ten to fifteen with the goal being to procure no more than seven new members. I'd consider making an exception at eight, if there eight exceptional types.

Who's to say what's exceptional? Suppose I'm supposed to. It's the last decision I really want to make--on my own.

This is going to be a progressive cult.

Of course, one little peak over my shoulder and the scene is anything but 'progressive'--unless its being viewed in some psycho-sexual context, I reckon.

Choose Doc to be the next email recipient when the still is shattered by Cassandra's voice, both raspier and louder than usual:

"Were you planning to allow me to pee at some point?"

Shit, hadn't figured in bodily functions and the like.

But am not going to allow her to make some kind of big deal--or even a little issue--out of this...

Without another word, stride out of the bedroom, straight for the cupboard where I pull down a large bowl neither one of us has used since we moved in here and I'm pretty sure it's not Simon's.

Just to be sure, when I pass his room, stop abruptly, knock and when he gives the okay, stick my head in his room, hold up the bowl and ask, "By any chace, is this yours?"

Simon shakes his head negative.

"Good enough for me," I exclaim, "sorry to have bothered you."

Without another hesitation, stride back into our--(my?)--bedroom, stand over the still captive Cassandra, pull down her till they straddle her thighs and then place the bowl under her vagina

"Anytime you're ready."

She looks up at me, with burning contempt in her eyes. It's all I can do to keep a smile from bursting out.

Decide to rub it in a bit, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

She frowns, the contempt bubbling thicker to the surface, "Do you mind? It's a little hard to piss with you standing over me!"

Shrug my shoulders, "By all means, let me allow you your privacy." and I exit the room, back to the TV couch.

Again set the TV to blare at the proper volume to ensure that she does not

Sure there's a big chunk o' me that wants to tell her this is all Ms. Cabal's doing--

But no. That is giving in to weakness, and I can't show a hint of it--least not till Cassandra breaks down.

Breaks down...

Those words resonate in my head as I seek a quick remedy to this dilemma.

And my creative mind is racing and a spark flashes and in the next instant I'm already trudging down the hallway...

To Cassandra's studio, the only room 'off-limits' to me--until today.

Look around the room, but knew what I wanted the moment I walked in there; the one, the only item that is going to have any impact.

The easel containing her latest work.

Don't even bother to remove the cloth draped over it, as it flaps in the breeze created by rapid movement gliding across the long flat hallway.

In a motion reminiscent of the guy who stepped on the Moon or the first bloke who scaled the peak of Kilimanjaro, stab the easel on its stand in the center room, before a horrified Cassandra.

Though she's muted by my gag, her eyes are about stretched to the limits, and if it were possible for the sockets to snap open, it wouldn't surprise me none.

Nothing means more to her than her paintings--and we both know that. They mean more to her than I do--I accept that.

And now I want her to see what she's missing out on by resisting my forming the cult.

Don't say a word. Don't have to.

Exit the room once more, this time at quite the leisurely pace, making sure that a light is left on so Cassandra can see in clear view what she's missing out on.

If it were possible to force her eyelids open like in that one movie, reckon I'd give it a try.

Still, the guilt's welling up in me something fierce; have to swallow two antacid tabs to quell the queasiness.

And then comes the bed banging again and it's all I can do to turn the TV loud enough to drown it out. It must be pure agony for Cassandra to be laying there, before her latest work of art and not be able to paint--or do anything else, but lay there, bound and helpless, weak and powerless.

And if there's anything that gentle geisha with the martial arts mastery hates is having her power stripped away.

Damn this hurts. If there was a drop of alcohol in this house right now, swear I'd be all over it--glad there isn't.

With nothing else to do, fall asleep while watching TV.

Wake up to the thought wondering why such a strong-willed woman as Cassandra would get into being dominated...

And it might be explained by something I once read about why males, especially successful, driven type-A type males, like to be dominated by women.

Because they had to be 'on' all the time...had to be responsible for so much so much of the time...they had to be in control all the time.

Total relinquishment of that control is like the ultimate release--the ultimate freedom--to such men.

And such is it with Cassandra, as shocking as that may appear on the surface.

But as we know full well, mere surface appearances mean nothing to Ms. Cabal, who sees and knows beneath, between, behind and beyond.

Hell, even things that one hides from oneself are eventually and ultimately exposed by Ms. Cabal's third eye that is her only eye.

And that's why adding the element of the canvas is a wild-card I threw into the mix--does she want to reqinquish control of her art?

See, letting her lay there and just playing the submissive victim role might play right into Cassandra's kinky little (bound) hands...

Instead, I've rigged it so she is forced to confront the true source of her happiness--one that she likely would never
surrender--not even subconsciously.

That is, she would never surrender the art that is her life--surrendering to me in order to continue pursuit of that art is another matter altogether.

And all I have to do is bide my time...

At least, biding my time seems to be the best course of action..

Though, it'd sure be nice sometimes if Ms. Cabal could pop into my head and let me know if I'm doing the right thing or whatever.

She guides me, alright--but only on her terms.

Reckon there's some things she wants me to learn for myself.

Turn on the TV with plans to sleep on the couch as usual. Sure, have my pick of any of the other rooms, but feel more comfortable here with the TV. It's like being with someone, like when Cassandra is--was in bed with me.

Day or two passes, can't really be sure at this point--seems easy to lose track of time now that I'm no longer interacting with Cassandra on a regular basis, to get a frame of reference.

There was variety--when she painted, then came to bed for sex, then slept, then went out for a walk to her favorite Upper Haight cafe, then re-energized to paint for another 12-hour session, and repeat ad infinitum.

Now it's all the same...she lays there tied up and I either go to the kitchen, the bathroom to shit and piss and sleeping on the couch in between bouts of sustained premium cable absorption.

So whatever day it is, swagger into our bedroom and stand over Cassandra with a determined sparkle in my eye. She meets it with a burning ferocity. We're no longer lovers in any sense of the word...we are adversaries...opposing forces...me Dominant, her submissive.

State it as flat-out simple as I can: "So...will you agree to allow seven more people to move into this house?"

Bend over and pull the gag from her mouth

Cassandra gasps for air as if she had just been submerged below the briny depths for an interminable length of time

And only until her lungs are filled sufficiently does she rip my ears asunder with her shrieking cry of "NO!!!"

All that needs to be heard; promptly stuff the gag back into her mouth.

Leave behind a trail of muffled expletives as I walk out the door.

Obviously, she's just not ready as of yet...

Wonder what's on TV right about now?

One night and a couple days later or make that one day and a couple nights later, am shuffling through email, sizing up prospective cultists.

Eliza's a lesbian and she wants to know if I'm okay with that. She assumes I am and I let her know immediately that her assumptions prove correct; opposing one's sexual orientation is christianity's game, not mine.

Ultimately it won't play into my final decision, but it would be fascinating to introduce Eliza into this dynamic.

Then again, every woman that might get invited might be lesbian and every fellow might be gay, and that'd be fine.

Would piss the hell out of Pleasant, that's for sure.

Gina...now there's a special case. Her husband was a real casualty of New Inflation, losing his Fresno factory job. With three growing kids to feed and clothe and provide toys for, the family was up the financial creek.

No paddle? They'd didn't even have the canoe to float in; they lost their home in a foreclosure.

Jeez, if even half the shit this woman is telling me is true, she's been through hell and back. Living here would be a proverbial breeze. Try my damnedest not to let intangibles such as 'guilt' influence my actions--and I'm still not going to-but damn if I wouldn't feel really guilty if I didn't invite this woman to join the cult.

With that decision made, begin to realize am getting a lot closer to having the final list of 'applicants'

Am overcome with a warm sense of satisfaction--though hold it at bay as best I can; tis not the time to be full-bellied--in any sense of the word.

Won't be time to celebrate until this flat is crowded with folks. When I can no longer use the bathroom--and I'm not annoyed by the person who is keeping me from using it--only then will I know I've done the right thing.

Day or two or three later, step into our bedroom for something innocuous, really. Want to wear an extra pair of socks, cause it's kind of chilly in the house this morning, but really, too warm to justify turning up the heat. Especially what it costs to heat this house. That will be one advantage to have roomies, cultists or not; so many more peeps to chip in on heating and food and such.

LATER TORMENT HER BY BRINGING THE EASEL INTO THE BEDROOM. SO CLOSE, YET SO FAR

SHE REMAINS TIED, FINALLY LET HER GO, BUT NOT WITHOUT EVIDENCE, HENCE THE TITLE

WE MAKE TENDER LOVE IN RESPONSE

LATER, SHE WANTS ME TO DOM HER IN THE STUDIO, BUT I REFUSE

WE BREAK UP, SHE WANTS TO BR FREE OF MEN, JUST ONE WITH HER ART

Entry XLIII--Gestalt

2008-12-15T19:50:00.000-08:00

Seems like most of the battle is won with this whole squeezing a cult into a Haight Ashbury railroad flat--rooms have finally been settled on.
COULD HAVE THIS BE CONCLUSION OF PREVIOUS SCENE

Think it worked out as best it could, as far as all possible combinations of roomies, about as compatible as it gets.

Anna and Dita...both young professionals, one a nurse, the other a physicist.

Simon and Doc...both on the quiet side, both doctors, one of traditional medicine, the other of theoretical physics and applied nanotechnology...

Eliza and Gina...there may be something more going on there than just mere roomies...but that's their story to write.

And last but certainly not least, Ben and Palmer. Both are gregarious and generally outgoing. Frankly Palmer could bunk with anyone--or with no one, which probably would be preferable, given his raw kinetic, sometimes manic energy bursts. Still, if he's going to live in the same room with anyone, it may as well be Ben, who spends more time in his computer lab than he does here--or anywhere else.

Up late watching a DVD a reader sent me; it's about the connections between the religious right and the assassination of RFK. Fascinating stuff; I wasn't aware of this aspect of the conspiracy. Sure I knew all along that Sirhan cat was some kind of patsy (how did he kill RFK when he was in front of him, yet the fatal shots came from RFK's rear?), but I never knew his handlers included those who dallied in religion.

Hmmm...gets me to wondering if I can find a connection between this crowd and Pleasant...

Now that I'm in a relationship and live with 9 other people, it's hard to find time to indulge in conspiracies, let alone obsess over them.

Just when I get to a particular juicy part in this doc, Gina enters the room, shattering my solitude.

Annoyed at first, but that's because I'm still not completely over the fact that I no longer live alone, even after all this time. It's moments like this that I feel a stab of annoyance that Ms. Cabal thrust this whole cult living situation upon me.

Not that I'm insensitive to Gina's presence and what she wants--on the contrary, I'm too damn attuned to it; she wants to talk, while I want to watch the rest of this doc.

But I'm making it a point not to be so self-centered and impatient and to transcend my hermit-like ways...and besides, it's on a disc that can be watched anytime.

Getting to know Gina and listening to what she has to say is more important right now.

"Sorry to bother you, Darwin. I was just wondering if you had a few minutes to talk"

Instantly make her feel at ease: "I've got more than a few minutes. You've got me until I pass out--so just don't bore me. What's up?"

She looks away--and the fact that the words don't come easy to her makes me sense that this is important, so perk up my ears a notch.

"This is so weird...I mean if you would have told me something like this would have happened just a month ago...I would have told you you were out of your goddamn mind."

Since I'm not sure what's she's talking about yet, all I can do is nod and keep listening.

"I mean...you know how most women will have some kind of lesbian experience once in their life, like when they were in college...?"

Actually I don't know, but again, nod like I do

""Yeah, well, I never had one in my life before...before tonight."

Involuntarily swallow hard but really hope she didn't notice.

"Eliza seduced me...I don't know how she did it, but there I was in bed with her, doing things I've never done before and having things done to me my husband--or any of my boyfriends before that--never did before."

Erotic images flood my mind, try my best to filter them out and just listen to Gina.

Though it's hardly necessary, her voice lowers as she delivers her next confession: "And I've got to tell you Darwin...and this is the hardest thing for me to believe--it was the best sex I've ever had."

Double gulp; sure she saw at least one of them, but she's too polite to acknowledge it.

"I never knew oral sex could be that fantastic. It's like she knew me, sexually I mean, in a way a man never could. Or at least any man I've slept with so far."

She laughs at her own admission, making me feel comfortable enough to join her.

There's a pause and I feel confident enough at this point to ask, "So what's the problem? Sounds pretty good from everything you're saying."

"I know, doesn't it? The only thing is, sure, I gave up the Christian lifestyle my husband wanted me and the kids to live, but was I supposed to go this far in the opposite direction and become a lesbian?"

"I don't think one encounter makes you a card-carrying lesbian, Gina."

"I know, Darwin, I know, it's just that I'm all confused now. Here am I, dancing nude for men four nights a week and now I'm having sex with women--or at least one woman."

"Yeah, so? You still haven't pointed out the part that makes you bad on any level."

"Ah, Darwin, smart as you are, you just don't get it. You don't have kids, it'd different with kids. Everything I do ends up being a reflection back onto them."

True; not a lot I can say, never having had kids, but gonna try anyway:

"Maybe I haven't had any kids, but that doesn't stop me from knowing that a lot of kids end up disappointing their parents--and sometimes the parents disappoint the kids, and sometimes it's a case where no one should have been disappointed in the first place."

She mulls over for a moment, but I'm not finished

"If you can't reconcile your dancing and sleeping with Eliza with the fact you have three kids back in Modesto, then stop dancing and get another job, a regular job, and stop sleeping with Eliza. It's all in your hands."

Can almost see the sense of calm that overcomes her and that makes me feel worth something for a minute there.

"That's very good, Darwin. You're right. It's up to me. So I'll just keep thinking about it and see what I have to do. There's just so much to consider; I mean, what if NAME and I get divorced? Who gets custody of the kids?

"Eliza told me some pretty wild stories, when we took breathers from the sex and shared pillow talk. Did you know she used to date this overweight porn star named Denise Obese?"

Ludicrous name cracks me up; it's good to share a laugh late in the night with a new roomie.

Being unemployed, often times I'm the only one at home during the day. Not that every one works during the day; in fact, most of us don't, but it seems like most of the Wheelers like to get out and about, even Cassandra, though she likes to stay as close to her canvas as often as possible.

My hermit habits are hard to break.

But on this day, someone's home--someone in the room that Anna and Dita share, not sure which one it is. Probably Anna, because Dita already has a steady job and I'm not quite sure where Anna stood on the employment line; it's going to take some time for me to get used to everyone's individual situation.

But someone is definitely in there--check that; make that two someones.

But it's not a conversation I hear, but rather the grunts and groans and mouthings and moans of sexual activity.

Does Anna have some boyfriend back in Belmont that followed her out here?

Suddenly feel real self conscious and ashamed that I'm standing by the door listening. If someone walked in, they'd catch me in the act, since the door opens right out in the hallway.

Still, the dark side in me keeps my ear there a moment longer; long enough to recognize the female voice as indeed Anna's, there's not a hint of an accent present in those soft coos.

But the male's is lost to me, kind of guttural. Palmer? It's kind of creepy trying to imagine what your male roomates would sound like while fucking, so am not going to stay a minute longer trying to determine whose voice it is, this is bordering on NSA eavesdropping duration here.

Slide my feet against the wood floor so as to avoid detection, gliding back into my bedroom and slipping under cover. Though I'm not tired, there's nothing else I have to do or want to do, so I'll wait till I hear the dude leave...

Until then, I'll just lay here, face under the covers, thinking about all that's gone on since everybody moved in.

Too early for any definitive assessment, but it seems to be working out so far, no one's killed a roommate, in this case being a literal roommate, not just sharing the whole flat, but the same sleeping space.

Won't even bother questioning where this is going, cause Ms. Cabal already knows I'm wondering that and she'll tell me in her good time. Sure she's just waiting to see how it's going to work out with 10 mice stuck in one cage together before she makes any wider proposals.

Drift off to sleep...

Never did find out if that guy in Anna's bedroom left because it's Cassandra who wakes me up after I was out for gawd knows how long.

FIRST ROUNDTABLE SCENE
And now for something completely different...

Assisted by Gina, who works nights so she has her days free and Doc, who is always free being retired, they help me assemble the wooden table Ms. Cabal sent over per my request.

That's the good thing about associating with one of the richest women on the planet--anything I want, I can get.

Provided it serves her 'higher purpose', that is. If I wanted to jetset across the globe partying and gambling from nation to nation, doubt highly she'd go for that, but when I told her why I wanted this table, she had it sent immediately.

She offered to have the delivery people assemble it, but I thought it would have more meaning if Wheelers put it together with our own hands.

At least, the three of us. But that's enough really, all ten of us in here would be a joke.

Both Gina and Doc are much more practical people than I; Gina from being a mother of three and Doc from his years handling delicate instruments and patients' lives in his hands, and therefore let them handle the bulk of the work and the duo have the round table assembled in no time.

It's all about delegation.

Now that it's built, we have to figure out exactly where to locate it.

"Let's mark the edges of it with tape so we can remember where to also, we need to bring in 10 chairs from here and see if they--and we--all fit in comfortably."

Mindless manual labor is the type I can contribute to, and make up for having let the two of them assemble the table by bringing in the lion's share of the chairs.

A more mixed-up collection of seats you never saw, but it'll serve our function. Main thing is, the table with all ten chairs will fit in the room.

"Looks good," Doc assesses. "Tight, but good."

"Yeah," I pretty much agree, "Okay, all this won't be staying in here, just wanted to see what it would look like in this room, and if it was going to work, which it seems like it will. Not that it matters much, as this is really the only room this table and all the chairs would fit in anyway."

"Are we going to have to take it apart again?" Gina whines.

"No," I assure her, "we actually ave a back storage area that we've never really filled up with anything. Neither I nor Cassandra had much when it was just the two of us living here. It's not all that big, but it should fit it in there until it's time."

"Until it's time for what?" Doc asks.

"Until it's time to use the table," I reply cryptically and intentionally.

Doc frowns, but accepts it for now.

Doc and I move the table to the back area, Gina returns the chairs. Form follows function.

NEW SCENE

Unsuccessfully rubbing the sleep out of my eyes as I stumble silently towards the kitchen. Thought it'd be empty at this hour o' the morn, but pick up the sounds of tow voices conversing...conversing rather intimately.

"Ooops, you got a little butter on your nose, honey, let me take care of that, Sweetpea..."

Must be Doc, not only the older voice, but his penchant for assigning nicknames to everyone of us--just as he is known as 'Doc'

One more step and I see too much...Doc licking a dab of butter off of--Anna's--nose.

Anna. And Doc. Any day now that's going to sink in.

And then it'll sync in...

FIRST ROUNDTABLE

Not sure what's making my stomach churn harder; Cassandra seated in front of her mirror applying makeup or that the first RoundTable meeting is about to commence...

Never thought it'd be this way with Cassandra, where I felt tense, edgy, frustrated, torn as to what to say to her. It used to be so easy to talk to her, back before we got serious.

Finally work up the nerve or whatever it takes to catch her eye in the mirror and ask, "You're not staying for our meeting?" Think my hurt came out in my words.

"What are you talking about? What meeting? I'm going out to have a drink with Keira, she works for the security firm I used to be at."

Hmm, she never mentioned Keira before. Never went out to have a drink with a friend before. Still, not about to stop her and make her attend the RoundTable. Don't have the stomach to dominate her any longer; and it doesn't seem proper with all these other people living here. It was fine before the cult, but not now.

Besides, not really sure how Cassandra would respond to it. She's decidedly different since our power exchange experience.

It's all Ms. Cabal's fault. And I know she heard that, and I don't care.

It's increasingly obvious Cassandra wants no part of the cult or our doings; she didn't even to bother to ask about the meeting. If she were truly interested, she'd have asked, I know her well enough to expect that.

But the last thing FireWheel needs is someone not dedicated to the cause; we're only as strong as our weakest link and all that rot. Seriously, she would just drag everyone else down. It's not like with Simon, he's genuinely interested in being part of establishing a new culture, it's just he's painfully shy in any social situation, regardless of his level of interest.

Change the subject to something more benign; also, to take my mind off the impending RoundTable debut: "How's your painting coming?"

"I'm not too thrilled with it--not even sure if I'll show it--I mean, try to sell it. But I've got a great new idea for a painting that I can't wait to start working on--in fact I thought I might start sketching ideas after I get back in. That is, if I'm not too tipsy," she giggles.

A lot going on there; most noticeably that she cut herself off rather abruptly there, which she usually doesn't do. She usually speaks so assuredly. I wonder what 'show it' means?

If she cares to tell me what that all means, reckon she will.

Cassandra smacks her lips together, as if to christen her newly painted lips, a sign that she is ready to roll.

In one move, she rises from her seat in front of the mirror, moves towards me, plants a kiss on my cheeks and saunters out the bedroom as she tells me, "Have fun with your thing..."

Hear the door close behind her seconds later. Always amazes me how she's able to get out the house so fast, I always fidget and fuss having to do this and that for what seems like a couple hours any time I try to venture outdoors. Maybe a reason I don't do it all that often.

It's just as well Cassandra's gone, she was only distracting me from concentrating on what I'd like to accomplish during the RoundTable session.

Though I shouldn't be so rigid about it, shouldn't have too many expectations. Let the experience come to me, as it were.

Clock strikes eight o'clock, the appointed hour I asked all Wheelers to gather in the living room.

Don't care for the 'punch in at the proper time on the clock' approach, but the only way it's going to work if everyone shows up at the same time and participates in this from the get-go.

Two minutes to eight and still sitting on the edge of the bed. Sitting too tightly; can feel the circulation cutting off in my thighs.

Push all thought from my mind allowing me to push myself up from the bed, out of the room and down the hallway towards the room that awaits transformation.

Pick up the buzz of conversation halfway down the hall, sounds pretty crowded, about as crowded as I've ever heard it, which is a good sign

In fact, the gang's all here--oh, except for--

"Hello Ben," Dita says.

He's right behind me. At 7:59.

"Not late for once, eh Chan?" I chide him

"Doesn't look like too much going on though, boss," Ben zings me back.

"Actually, you're just in time to help bring the table into the room."

"Table, what table?"

"Gina and Doc will be g;ad to show you...Gina...Doc...?"

Catch both their attention and they lead Ben back to the storage area

While they do that, I work on clearing out the room and telling the others to each grab a chair either from here in the living room, from their respective rooms, someone else's room, or even next door--whatever they're going to be most comfortable sitting in through this meeting, because distractions need to be minimized, if not outright eliminated.

When everyone has her/his chair, bunch them up in the hallway, giving Ben/Anna/Doc plenty of space to maneuver and they twist and turn the RoundTable to fit.

"I know it's going to fit," I turn back to the hallway to assure the others, some wearing etched skepticism, "I was here in this room when it was originally put in, so I know it's going to fit."

For some reason, three people trying to properly situation the RoubdTable in the room is a lot more problematic than two people trying to do it, but after considerable consternation, they manage to place the RoundTable in a spot that allows for the placement of all ten--make that all nine--chairs.

Another advantage to Cassandra's absence is that it provides us with a bit more breathing space--and air in general, which is probably at a premium, or will be once we get rolling.

Uh oh. This is what I feared. People looking to me for some kind of guidance as to what to do next--and I will provide some, but not as far as to tell them where to sit

Answer them with a sweeping gesture, "Anywhere you like"

Though my mind's racing on several different tracks simultaneously, still free one track to observe the coupling going on; Anna and Doc sit next to each other, as do Eliza and Gina, a sign both couples are still hitting it off.

Ben and Palmer enjoy shooting the shit since they moved in so they naturally sit together, debating vehemently which is the best of the Fiji Islands, Viti Levu or Vanua Levu.

That leaves only Dita Simon and I. If I'm picking up on this right, and I usually am, she actually seems interested in the geek. Is it possible?

Course, he's having none of it, looking my way like a stray puppy. Wanna help the lad out, but also don't want to deny Dita her shot at seducing the virginal professor. But he's standing in such a way as to cut her off from sitting near him; Dita's only option would be to go around Simon and I and sit on the other side of me to sit in what would be the only remaining chair

Find a quick solution by merely moving 'down' one chair, allowing Simon to sit next to me, yet Dita can slip in next to him, which she does eagerly, flashing me a wink in the process.

So she is interested. Interesting.

Also interesting that it didn't take long for intimate relationships to develop. Frankly, they may have developed faster than I would care for, but then it's not about me controlling our progress. It's about us progressing.

Still, this was all my idea, so I have to introduce the concept. Once all are situated, I begin,

"Hello. First, thanks for all being here at the chosen hour--especially you Ben."

Ben gets a round of faux applause from his fellow Wheelers and he clasps his hands together, shaking them beside each of his ears in response.

"I had the option of introducing the concept of the RoundTable at which we are all now seated at one of our usual meetings, but I thought it'd have more impact if we all just experienced it together as I visualized it.

"The essential purpose of the RoundTable is to render us all equal, no one member is above another, not even I, and the circle we all sit at is a fitting continuation of our Wheel symbol."

"Where's Cassandra? Doesn't she want to be equal?" Gina asks. Eliza gives Gina a look like she shouldn't be so direct.

"She had to go out--a very rich European client wanted to take one last look at some of her paintings before he flew out of San Francisco. This was her last chance to make a big score."

I lied. I lied for Cassandra because I'm too embarrassed to tell the rest of the cult that she doesn't want to be a part of our reindeer games.

But I'm not going to lie forever about this. Eventually Cassandra's feelings and rational thoughts about being a part of FireWheel are going to be confronted.

But now is not that time.

"So we'll just have to continue on as we would if any one of you couldn't make it. The FireWheel will always keep rolling, and you can jump back on any time you like."

That seems to reassure most and fits the open-ended spirit of our endeavor. Didn't want any of them to think the success of this meeting--or gawd forbid, this cult--is dependent on Cassandra's involvement in and of itself or because she happens to be my girlfriend.

At least, I think she's my girlfriend.

But I digress...

"The RoundTable symbolizes our uniqueness; we're not just a bunch of people living together sitting around shooting the shit about how our weekends went.

"But at the same time we don't want to get all corny and pretentious and make this like some game of Dungeons & Dragons gone terribly wrong."

Some of us don't get that reference; if they want footnotes, they can approach me later--same goes for me if I want footnotes from any of them.

"Ultimately the RoundTable is where all of us can air cult business and concerns, out in the open, in front of everyone else, with everyone at the same level."

"Except those of us who are missing," Gina is quick to point out.

"Yep, and that's why it's important for every Wheeler to be at every RoundTable meeting, but if you miss one or two here or there, the rest of us will keep each other in the loop."

Pause to 'read the room' as it were; trying to gauge how comfortable each of us are with the RoundTable...

But not about to leave it solely up to my subjective impressions

As them all at once: "So how do you feel about this arrangement?"

Tribute to their general politeness; everyone looks across at everyone else, not wanting to step on the other.

"Well, somebody speak," I admonish, only half-kidding; time to get this show on the road.

"How long will the meetings last?" Ben asks, always concerned about time.

"As long--or as short as they need to last."

"How often will we have these meetings?" Eliza asks, maybe concerned with how much she'll have to share Gina with the others.

"As often as they're needed."

"Meaning?" Anna follows up.

"Meaning if any one of us want to call a RoundTable Meeting, then by all means, call a Meeting. Obviously, the more members you want to attend, then the more likely you'll have to schedule a meeting for the best day and time that the maximum amount of Wheelers can make it. The point of the RoundTable is for everyone to be at every meeting--but that's not humanly possible and not something I or anyone else is about to enforce, so let's all make the best effort to hold RoundTable sessions when we can all be here. We're only as strong as our weakest link, without getting too dramatic."

Anna shoots me a look, as if to suggest my girl, Cassandra is that 'weakest link'

Ignore it (and feel guilty about ignoring it) as I turn to Eliza, who gratefully asks, "How do we go about calling for a RoundTable meeting?"

That stumps me. "There is no formal method--"

"I was thinking we could use some sort of communal chalkboard in the kitchen or something--a way to leave messages," Palmer suggests innocuously enough.

"That's not bad, Palmer, anyone have access to a chalkboard?--funds are kind of tight."

Sure, all I have to do is make a call--or just have a thought, really--that we--I--want a chalkboard, and Ms. Cabal will have one delivered on a silk pillow by late afternoon.

But I don't want Ms. Cabal handing us everything--as I sure as hell don't want all these people becoming dependent on Ms. Cabal like that; for while she could provide for them, it's better to rely on our own resources, and from each of us, so we become even more integrated and enmeshed as a cult. Where the whole is greater than the sum of our parts. A true gestalt.

"So what is the topic for this RoundTable meeting?" Doc inquires.

"You just heard it--this was the RoundTable meeting with the purpose of introducing the RoundTable..."

Pause for a moment, no one says anything, and they seem to be waiting for me to continue. Decide the time is right to bring up the only topic I feared bringing up, but it's the most crucial thing I'll say today.

"But FireWheel isn't an monarchy--the RoundTable can only exist if you all want it. Do any of you not want it? Maybe there's something better I haven't thought of."

No one raises a hand in objection--but Dita raises a hand to question

"Azz long as ve're herr, kann I raize a subjekt? Dita asks

Without hesitation, I respond with a playful bow, "The Table is yours my dear..."

"I vass vondering iv ve kood haff zum kind ov kommunal dinnerz; at leest onze a veekp it vould kutt donn on kleening und kooking vorr zo mannee imdeevijuul meelz. Im addiizion, zuch kommunull meelz kood zerve tu bareeng uz klozer azz a kult."

"No problem, as long as you're cooking," I sanp back, drawing some laughs. Shoot a quick glance at Dita to make sure I didn't hurt her feelings. I didn't.

"Are we going to keep minutes or anything like that?" Ben asks

"No, this isn't the Moose Lodge. But you just gave me an idea--why not tape our meetings, at least audio? That way we'll have an archive of our meetings, a way to record and chart our progress as a communal group, as Dita put it."

Ben nods casually, "I can do that."

"Do you want to be the FireWheel archivist?" I ask Ben

"Sure, why not?" he agrees with an even more casual shrug of the shoulders.

"Wait, Darwin," Palmer protests, "is it up to you to appoint everyone--or anyone? What if I want to be the archivist?"

"Then do it with Ben, or keep your own archives. Anyone can do anything they want; you don't need my approval.

Normally I'd be ticked at Palmer, but he has a point, and I don't want to come across as a dictator, so better to let him challenge me.

"Same goes for you, Dita," I add, "if you want to start a communal meal, then start it, get everyone on the page to share your vision as it were. But you were right to raise the subject here at the RoundTable, this way everyone already knows about it."

"Except Cassandra," Anna adds bitterly. Obviously Anna resents my girl's absence. Wonder how many other Wheelers feel that way? Maybe I should just come out and ask who else feels that way.

"Except Cassandra," I repeat. "I'll be sure to tell her."
END OF SECTION

BEN GREETS ME ON STEPS, SCOPING OUT AREA FOR POTENTIAL CLOSED CIRCUIT TV SECURITY SYSTEM
One afternoon, venturing back home after a rare afternoon out. Would like to be one of those 'normal people' and say it was a prolonged case of cabin fever--some primordial need to be out and about among the people and the world at large--that drove me to the streets and sidewalks of the Upper Haight, but alas, 'twas mere necessity.

Completely ran out of food, and though we informally share most things at FireWheel, being a vegetarian my choices are limited; being a bit of a picky vegetarian only decreases the available options.

So hit up on the mostly organic, mainly vegetarian mini-market on Haight St. proper, picking up a couple things for Eliza while I was there, dodging a gaggle of pseudo-rastafarians in the process. She works from home a lot, but wasn't feeling well so didn't make her usual jaunt through the Haight, Castro and wherever else her 4x4 takes her.

Bit surprised to find Ben on the front porch, scoping out the scene as it were.

"Hey" I say.

He turns, surprised to find someone snuck up on him, obviously he had been concentrating so intently, he was oblivious to all else.

"Oh, hey Darwin. I was just seeing where would be the optimum location for a closed-circuit security camera."

"Really think that's necessary?"

"After what happened to you in Colorado, I'd think you'd deem it necessary before anyone else."

Merely shrug, but that doesn't seem good enough for Ben--and he comes straight with me: "Look, when it's just you, or you and your lady living here, whatever chances you wanna take, that's fine. But when you've got eight other people living here, it seems like your security concerns have to elevate just slightly."

Know he's being sarcastic, and it stings a bit, but hold back because his words are as valid as they are sardonic

"Let's discuss it at the next RoundTable--but I have no objections, Ben, just so you know. It's just I don't think anyone really knows or cares that I'm living here. I'm not on lecture circuit anymore. But the safety of everyone living here shouldn't be jeopardized in any way, you're right about that."

"Like you said, RoundTable," Ben concurs, "I'm just doing a preliminary assessment."

"Assess away," I encourage, stepping past him to get the groceries into the fridge before some of them start melting on others.

Walking down the narrow hallway towards the kitchen, try to shake the sense that a closed-circuit security camera would be a bad thing, a violation of I -don't-know-what, but since I can't really come up with any rational, or semi-rational reason for objecting, decide I won't be doing it anytime soon.

Laying on my bed, not sleeping, not even napping, but alternating my attention between watching Cassandra paint and staring up at the ceiling, thinking about nothing in particular and a thousand things all at once.

Since I don't have a job like the others, can spend all my spare time thinking about the cult...though there's not to much to think about, at least when it comes to worrying. Everything seems to be running smoothly; though how it's that much different than a group of people just living together here like in all these other flats in the Haight.

But there are always considerations...like for instance, do we want to stay here in a flat like this in the Haight? Already some have suggested we seek bigger digs out in the Sunset district. Living by the ocean would be quite the extreme after living downtown for so many years.

It's going to be the subject of an upcoming RoundTable Meeting. Only thing is, I'm waiting to hear from Ms. Cabal on the matter. We haven't spoken since everyone moved in here and the cult was founded, and I'm sure she would have something to say on teh subject of us moving.

Of course, she's already aware we're considering it by virtue of some Wheelers having thought--and then spoken on the matter.

The moment an idea is manifest in a given individual's consciousness, she is aware of that idea.

There is no hiding from her. There is just patience.

Patience I manifest by staring at the ceiling.

But can't shake the feeling someone or something is outside our door. Well, better be a someone and not a something. Cassandra is oblivious to it, enraptured in her brush work.

It's almost a supernatural or psychic pickup on my part, but it's not Ms. Cabal.

Only way to settle it is to go to the door--swing it wide open, to find Simon pacing in a fog.

That's not like him in the least--he's quiet as a church mouse and completely unassuming, but he's always purposeful; knows where he's going and when he needs to be there and what he's going to do when he gets there.

Still, play it cool so not to increase his anxiety: "Simon...what's up?"

"There's something I can't deal with and I need your help..."

"Sure buddy...anything, I'm here for you..."

"Is there somewhere we can go and talk...?" he asks.

Gesture back to my bedroom: "We can go in there, Cassandra's painting but she's in her own world, she won't even hear what we're talking about."

"No-no-no! I really need to discuss this in private."

"What about your room?"

"No, Doc's in there napping. He usually naps around this time of day, even Anna doesn't disturb him at this time of day."

"Every other room is pretty much open and subject to someone--anyone--walking in at any time. Except..."

"Yes?"

Two minutes later, we're in the bathroom with the door locked and the fan on, the noise providing additional cover."

"Okay Simon, what is it that requires the clandestine approach?"

"It's not something I'm comfortable speaking about...because I don't have a lot of experience speaking about it...I'm not sure if you noticed or not, but Dita Weiss has shown an interest--a romantic interest in me."

It's all I can do to hold a smile inside; I knew since that first Round Table meeting that Dita was interested in Simon's booty; it's just the way he puts it is so clinical, like he's analyzing how effective boron is as a dopant.

But have to offer him advice, something he can grab onto, something to guide him through these uncharted waters.

Ask flatly: "Never mind what she thinks--how do you feel about her?"

"I...like her."

Though it felt like Simon had to stick his hand down a deep dark well to extract that emotion, that feeling, can sense it was entirely genuine. He does indeed care for Dita. Or at the very least, he wants to boink her. Can't blame him for either choice. Or both, which is more likely the case.

"If you like her, then that's all that matters. She likes you, so you just have to let nature take its course."

Egad, sound like somebody's father in the 1950's. Where my pipe and tweed jacket?

And it's not good enough to boot: "That's just it, Darwin, I don't know how to let nature take its course--not when it comes to these sorts of things."

"Just let her know you like her and she'll lead--if that works for you."

"How do I let her know I like her?"

"You're even too shy for that, huh?"

Simon looks away, providing confirmation.

Don't speak, don't respond, wait for him to look back up and at me, then catch his eye and say: "Thing is, women--all women--or most women--even strong women--like to be pursued by the man. You have to show an interest in them--that you want them."

"How do I do that?"

Have to hold back another grin; here is one of the smartest men on the planet asking me for simple dating advice. Or pre-dating in this case.

"Since you live with her, it shouldn't be too hard Simon. But if you're shy, just talk about science, physics--your research--and she'll follow the lead, because she does like you and she knows how you are, and she'll make the extra effort to build a relationship between you two."

"You really think so?" Simon asks earnestly.

"I guarantee it buddy."

As much as its possible, Simon relaxes a tad and cracks a semblance of a half-smile.

But...doesn't take long for a whole new set of anxieties arises in Simon's forever ascending analytical mind, and it takes even less time for him to ask:

"When should I talk to her? Is there a day of the week or a time of day that you would think would be best to speak to her?"

"jesus, Simon, I don't know..."

Oh no, that's not good enough. He wants an answer.

"Fine. Thursday at 9 pm."

Completely made it up, but it works for Simon as he jots that down into his micro-computer he carries with him at all times, even to the bathroom. Wonder if he'll bring it bed with Dita if he gets that far?

But of course, that's not enough info for Simon to process; oh no, he's just begun:
"And what about--"

But I cut him off before I get steamrolled: "No Simon--we already agreed on a suitable topic for you to initiate discussion with Dita. And we've decided on a time/date to initiate said discussion."

Pause to take a breath and Simon seizes it to ask a question that I had even considered: "How do I know she'll be here Thursday at nine PM?"

Proud of how quickly I shoot back: "I'll make sure of it."

Great, something else to do.

END OF SCENE/END OF ENTRY?

DITA SEDUCING SIMON IS END OF GESTALT

Entry XLII--Anna, Ben, Eliza, Doc, Dita, Palmer, Gina, Simon, Cassandra and IALPHABETIZE

2008-11-13T23:35:00.000-08:00

Up before the alarm, my excitement for this day to begin is palpable.

Can't say the same for Cassandra, who looks like she just wants to sleep right past this day.

Have to live with it. Got her to let me move in seven more motherfuckers into this place, when it was supposed to be all about us just a few short months ago; can't expect her to fake-smile her way through this.

It'll have to come to her gradual.

And if it doesn't...?

Stick a toothbrush into my mouth and decide I'm not going to ponder that unanswered question any longer.

No point in introducing any negativity--or even uncertainty--into this day.

This historic day, actually.

No sign of Simon either; being Saturday he's likely sleeping in as well. Glad to have the bathroom all to myself as a result...

and this will be the last time it will be so free--tomorrow morning, there will be 10people vying for this john, and have a feeling not all of them are late sleepers.

Though this was all Ms. Cabal's doing, got to admit I'm surging with anticipation over the adventure that having a cult will bring.

That has to override the fact that Cassandra and I never got to fully explore just being a couple--not for very long.

As the hot water hits my face, I know how it would have gone, she would have painted in her room and I would have sat around figuring out what to do with the rest of the life now that I've already written my opus

But now, there is purpose.

Well, at least the purpose of forming the cult.

Not sure what Ms. Cabal has in store for it beyond this--a foundation for a new anti-christian movement, yes, but how in the hell does she intend to pull that off?

When it comes to that, guess I'm just a spectator like everyone else

As I towel myself dry, there's a nagging part of me resenting Ms. Cabal has such sway over my destiny? Yes, but can't deny that I want to be part of a new anti-christian movement.

I mean, what was I going to do, write the definitive book that could launch an anti-christian movement and then just sit on my ass and what, watch satellite TV?

Walk nude through the hallway for probably the last time, back to the bedroom. Cassandra still in her usual morning coma that doesn't relent until early afternoon lately; her painting sessions sometimes skim the surface of the dawn this last month.

And last night--I should say this morning--was perhaps her latest--earliest--session to date; it had to be past seven am when she crawled into bed.

Look over her long luxuriant hair tousled about her face and pillow, appreciating the sacrifice she's making by letting all these strangers move in so suddenly.

Though she wouldn't give up her painting room--so we're going to have to bunch three people in two of the rooms; and the only way it's going to work is with some kind of unisex arrangement, so that should prove interesting.

Just one of the many details that have to be ironed out if we're going to make this thing work. But deciding on who is sleeping where is one of the major ones, and I plan to address it early and often.

Hopefully not too often, providing it can be resolved quickly and with minimal conflict. It'd also serve as a barometer for how we can expect other potentially divisive issues to be meted out--at least in the early stages of the cult; obviously it's going to be an ever-shifting dynamic with so many disparate people, none of whom have ever lived together before.

And in the case of some--like Simon, have never lived with anyone before.

Thinking of him, lean next to his door and listen to hear if he's at least stirring.

Nope, not a peep.

Given how shy he is, can see he's probably not thrilled with so many peeps invading our cozy threesome before he's gotten a chance to get used to the two of us.

But he understands this is leading towards a higher purpose--though it's still going to be a bitch for him sharing a room with others.

Still with time before anyone's scheduled to show, realize I forgot something real important--head back to the living room and check out the 'little surprise' I have for everyone--currently shrouded by cloth, but to be dramatically revealed at the proper moment.

It's almost too quiet--the proverbial calm before the storm. But I hate when things go according to form--it usually means they're not going my way.

And just then, the still is shattered by a loud rapping on the front door...

Dash towards it, as my first concern is that Cassandra and Simon--but more importantly Cassandra--aren't violently woken.

Intuitively, even before I open the door I know it's going to be...

Palmer, with a shit-eating grin too damn wide this early on a Saturday morning. The boy just bleeds optimism.

"Darwin!" His voice as enthused as his smile. Unlike our two established roomies in slumberland, looks like there won't be any issues with Palmer sharing a room.

"Hey, Palmer, glad you could make it." Can't manage to match his enthusiasm, as I still haven't completely shaken the sleep out of my head yet.

We exchange an awkward half-hug and I gesture for him to enter with his worldly possessions; a duffel bag and a couple of boxes. Palmer seems like the type who could live out of his pockets let alone a suitcase; all he needs is his optimism.

After we step inside, lead him down the narrow hallway to a bedroom presently unoccupied and have him toss his stuff in there.

"Just till we can figure out who's going to sleep where."

Palmer nods affirmation as we move to the back of the flat, showing him the living room and the kitchen.

"C'mon, you can help me put out some snacks for the rest of our soon-to-be-roomies," I tell Palmer.

From the cupboards, I pull out a couple bowls and fill them with various fruits, Palmer helps me and asks:

"So, where is everyone?"

Rinse off a cluster of grapes while responding: "It's all pretty casual, there was no set time for anyone to show up really, even though I suggested the earlier the better just because there's so many people and you know people tend to show up later than you tell them too, so I didn't want half of the new people rolling in after dark."

"Makes sense."

"Thanks, Palmer. Sure you don't want me to call you by your first name?"

"Nah, Palmer's fine. Who really gives a shit about what someone's name is, right?"

"Right."

Well, somebody give a big shit about it, but good to see Palmer's ego is defused (or is it diffused?)

We finish dumping the rest of the fruit into the bowls and put them out on the living room coffee table.

WHAT SHOULD PALMER DISCUSS/REVEAL

Our conversation suddenly interrupted(?) by the doorbell ringing for the second time.

Tell Palmer to chill in the living room while I get the door. Walking down the long hallway, debate whether or not I should have had Palmer join me in greeting our latest member, but then that would set a bad precedent and get awfully messy by the time there were nine of us at the door greeting the poor last soul and probably scare the living daylights out of her or him.

Get two for the price of one when an elderly gentleman--has to be Dr. Richards and a sweet faced young lady--but I'm not sure if she's Eliza, Anna or Gina.

My quizzical look prompts her let me know, "I'm Anna. See, you should have insisted that we all sent you pics of us."

"Ah thank you. Greetings Anna, and Dr. Richards."

"Call me Doc--I see you didn't need a picture to identify me."

We share a 'we don't know each other enough yet to take anything negative' laugh over that as I explain, "Corny as it sounds, I didn't want to get all caught up in images--didn't want someone's picture influencing whether or not I'd invite them to join. In the case of Palmer--whom you're both about to meet--I had seen him prior to forming this group, but he was chosen based on our relationship and that I knew he was dedicated to forming such a group.

"Perhaps even more dedicated then I am..."

As if on cue we step into the living room where Palmer had been patient seated, almost in a trance...

But the minute he senses we're in the room, his eyes fly open and he springs to his feet, shaking Anna and Doc's hands most enthusiastically.

Instantly, the room is buzzing and it already feels like something bigger than each of us individually.

Still sleeping through it all are Simon and Cassandra, but that's okay, they'll join us in their own time.

Already this group is more than I could have ever hoped for--so I'm not expecting it to be anything more than it is now.

Doorbell rings again and already know that the group's going to be more than it is now...

Leave Doc, Anna and Palmer to meet and mingle as I head to the door.

Open it to find a vivacious woma that I just know has to be...

"Gina!"

"Darwin!" she screams back, waking more than one neighbor in the process I'm sure and then she hugs me, maybe a bit too friendly.

Not that I mind, despite my devotion to Cassandra, it always feels good to get hugged by a woman.

"It's so great to finally meet you!"

"You too, Gina. Thanks for agreeing to do this; it's nice to have a balance of women and guys."

She loosens the embrace, steps back and looks me dead in the eye: "Well...I hope that you chose me for reasons other than my gender."

Feel put on the spot for the first time today...but then, living with people is not going to be smooth sailing all the time, so might as well get used to it.

Still, she's waiting for some kind of response, so fumble to come up with something, "That's why I didn't ask for pictures."

"Not to worry honey," Gina says, as she saunters inside before I even have to invite her. "I'm just glad to be in this wonderful city--beats the hell out of Fresno, I'll tell you."

Before we even get halfway down the hallway, the doorbell rings violently once again, and we both turn to it

Don't even both telling Gina to wait in the back room, she wants to meet her new roomie right along with me

Open the door to find a slightly older woman standing before the pair of us, sporting spikey blonde hair, collared shirt and blue jeans. Though I've never seen her before, something tells me that it's...

"Eliza" she confirms with a friendly handshake.

She already told me she's lesbian, further confirmed by the way she looks at Gina--not with prison cell lust, but just admiring Gina's pretty facial features

(though I'm sure Gina's curves aren't lost upon her either)

Gina seems embarrassed by the attention, not sure how to respond, but not wanting to be impolite, she smiles and shakes Eliza's hand without saying anything

And just like that, all the vigor has been drained from Gina--at least for now.

DITA ARRIVAL

BEN ARRIVAL: Ben, despite being Asian (Chinese specifically) is easily the tallest of any of us, so much for the 'Asian guys are little & skinny' cliche. Ben looks like he could take out the rest of us with a yawn and a couple of good stretches.

INTRO/SERVE SANDWICHES, CASSANDRA HELPS WITH THAT, BUT THEN VACATES THE ROOM WHICH LEADS TO A HUSHED ARGUMENT BETWEEN THE TWO OF US

With cult members brand new and established alike feast on lemonade and sandwiches, slip out of the room, deciding it's better to stand back for a spell, removing my presence as de facto "leader" (god I hate that word) from the room, while simultaneously (and hopefully) allowing all of them to get to know each other and feel more comfortable with one another.

Cassandra seizes any opportunity to vacate the room where the most people are gathered and she heads back to her painting. Don't have the energy to pull any "Dom" shit on her--and besides, if she doesn't really want to be there, it's for the best, cause she'd just drain the energy from the rest of us.

Don't want to be hanging in the shadows like some creepy big brother, but am not going to the bedroom with Cassandra painting there. Having made her give up her 'studio', have to give her space when she paints.

Stroll dowh the long dark hallway of the flat. We should string a couple lights up--as soon as we figure out which cult member that is both good at that sort of thing and isn't too lazy to actually do it.

Could hang out in the bathroom, but without a function to perform, it doesn't seem to make much sense.

Once at the front door, step out onto the doorway to get some air and think about what I'm going to say to them. Have some notes in my backpocket that I typed up last night, but I don't want to read from some paper. That's just too flipping insincere--like I'm giving another lecture on the book tour, though I will be drawing from memory some of the best things I composed yesterday.

Yeah...the book tour...that could be good to draw upon...

Take a moment organizing the thoughts in my mind while absentmindedly watching an old man with a walker and a heavy sack of groceries struggling to move uphill to his home because he can't afford cab fare and enough food to eat and a young kid on a skateboard flowing effortlessly downhill, almost riding on the wind as he zips past the old man.

And it all becomes crystal clear to me in that one vision...

Take my sweet time moseying down the hall, but when I reach the end living room where all remain gathered, see that I didn't need to--everyone's pretty much finished eating, as chit chat has replaced chowing down.

Last thing I want to do is stomp out these organic conversations progressing between all these new flung friends. Or what we all hope are friends.

Ease myself into the room as quietly as possible, but notice that more and more pair of eyes fall upon me, as if waiting on my cue. Suppose it's only natural, seeing as I'm the reason they are even sitting here in the first place--but my job is to make them realize each one of them is the reason each one of them is here in the first place.

It's not too long before every conversation slows down to a halt and everyone's pretty much looking up at me for the next round of inspiration.

Seizing the moment, start off with: "Guess this as good a time as any to welcome you all here and let you all know a few things--a few important things that I want you to know right off the bat."

Damn, am stumbling over my own tongue here. Can feel my heart racing in my chest, got to come down, compose myself and get this right. Don't want to lose anyone the very first day. (Not that I'm really worried about that)

"First off, let me apologize for my shitty imitation of a public speaker. Yes, even though I've had experience speaking in front of crowds on that book tour I did last year that some of you saw me at--"

Palmer flashes me a beaming smile and I grin back

"But despite all those weeks of experience that culminated in a bookstore being blown up, speaking before all of you is a whole other level--because this isn't some promotional gig to sell more books or even see if a couple aspects of my philosophy resonate with a couple of lecture attendees; no, this is LIFE, every day of the week every minute of the day every second of every minute, and frankly I've never done anything approaching this before so I'm not standing up here claiming to be any sort of expert.

"Don't really know how to say any of this without sounding like a douchebag

"Let me welcome you all to your new home.

"Even though it was my book that brought us all together, it wouldn't be possible without you. Otherwise it'd be just Cassandra and I listening to the echoes. Her echoes--of paintbrush slapping against her canvas. No echoes from me.

That draws a laugh, but it's another chance to curse my exceptional peripheral vision, as I can see Cassandra is taking my last statement with a decidedly different perspective than the rest of the group CASSANDRA IS SUPPOSED TO BE PAINTING NOW

"Choosing the members of this cult was the last decision I'd like to make--at least the last decision I have to make essentially alone.

"I'll still make decisions, but as part of the larger group--and that's part of the experiment here, to see if true individualism can still flourish within the greater grouper dynamic.

"The aim here is to be a self-aware cult; the first cult that celebrates and inspires individuality, instead of suffocating it, like all the other cults have done."

"In the past, people bowed to the institution, like the church, and always placed it above the individual. With the cultural upheaval of the 1960's and beyond, individualism moved to the forefront, unfortunately to the detriment of the culture at large. Individual attainment, rather than greater cultural development, is now de rigueur.

"Our little group intends to integrate the two cultural phenomenon; we'll develop an institution where individual thrives first and foremost."

That notion seems to impress most of them.

For a moment my mind wanders and I wish Ms. Cabal could be here. Because I'm so preoccupied, it takes more than a few seconds until I remember that she is here. She's more here than any of us, actually. She's infused in every atom of being."

Before I get into the heavy stuff, look out into the gathering and decide there's one missing in this collage; Cassandra. Even if I had to drag her kicking and screaming to accept this--though 'gagged' is more appropriate than screaming in this context.

Either way, she should be here, now cloistered in the bedroom like it's still just me and her...much as that's what she wants it to be--and all she wants it to be.

First mistake is entering tentatively, like I don't belong there--like I have no right intruding upon her.

"What do you want, Darwin?" she asks sharply from behind the canvas, not budging in the slightest to look at me

Then really blow it by letting her intimidate enough to make me hesitate, "Uh...I was just...you know, wondering...if you...if you want to sit in on the meeting--you know, I'm about to tell them some very important things and you're a part of this and you should be there. To listen. Even if you don't want to say anything, just so you're there. Make your presence felt."

She's not buying any of it: "I don't want to make my presence felt--I want to paint. This whole thing is your thing, Darwin. My thing is painting. So let me do my thing and you can go do your thing."

Have two choices here. Can really go off and get into it with her or I can back off.

If I get into it--even if we're quiet--I'm going to go back out there to face and interact with all those people and be drained or frazzled or maybe even visibly pissed off, which will give off the wrong vibes right off the bat to my new found friends.

And that's the last thing I want.

Only till I'm headed back down the hall do I realize that the only way that's going to work with her it the Dominant way. But I just don't have the energy to sustain it like Ms. Cabal does--course, she has the energy to sustain anything forever.

I can't be Dominant with her and run around and be myself with all these other people. And if it means Cassandra's not a part of the cult--Firewheel--then so be it.

Firewheel. First time I said it to myself in normal thought like that.

Can't wait to try it out on the rest of the crew.

Not sure whether I should be impressed--or worried--when I find everyone basically waiting attentively and patiently for my return. Might've figured most of 'em would be broken into little cliques and clacks engaged in half-a-dozen conversations about everything except the subject of this meeting--that is, the formation of the cult.

But again, the main priority is maintaining individualism above all else--to be the first cult to transcend its own trappings of rigid conformity.

"Hey, everyone, thanks for waiting. Cassandra won't be joining us for this meeting--she's not feeling well."

Wonder how many times I'll have to use that lie.

No, not going to worry about that now. This isn't about me or her or me and her. It's about them.

It's about these eight optimistic motherfuckers who actually moved from all over the country, from points far and wide to mortgage their present and possibly future lives to experiment with me.

"So...where to begin? So much to say to all of you, but I know I can't possibly cover it all in one little powwow; and wouldn't want to, frankly, because it'd be too much for you to absorb and me to remember.

"The first thing I want to say is that I don't know if this experiment is going to work--but I do know it's going to be the worth the effort"

Bunch of smiles light up in response

"I think we've all had our share of living life the way it's been lived by people for so many years, and we've found it to be less than gratifying and a long way from satisfying.

"That's why we've come together, here, from all across the country. Not to find ourselves--I think most if not all of us know who we are--but to find out where we fit in. Is it here? Is this kind of group dynamic living arrangement? I don't know. Let's find out, shall we?"

Spontaneous applause breaks out and feels like I'm back on lecture circuit for the moment.

During that last spiel, looked at everyone except Gina. She might be the one person here still looking for herself.

Should've looked at her.

"This is yours just as much as it is mine. But since it was my idea, I did name the cult; though the inspiration came from the aforementioned Cassandra..."

Step through the gathering as I make my way, slowly, building the drama, to the back of the living room...

Until I reach the object mounted on the wall behind the faux fireplace covered by a black cloth. Made sure no light was cast upon it, so no attention would be drawn to it, not that I had to be too worried about that, no one noticed it in the least.

All the better, it heightens the drama as I swipe the cloth covering to reveal...

The FireWheel painting

Everyone's impressed, even Palmer as he scoffs, "Ha! I've seen that before!"

"Indeed, Palmer, 'tis the very same painting that I brought with me on my lecture tour. A good luck charm, if you will. And it's such a powerful symbol--so damn fitting for everything my writing--and now this cult--represent.

"Sure you've all heard it before, but this morning, this occasion, is as good a time as any to reiterate the meaning of it--when humans managed to create Fire and manipulate it for their own ends, they transcended some of their need for a god to worship, just a little bit. Then, later, when humans invented the Wheel and applied it to everyday life, they transcended some of their need for a god to worship, just a little bit more.

"Ah, but we still have religion and have ever since ancient times, you say. That's why I say we've just transcended it a little bit

"Here at the Cult FireWheel, we intend to transcend it considerably more than just a 'little bit'

And a collective roar ushers forth, the first time, they've combined their vocal prowess,

But I dare say/reckon it won't be the last..

But something stirs within me, reminding me to keep myself and this group as humble as possible: "Nobody remembers the name of the first person who mastered fire or whoever invented the first functioning wheel. Those names have been lost to history, and maybe what we're doing will be lost to history because it ends up being too damn obscure, but that doesn't matter, it's the progress we're making.

"Many of you are here because you want to get beyond the life most lead where they either do nothing or just engage in drama for drama's sake. There's no progressing towards something different...perhaps not better, but definitely not the same.

"Not to mention the fact the image of a burning wheel is just fucking evocative.

END:

"Hopefully this will be the last speech I'll ever have to give. The rest of you are all obligated to before I have to make another one," I insist with a wink.

"Now comes the part where I make you feel like you just started a new job--with one exception. Yes, you have to stand up before everyone and talk, but you're not required to tell them anything--not even your name, I'll do that for you."

Most laugh at that, but I can tell Simon is not thrilled with the prospect of public speaking, he's looking up, down, sideways, anywhere but in my direction.

And that's precisely why...

"Simon, why don't you go first"

Terror strikes Simon Miller--his eyes spike wider than the Seven Seas combined, like someone jammed the two Mastodon toothpicks in between each set of his lids.

Not sure how he manages to get up without fainting, but he does and moves slowly towards me...

Lean in quickly, drawing Simon close to me as I whisper assurance, "Sorry to put you on the firing line like this buddy, but I chose you first so you could get it out of the way and not have to sit their and sweat it out waiting for it to be 'your turn'

"If you can't think of anything to say, just tell them what you're doing in Berkeley. It's the only thing you think about, right?"

With most people, I'd be kidding, but not with Simon.

The simple logic of it all appeals instantly to Simon and he flashes me a warm smile of gratitude...

...which quickly vanishes when I sit down, redering him a solo act.

"Hi...I don't have much to say...if you couldn't tell, I'm not much of a public speaker>'

Yes, we know that, Simon, oh lord, how we know that!

Wish I could have handed him a microphone, his voice is so low--plus it seem like if he could hold something, it might help his concentration or something.

"I've already been living here--my bedroom is the one nearest the bathroom. I suppose I'll be sharing it with one of you starting tonight. Darwin did not explain the procedure for selecting roommates."

Simon's robotic tone and raw-gut honestly draws a few laughs from some of the ladies.

Perhaps Simon won't be as unpopular as he initially feared...

"I can tell you all you need to know about me in a single sentence: My life's work is to create a completely indestructible yet completely malleable substance, the likes of which the world has never seen."

With that, Simon promptly sits back down exactly where he was sitting, leaving more than a couple of the group exasperated, or at least, wanting more

Anna even gestures like she's raising her hand, but I quickly put the kibosh on that:

"This isn't a press conference; anybody can say as much--or as little--as they want and that's that; if any of you want to ask anyone else a question, do it one-on-one in private."

Almost regret the authority in my voice, but I do get a little protective around Simon; wonder if I'll end up feeling that way about any of the others?

I imagine so...

INCLUDE DESCRIPT OF THEIR VOICES

"Guess I should make this boy-girl-boy-girl," I muse out loud, "so...Anna, you're up next."

Guilt-free choice; can see right off the bat that Anna has no problems speaking in public, as evidenced by how freely the words flow from her mouth

"Hey y'all, I'm Anna Belmont. I'm from Fremont, Nebraska--and I believe y'all have a Fremont out here too if I'm not mistaken--"

I nod affirmation

"Thank you, Darwin, I didn't want to confuse anyone in thinking I was from right around the corner. San Francisco is a different world, but that's what I wanted, because the world I was living in, back in Fremont--Nebraska--wasn't very much of a world at all.

"I'm sure like most of you, I read Darwin's book and that showed me there is more out there than just what the little isolated world that surrounds you has to offer.

"I don't know how much any of you are involved in the struggle for a woman's right to choose. I was thinking--okay, I was hoping, that at least a couple of you are up on it, considering what Darwin stands for and what he's written about. Another reason I'm here, frankly.

"Fremont, unfortunately, is the home to State Senator Nick Fuller; he's the asshole--pardon my French--who passed the legislation requiring each woman to have a ultrasound of the fetus before they have the abortion, and then forcing the woman to look at the ultrasound image of the fetus."

Can see the disgust registered in my new roomies; once again providing confirmation I made the right selections.

She is the opposite of Simon--she's not holding anything back, but I'm not about to cut her off, didn't say how much--or how little anyone had to say.

This experience is going to teach me patience if nothing else.

"So I think y'all are already getting an idea of why I didn't fit in too well with Fremont, Nebraska."

Chuckles fill the room, only bolstering Anna's confidence to open up further

"I didn't want to be around people where I had to pretend--I wasn't going to pretend.

She smiles upon her new-found friends.

"I don't have to pretend around you."

"So I didn't want to pretend and I didn't want to live in a place that was so restrictive about women's rights."

Her eyes drift to me to accentuate her , "And when Darwin wrote me that he was looking for people to move into this big ol' Victorian of his, I would have been crazy not to jump at the opportunity, you know? So here I am!"

It'd be hard to bridle her enthusiasm; Anna Belmont will ensure that it'll never get too cynical 'round these parts.

"But enough politics--what do you want to know about me personally? I am single and probably ready to mingle as they say--"

Palmer & Ben let out simultaneous whoops at the prospect; Doc is too dignified and Simon too shy.

Anna continues: "I'm a voracious reader--though I probably would have read Darwin's book even if I wasn't. If any of y'all have any spare books you can lend me, feel free to do so, I'm always looking to read something. So that means whoever gets unlucky enough to room with me will have to put up with my nightlight."

A couple groans scattered amongst the laughs, guess we know who Anna won't be bunking with come nightfall.

Speaking of which, that's another things we have to come up with by the time this session is adjourned, but all in due time...

Thinking about Palmer next--but he'll ratchet the flamboyancy a bit too high following Anna, so I opt for Ben Chan, computer nerd, meaning he's a genius in ways I could never hope to be.

Ben's easy-going about everything in life and shows it to everyone here straight away by his nonchalant manner of getting to his feet and finally standing semi-slouched before his new cohabitants.

"Hey...I'm Ben. I'm a programmer, so if, uh, anyone has any computer problems, you can just ask me and I can probably help you."

He suddenly turns to me, "Do you have plans to implement a network in this house?"

Scratch my head only partially for effect and mutter, "You might want to wait till I'm awake a few hours before asking me such technical questions. I haven't even thought of it, Ben, to be perfectly honest with you, and you should know there's nothing more perfect than my honesty."

Think he gets it as he cracks a half-smile.

Then Ben surveys the room and for the first time, really looks at the rest of us, and loosens up a bit.

"You're probably wondering what this big Asian guy--Chinese to be exact--is doing here living in this anti-Christian commune with the rest of you? That's because I wasn't raised Buddhist or Socialist or anything like that; I was actually raised Christian, in Mountain View, which is a suburb of San Fran, about 30 minutes or so south of here, though outside of going to a concert, I can't really think of any reason for going there, kind of like Anna--is that right?__was saying. Sorry if I forget some of your names for the first couple of days--or weeks, while I'm still getting to know everyone.

"See I've lived with my family my whole life up until now so those are the only names I've ever really had to know, outside of a few friends here and there.

"But I was always the 'black sheep' of the family when it came to religion. My father is the type who expects every member of the family to be sitting in the church pews on time Sunday morning for the 10 am mass. He's like that, and my Mom is pretty much the same way. Same goes for my brothers and sisters.

"But I never really bought into it. Guess because I'm so into science; I mean I'm no Simon over here--"

Ben gestures towards Simon who blushes in response at the attention. Ben will soon learn--they'll all soon learn just how much Simon hates attention.

Ben continues: "As I was saying, I'm all about science, at least as a layman, but I do know computers. and the logic of computers has always appealed to me. I never found that same logic in Christianity, not even close. How exactly does believing in Jesus grant me forgiveness of sins I've committed? When you break it down--like Darwin does so well--you see that the things Christianity wants you to believe in doesn't really hold up to any serious scrutiny.

"They just want you to take it on faith--like my parents. So you can see thinking I do, it wasn't really going to work with them, but I didn't know where to go. The thought of living on my own was too scary. When I started email correspondence with Darwin, and just casually asked him if he knew anyone looking for a roommate, never would've thought in a million years that he would've invited me to live here with him--and all of you."

Sweet way to end it by Ben as he spreads his arms out wide to sort of symbolize how he's considering all of them--us--to be part of his life now. Or something like that.

Scan the room and decide it's Eliza's turn to bat. Could have just as easily chosen Dita, but don't want Eliza to feel like she's being shortchanged because she's a lesbian. Probably something Eliza doesn't even care about, and I'm probably unnecessarily overcompensating, but that's the kind of thing I'm going to have to learn living with all different kinds of people.

Hell, living with people. Cassandra doesn't count; I've lived with women before, that's a whole other dynamic than sharing a house with nine others, having never met six of them before today.

Eliza's sexuality is expressed in her choice of clothing; men's corduroy pants, collared shirt, black work boots, her hair swept to one side, short, not 'styled' in the least.

Funny, didn't analyze the fashion choices of any of the others. Going to take some time

"Like most of you, I'm an outcast in a way--but what lead me here might be the exact opposite of why most if not all of you are here. Religion, Christianity, is a part of what makes me an outcast, but not because of my view towards it, but rather because of its views towards me.

"If you haven't already guessed, I'm lesbian, have been all my life, or at least as long as I've been expressing my sexuality. See, I'm from a small town, make that a conservative small town in New Hampshire called Windham. Lots of money there, but not much tolerance.

"Put it this way, their town motto is "Guided by Timeless Values"

"I can relate--I heard 'values' a lot too growing up in Nebraska," Anna interjects (some would say interrupts, but I'm striving towards harmony here on our inaugural day)

"Nebraska is probably a lot like New Hampshire--except your Midwestern sincerity is replaced by our East Coast snobbery," Eliza retorts deferentially.

"At least the average IQ in your hometown was above 68 I'm guessing" Anna shoot backs, and can see the rest of us are enjoying their interplay.

Wonder if Eliza has her eyes on the cute-as-a-button Anna Belmont?

Oops there I go having those thoughts I really shouldn't be indulging in; at least not during our inaugural day.

"I got tired of being told that it wasn't acceptable to be lesbian and the 'once I got out of high school' I had better change. The school wouldn't let me bring my girlfriend to my senior prom. Then I got tired of being told I'd better stop being lesbian 'once I got out of college'

"But of course, I'm still lesbian--couldn't change it if I wanted to, which I don't. I'm romantically and sexually attracted to women, it's as simple as that.
Once I got out of college I was able to be self-sufficient; I'm a graphic designer, so I was able to leave my family behind, even though it meant being disowned and giving up lots and lots of money..."

Can see Gina's eyes light up from all the way across the room

"I wanted to get away from the East Coast, so New York was never really an option. San Francisco was just what I was looking for in a place to live and being 3,000 miles away from home sealed the deal. And I've been here ever since.

"And ever since I"ve been here, I've taken advantage of the alternative lifestyles San Francisco has tooffer in spades; and I don't just mean lesbian lifestyle, I mean like ploysexual households, communes, things like that. And now, what darwin is offering us here. I recently broke up with a long-time girfriend and let her have the apratment, so the time was ripe for a fresh start."

"I know all about needing a fresh start," Gina volunteers, somewhat self-consciously and her eye catches Eliza's.

Hate to do this to Doc, who looks so damn comfortable reclining in his chair, but I call him for his turn to stand up before us. He has a little trouble getting to his feet and Anna helps him up.

Amused I called it 'his chair' when Doc just arrived here not more than a couple hours ago. But he's just made it 'his chair', even in this short time.

Doc's voice is a little gruff at first and he clears his throat with a sip or two of water before really getting start on his monologue, "I've always been a freethinker, suppose I've had to be in this culture being an abortionist.

"What most appealed to me about Darwin's book was the 'Moral Imperative for Abortion' essay, or that section of a larger essay, I can't recall which at this point."

"Uh oh, you just lost points for not knowing that, Doc," Palmer chides, "we're all big Darwin Grimm fans here!"

Doc cracks what I can see is going to be the first of many characteristic wide, sweet smiles. His voice is soft-spoken, MORE "Before any of you ask, I am 66 years old, and I realize that easily makes me the oldest member of our little assemblage.

"Like some of you, I too was at a crossroads in my life. You see, I lost my wife of 42 years just last year. I know most of you haven't even been alive 42 years, let alone been married that long, so let me tell you that if you ever are fortunate enough to be married to someone for that long a time that you do become like one person with your partner. And when one of the partner dies, that one person doesn't really exist anymore, it's more like a ghost walking around looking to fill the void with its presence."

Doc's pretty damn eloquent, he's even melting my cold cruel heart a bit.

"I am only semi-retired, so I still have my practice and my patients to fulfill me with s sense of purpose, at least on the professional level. But on the personal level, as I said, there was something missing.

"Something that was not going to be fulfilled on my own. I had a great big empty house in Marin that I tried filling up with furniture and nick-knacks after Rebecca died. That's why I jumped at the chance to come here and stay among all you young creative vital people.

"It's not many senior folks like myself who get a chance to have a new life at such an advanced age and I intend to take advantage of it."

Maybe it is because he's the oldest member, but that last comment gets Doc a big round of applause, even from Simon. Always encouraging to see Simon get engaged on a social level to any degree.

Dita's shock of blonde hair shines brighter when I choose her to speak next. She apologizes for her thick German accent, but it's not necessary.

"I haff alvays been a beeg reader ov Nietzsche; I alvays velt as dough he vaz der reel spirit ov Deutschland, a spirit dat haff been pervurted doo many dimez; by der Kaiser, by Hitler, den by a gover-nment und itz kolleckzion of Kirchensteuer--"

Think we've all done a pretty good job following Dita so far, but that word leaves most of the room befuddled.

Dita is only confused by our confusion for a scant moment, then realizes her faux pas, "Oh! I am zorry, I failud to tranzlate--Kirchensteuer meanz 'church tax'--die mayjor religeeons ov Deutschland are vunded by der gover-ment Eff you dink separazion ov kurch und stadt iz joke in dis kuntree, you shuld zee it in Deutschland!"

Couple of us flash wide eyes, trying to imagine how separation of church and state could be more of a joke anywhere else than right here in the land that allegedly originated the concept.

"Dat iz part ov die reazon I choose Amerika to live afder I graduated Univericity im Dresden, I made decision I had rilly had enuff of Deutschland and iff I vas ever to find the freedom I vanted, I vould have to come to Amerika at leest to try!

"Zo here I am, and I am still searching and when I read Darvin's vonderful book, of course he reminded me ov Nietaxsche in zo zo meeny vways, dat I had to take him up on his offer of starting a new kind of kultur here in dis haus."

Notice Simon staring intently at Dita as she speaks. Wonder if he's attracted to her? Wonder if it's possible for him to be attracted to any woman or is it just nanotubes that get him hard?

My choices are easy now, last male, Palmer, which was intentional. Since I targeted Gina to go last, wanted to juxtapose the bombast of Palmer before her and whatever she's planning to share about her life.

Tap Palmer on the shoulder signalling him his turn his next and he's genuinely surprised it's his turn to speak.

One thing that's annoying about Palmer, he makes a big deal about everything, nothing is smooth with him. He's a frenetic, frantic ball of energy that hopefully is goinog to work with a group of people I perceive to be generally laid-back, if not downright anti-social in the case of Simon.

Still, it's too early to cast judgments--that's what christians do, and I'm not about to fall into that trap. Palmer's enthusiasm is what got him chosen to live here, so have to realize that enthsiasm is going to present itself in different ways, not every one of which I'm going to care for all the time, but just have to deal with them all.

But once Palmer realizes it's his turn at bat, he relishes the opportunity to shine,

"I've lived all over the place--even in some other countries, but I was born in Colorado, Loveland to be precise, though I wouldn't exactly call it a 'land of love'!"

Not everyone finds his comment too funny; a few polite laughs are dispensed.

Undaunted, as he responds to most reactions to his actions, Palmer presses on: "I don't know how many of you got into the whole anti-Christian thing after reading Darwin's book but I've been into it for most of my life. I went to a Christian high school in Texas and I got them to abolish school prayer.

"I've fought with Missionaries in other countries who were trying to withhold medical supplies and food from indigenous people who refused to give up their native belief systems, you know mysticism and stuff like that. I'm not saying I subscribe to their beliefs, but what the Missionaries were doing wasn't right, I'm sure you will agree."

"Did you actually get the Missionaries to give the food without the preaching?" Anna asks, genuinely enthralled by Palmer's tale.

"Sometimes I did, sometimes I didn't," Palmer answers vaguely. Boy loves to spin the yarn; can't help but wonder how much of that yarn is synthetic...?"

"As you can tell, I always wanted to be part of something bigger than myself--why else take on the biggest institution of them all--Christianity?

"And I'll admit, it's not as easy battle, and I'll even admit that for a time my enthusiasm on the subject had waned. That's not easy to admit, but I'll do it here, in front of all of you, my new friends and roommates. But it's true, my interest had diminished because I lacked inspiration and was having trouble generating it from within during this time.

"And then, I came across Darwin's book and that changed everything, as it did for many of you, I'm sure. Darwin's writing brought everything into crystal-clear focus for me, it renewed all those old interests, stirred my passions for taking Christianity by the balls--forgive me ladies, just wanted to emphasize the patriarchal nature of everybody's favorite religion."

Palmer certainly has the gift o' gab. Should have sent him on the lecture tour instead of me; he probably knows the Bye Bull better than I do.

"I was so into Darwin and his book, I followed him on his book tour, from city to city. And let me tell you, for those of you that don't know about all the crazy shit that went down on that book tour, you should ask Darwin to pop some popcorn and gather all the kiddies around and tell you all about it. But make sure you invite me, because I want to hear them all again!"

As various members eyes light up in anticipation over such swashbuckling tales to come, can't help but realize how much Palmer is like me, but a loose wire version. He doesn't have my control, but I lack his charisma and social sensibilities. Morph the two of us together into one fully realized human being, and you might have something there.

"But I don't want any of you getting the wrong impression I'm some kind of sycophant. No sirree, Darwin wouldn't have me here if I was. He wouldn't have any of you here if you were sycophants, either. That's not what Darwin is looking for and that's not what any of us are looking for. He's not a leader, and we're not followers. That's why I share his vision of the 'self-aware cult' A cult not dedicated to shrouding its members in some complex false religious or spiritual system, but a group fully prepared to expose those things that have plagued cults and society at large since the dawn of organized religion.

"I look forward to sharing this journey with each and every one of you."

And as Palmer receives a fair share of applause as he takes his seat, can't help but thinking he'd make quite the politician--if a wild-eyed, uncombed blonde hair anti-Christian too much energy whackjob could ever get elected to office.

Turn to Gina, the only Wheeler left who hasn't spoken, for what promises to be the most emotional of these intro's.

Despite Gina's outgoing nature, can sense her anxiety at having to share the recent emotional tumult in her life. Not that she has to share it, it's up to her. She can make it as short as Simon if she wants.

Somehow don't think she will...

"Hi everybody. I'm Gina Starkweather. I know, the last name is a mouthful, lucky my first name is short. Actually, it might not be 'Starkweather' for too much longer. See, I'm separated from my husband right now, he's down in ORANGE COUNTY...with my kids...my babies. My two daughters, Samantha and Laura, Samantha's the oldest, Laura's the youngest. And my son, Jake, he's in the middle..."

Uh oh, talking about her 'babies' proves to be the wrong subject matter for Gina to have brought up--it serves as an emotional trigger that gets the tears welling up in both her eyes.

Pressing on, she immediately wipes away at them with the back of her hand. Eliza rises quickly to hand her a tissue. Wonder if that gesture of Eliza's was more than purely altruistic? Even in her loose fitting T-shirt and jeans, there's no denying Gina's fantastic figure.

Regaining her composure, Gina continues, "Where was I before I got all weepy...? Oh yeah, about what lead up to my separation. Not sure if I'm even getting divorced or not, way too early to tell. I just needed to get away from that place, those people. Get away and clear my head.

"See, they all want you to be the same, you know, and I...I can't live my life like that. But my husband...he has all the money, you know, his family's all settled down there. I don't have any one, friends or family down there. All I have are my babies."

This time she manages to hold it together and not cry, even with the invocation of said 'babies'. But she's also rambling, speaking twice, three times as much as any one else here today--and that's fine; whatever it takes for her to work through this. That's why she came here.

"My kids are the whole reason all this happened, see, I don't want my kids to be raised Christian, I didn't--I don't want them to turn out being so narrow-minded, you know when it comes to things like gay marriage--"

She shoots a quick look at Eliza, who didn't require the acknowledgment on the subject, but still smiles back at Gina

"I didn't have kids so they could turn out to be little Christian clones, you know what I mean? I want them to grow up and think for themselves. My husband always had the kids go to private Christian schools and even though I didn't like it much, I went along with it because I figured at least they were getting a better education.

"But I see that was just a rationalization on my part--what kind of education are they getting if they're not thinking for themselves? I see that know. Darwin's book helped me to realize that, of course. When my husband found out I was reading it, he found the book hidden in my closet, he burned it in our backyard, can you believe that?"

Most of us roll our eyes and some display anger. Anna asks rhetorically, "What the hell was he doing going through your closet anyway?"

"Thank you," Gina replies. "See, that was the lack of respect I was dealing with living under the same roof with that man. He wanted to censor what I read, everything I did. And he wanted to completely control how the kids were being raised, and that's where I drew the line.

"Unfortunately, I didn't have any money or support to take the kids, so I had to leave. It broke my heart to leave my babi--my kids behind like that. I don't know if any of you have kids, but if you do, you know what I mean. I don't know, it just seemed like if I left, that would finally get everyone's attention, that I'm serious about the direction my life is going in and the way my kids are being raised, and I don't like either one of them and I want more of a say in how those things are going to be done.

"So one night, in the middle of the night, a couple days after he had burned the Bye Bull, I left a note next to his bible, saying he burned the wrong one!"

That gets a

"I need to figure out what I want to do with my life, if somehow I can get my kids away from there and raise them up here in San Francisco or somewhere in Northern California, where's it's more open-minded, somewhere where they can have the freedom to think for themselves, you know?

"Darwin said he knew some people, had some contacts that he thought maybe could help me with this."

Look over at Gina and nod with a silent smile. Not sure exactly what I can do for her, my 'contacts' consists of Ms. Cabal. Figured maybe she can do something for her, since she's the one who wanted me to form this cult house in the first place.

"Other than that, if anyone knows about a job or is in a position to hire, I am seeking work!" Gina adds emphatically.

That leads to a bit of an awkward silence--apparently no one's hiring.

Gina brushes it off, "Anyway, it's so exciting to be living with so many new people at once. You know, everything in my life has been happening so fast that I never really had time to sit back and think about it all. When Darwin offered me the chance to move up here and live with him, I was just thinking it'd be me and Darwin and his girlfriend; I never imagined it would be with all you people! This is amazing and just what I needed.

"Moving from one family to another. Though...I don't want to lose my old family..."

Tears start welling up in her eyes again...but she maintains control, and seems to finally decide she's had enough of public speaking for the the afternoon.

"I know I spoke a lot longer than anyone else, and I appreciate you having the patience to sit and listen to me between the teardrops."

That last comment endears Gina to the rest of us--and just in time. Knew her 'intro' was going to be heavy, but didn't think it'd get that emotional. Thought I might have caught an eye roll or two out there, certainly Palmer is growing fidgety. But she showed good timing and consideration for her fellow cultist by cutting things off when she did.

Seems like the opportune time for me to get back up in front of everyone, "So for better or worse, we all know each other better..."

"Or worse!" Ben cracks and most of us laugh.

"So we've met each other and christened the cult as it were--"

That gets a fair share of laughs

"Seems like there's a lot of restless energy to burn and I bet some of you haven't seen much of San Francisco yet, have you?"

"Just what I saw driving here," Gina confirms.

"I know some of us like Eliza are veterans, but others like Simon who've lived in teh Bay Area for a lot of years

INTRODUCE NAME
FIREWHEEL

DRAMATICALLY REVEAL FIREWHEEL PAINTING, THOUGH SOME HAVE SEEN IT BEFORE THEY'RE STILL IMPRESSED WITH THE SIGHT OF IT, ESPECIALLY IN THAT CONTEXT
DECIDE THAT CASSANDRA NEEDS TO HEAR THIS AND GO BACK TO THE BEDROOM

Feel a sense of warmth, like Cassandra is here, represented by the painting. Hell, the painting is about as talkative as she'd be, let's face it.

END OF ENTRY HAS THE GROUP HEADING OUT FOR A JAUNT TO GG PARK, THOUGH PALMER OPTS TO STAY BEHIND. I HEAR HIM MAKING A PHONE CALL, BUT HIS VOICE IS MUFFLED AND I REALLY SHOULDN'T BE LISTENING IN ON MY NEW ROOMIE ANYWAY.

Entry--Acceptance (potential delete or incorporated in Power Trio)

2008-11-13T23:29:00.000-08:00

A series of slaps across the face and the cock gobbling begins, emblematic of her committment to allowing a larger group of...'fans' (I both loathe and am at a loss to find another description) to move in.

Each slap brings me closer to full erection, just as I know each slap brings her closer to a gushing fountain

"Do you understand that a higher purpose is at hand here? It's not enough to just have Simon here--that isn't the foundation for anything. Yes, Simon, you and I are amazing creative people--but it's still not enough for what has to be done

When she finally submits, only then do I place my now fully firm cock into her mouth

She's hoping that she'll just be fluffing me for more

but no, until the cult is complete, she is to be denied yet again.

Entry XLI--Power Trio

2008-11-13T23:10:00.000-08:00

Simon's so damn humble it felt more like he spent more time apologizing for moving in than he did actually moving in.

Kid only had a few boxes and a couple duffel bags o' clothes; he said he had most of his books and research materials--the things he really cares about--at his laboratory at CSU 'cross the bridge in Berkeley.

He chose the room in the middle of the flat's hallway; which was probably a good choice. The one spot where he's far enough away from both our bedroom and Cassandra's studio. Let's face it; while Cassandra has agreed to his moving in via our new...'understanding' (established in the bedroom) she's still not thrilled with the situation.

She thought this living arrangement, here in the flat, was just going to be about the two of us--and now that it's not, she demonstrated her displeasure with the whole arrangement by painting in her studio all the while he was moving in

Not that we needed her help, Simon's load was so light the two of us were able to handle it.

Standing in the doorway as Simon starts arranging what will soon comprise 'his room'; the process consisting mostly of his deciding which book should go on which shelf.

He studiously studies one book's location in particular; seems like he's deciding for a half hour where to put something called "Wider Applications of Aqua-based Nanotechnology"

It's only until an incredible amount of time has passed that he notices me staring over his shoulder, and he looks up at me more than a bit sheepish

"Uh...I can't decide if I should put it on the shelf closest to me in the bed."

"Yeah, because you can never be sure when you'll want to read about water nanotech at 3 a.m."

Apparently I find it funnier than he does; Simon's response is to bow his head, seemingly slightly hurt.

Now I feel shitty, great.

The whole exchange seemingly prompts Simon to retort:

"I hope I don't disappoint you and Cassandra in any way."

Nearly blow out the white tea I was sipping with that one

Takes me a moment to regain the ability to speak

"Trust me, Simon--you're not being held to any standard where you have to worry about 'disappointing' us. There are no expectations when it comes to you and me and Cassandra. We're all just living here."

Simon nods and maybe even smiles slightly; either way, I can sense his reassurance at what I said.

3rd Act/Omega Notes

2008-10-05T01:27:00.000-07:00

PROMOTIONAL:

IN DARWIN BLINKS: OMEGA, DISCOVER:
1. THE FORMATION OF THE CULT FIREWHEEL, FEATURING DARWIN, CASSANDRA AND 8 NEW CHARACTERS
2. THE INVENTION OF THE STRONGEST SUBSTANCE ON EARTH
3. THE MARBLES, THE 9TH WONDER OF THE WORLD, THE MOST UNIQUE STRUCTURES EVER BUILT
4. BLACK SUNDAY, THE DARKEST DAY IN AMERICAN HISTORY
5. DARWIN GRIMM, HUNTED DOWN AS THE MOST WANTED MAN IN AMERICA
6. DARWIN GRIMM...BORN AGAIN CHRISTIAN? (NOT A FANTASY! NOT A DREAM!)
7. DARWIN'S RELATIONSHIPS WITH CASSANDRA...AND MS. CABAL?
8. THE END OF CHRISTIANITY IN THE WORLD!

OR TO RID THE WORLD OF CHRISTIANITY DARWIN GRIMM MUST BECOME A BORN-AGAIN CHRISTIAN!

ALL THIS AND MUCH MUCH MORE IN THE CONCLUDING VOLUME TO THE DARWIN BLINKS SAGA!

MY ULTIMATE LIBERATION FROM THE MIND CONTROL IS KNOWING THAT MY SUBMISSION TO CHRISTIANITY, MY SEXUAL SUBMISSION AND MY FEAR OF FINISHING A BOOK WERE ALWAYS RELATED, IT WAS ALL THESE THINGS I HAD TO SHED, TO TRANSCEND IN ORDER TO FINALLY EVOLVE AS A PERSON, TO TRULY LIVE UP TO MY WRITING AND ALL THAT THE MARBLES REPRESENT.
Not that I'm suddenly going to become the Archduke of Marbles, on the contrary I'm leaving it all behind to start something new. Something that wasn't part of D'Mona's grand design.
Not sure what that something new will be, that's the unwritten chapter in this diary.
BUT IN AN ACT OF TRUE INDIVIDUALITY, IT IS THE MARBLES I ABANDON

Recovery from the control comes in moments when I suddenly have blank spaces/or 'no thoughts' and in the context of that void, I'm able to reprogram myself.

WHILE OUT ON THE ROAD IN DESPAIR, JUST WISH I HAD STAYED IN THE FLAT AND LIVED A QUIET LIFE WITH CASSANDRA. EVEN THOUGH D'MONA WOULDN'T HAVE ALLOWED IT.

AFTER RELEASE, SEE A BUNCH OF MAKESHIFT REVOLUTIONARY POSTERS OF ME AROUND, FROM THE TRIAL FOOTAGE. IN 'SOMETHING' I HAVE DMONA REMOVE THOSE ALONG WITH THE BIG C

AS I TAKE DMONA FROM BEHIND, TELL HER PART OF HER PUNISHMENT IS FOR WHAT SHE DID TO CASSANDRA, WHAT SHE DID TO ME, HOW SHE JUST USED THE BOTH OF US FOR HER 'GREATER GOOD'

ONE ENTRY TITLE TO BE 'TOMORROW PEOPLE', PROBABLY THE ENRY FOLLOWING 'THE MARBLES'

Possible 'Tomorrow People'entry: "Sometimes I'm amazed that I got all this by the product of my philosophy, opinions and insights and not by producing something strategically placed at eye level designed to make kids of a certain age and height scream and whine for whatever it is at grocery checkout stands across the nation.?

ENTRY TITLE: THESE UNTIED STATES

"If you merely switch one letter"

BEFORE THE FINAL BLINK, MAKE REFERENCE TO THE MARBLES ESTABLISHMENT OF THE NATION'S FIRST METAPHYSICAL COLLEGE, NOW ACCEPTED IN THE WAKE OF CHRISTIANITY'S DIMINISHED STATUS

SOMETHING IN MY EYE NOTES:

1. I TALK ABOUT FOUNDING A METAPHYSICAL SCHOOL/COLLEGE TO CORRECT AND INFORM

2. I REFLECT ON HOW FUN CHRISTIANITY IS THE SAME AS THE FUN ISLAM WE DESTROYED AND THAT PEOPLE WON'T LEARN, THEY NEVER LEARN. (THIS IS INTENDED TO COUNTER ALL THOSE BOOKS AND MOVIES THAT IDEALLY DEPICT THE MASSES AS GOING ALONG WITH THE INDIVIDUAL)

Even a theocracy won't fully change things, certainly not in Southern USA. They don't learn, they never learn. They'll eventually crawl back into their christian holes and once again eat away at the foundations of this once great nation nearly split asunder by pernicious christianity; a nation we are trying to restore--and will only do so if I have the guts to take that final step.

D'mona's compliance is assured. It's solely my decision, but she won't act upon it until she knows I've made the 'point of no return' decision.

I'm close, oh so close...

NEW TAKE AS OF APRIL 2010
PLEASANT WILL NO LONGER BE AWARE OF BLACK SUNDAY BEING A COVERT OP, HE THINKS IT WAS ME & THE MARBLES BEHIND IT ALL
I TELL HIM THAT DURING OUR CONFRONTATION IN 'WITH EVERY HAND AGAINST ME', BUT HE CALLS IT A PATHETIC CONSPIRACY THEORY, "You've spun your last web of conspiracy, Grimm."
I can't believe it--Pleasant thinks I did it? All this time I thought he was the Puppetmaster, but he's just another Puppet. Which means there's someone more dangerous pulling the strings than Pleasant.
IN THE SECOND TO LAST SCENE (PROBABLY), MS CABAL REVEALS WHO WAS BEHIND BLACK SUNDAY

LATER, AFTER I AM LIBERATED, I FORCE D'MONA TO TAKE ME TO PLEASANT, AND FORCE HER TO PSYCHICALLY INFUSE HIM WITH THE TRUTH ABOUT BLACK SUNDAY--SHE LETS ME SEE WHAT HE'S SEEING TOO, SO I CAN DESCRIBE IT
THE ONLY DIFFERENCE, THIS KNOWLEDGE DRIVES HIM MAD, AND WE LEAVE HIM A BABBLING FOOL, THE FINAL APPEARANCE OF PLEASANT
IN THE SECOND TO FINAL ESSAY I REVEAL THAT ON 'THIS SIDE' OF AMERICA, NO ONE'S QUITE SURE WHAT HAPPENED TO PLEASANT; SOME RUMORS HAVE HIM IN AN INSANE ASYLUM, OTHERS HAVE HIM LEADING THE NEW CHRISTIAN STATES OF AMERICA THAT HAVE REFUSED TO GIVE UP THE RULE OF BIBLICAL LAW DECLARED BY PLEASANT AND FORMED A LOOSE COALITION IN OPPOSITION TO THE RE-ESTABLISHMENT OF THE RULE OF CONSTITUTIONAL LAW
A CIVIL WAR IS BREWING

DURING MY 'GRAND SPEECH' TO AMERICA:

"Greetings and salutations, America. This is indeed Darwin Grimm standing before you. And I stand both humbled and angry. By now most of you have heard that I have been pardoned of all charges and convictions by the new Proxy Government"

See WHO? wince, they hate the term 'proxy govt'

"For those of who you've read my book Bye Bull , which I could have also named "Buy Bull", that's b-u-y as in christians are buying nothing but bullshit from their religion, but I digress."

Feeling cocky, borderline goofy. Being in this moment is a total headrush--appearing triumphant before those who thought me a mass murderer, not unlike the moment

"Anyway, for those of you who have read it, you'll follow me. for those who haven't, I understand, there is now a free copy available at www.darwinblinks.com for all to peruse. I'm no longer concerned with sales, I just want people to get a better perspective on me and my position on christianity.

"The first essay deals with faith, specifically, the impossibility of fighting it, because it is something that must be changed from within. The more you attack one's faith, the stronger it becomes.

"So for those of you who still have great christian faith and are sickened by the very sight of me on your airwaves, then I suggest you turn your TV or radio or webcast off, because these are not the words for people of faith to hear. These are the words for the freethinker, the fence-sitter, and for those who've never heard of me--although given the state of upheaval America has gone through in the past year, I suppose it's impossible for anyone not to have heard of me.

ALSO WILL DELVE INTO THE CONCEPT OF CHRISTIANS BEING HAPPIER THAN OTHER PEOPLE, LIKE MORMONS

BUT YOU CAN HAVE THAT 'HAPPIER' PERSPECTIVE WITH UNDERSTANDING THE METAPHYSICAL IMPERATIVE AND STILL HAVE FREEDOM. CHRISTIAN 'HAPPINESS' COMES FROM SURRENDERING RESPONSIBILITY AND FREEDOM, LEAVING IT ALL IN 'CHRIST'S HANDS', BUT THE POST CHRISTIAN CULTURE MUST LEARN HAPPINESS AND RESPONSIBILITY GO HAND IN HAND.

NOTES FROM PISS POOR AS THEY RELATE TO OMEGA:
AT SOME POINT, HAVE TO INSULT PLEASANT GREATLY, WHICH MAKES SHOW ME HIS EXPRESSION, LOSE HIS CIVILITY, IN HIS EYES THAT ONLY I CAN SEE
THAT SAME LOOK WILL BE PRESENT WHEN HE CONFRONTS ME IN ‘EVERY HAND’ AND PUNCHES ME IN THE GUT
“times like this I regret having a soft white underbelly”

Entry XL--Gentle Reminder

2008-10-04T00:14:00.000-07:00

The distorted reflections of downtown buildings--what passes for skyscrapers here in Quake City--warp by in the backseat window of this town car I sit in, being driven to meet Ms. Cabal.

She invited me for a private lunch; while she didn't tell me the nature of the meeting, I told Cassandra it was 'publishing related' and she accepted that. For all I know it could in fact be 'publishing related'--though I doubt it highly.

More likely than not it will concern the progress of the cult. I can do away with the facade that I'll be 'updating' her to any degree; it's she that'll be telling me what I'm doing wrong--or what I better do next.

The car scales Nob Hill before arriving at the Bartlett Hotel, owned by Ms. Cabal, along with the top floor skyview restaurant/bar that affords those who can afford it one of the most spectacular views of the City by the Bay.

Dropped off by my favorite kind of driver--silent.

we don't have a private room---the whole bar is ours to do as we see fit.

As she sees fit to be precise.

As I'm lead into the room by a immaculately cleaned and dressed waiter, Ms. Cabal is already waiting there, seated at a table with a glass of white wine and conducting some sort of business from her laptop.

Wonder in that moment whether or not Ms. Cabal would prefer it if she could just do all her correspondence telepathically instead of having to bother with such primitive devices as computers and cellphones.

As I arrive at my seat, receive my answer

"Humanity as is presently constituted is not prepared for telepathy. Hell, they can barely manage proper etiquette on the Internet. While it is tedious, I accept the necessity and reality of the limitations of present-day communications.

"I knew what I was getting into when I first descended into matter after I decided to set out to clear this mess up on this lovable, maddening planet."

Twist my head around my shoulder to see if any of the staff were in within earshot, eliciting a portioned laugh from Ms. Cabal.

Oh yeah, that's right. She would know if any of them were listening to--let alone comprehending what she said. Her omniscience sure comes in handy sometimes.

Also can't let it pass without noting how very weird it was to hear Ms. Cabal use the word 'lovable'

In the pause of conversation, a waiter conveniently pulls up to the side of our table, with pen in hand, seemingly ready to take down any request I would dare to make.

"Order anything you like, Darwin, there's a full kitchen in the back."

Peruse a menu and decide it's best if I eat light: "Spanish rice and a baked potato--no butter, please."

"And to drink, sir?"

Better to stay alert, too: "Glass of iced tea."

The waiter nods, takes my menu and disappears instantly, not even permitting enough time for him to get on my nerves.

Nothing left to do but wait for our drinks, and Ms. Cabal appears to be laying back, forcing me to take the bait.

Curiousity and confusion welling up in me, I finally break and ask: "What did you want to talk about, Ms. Cabal?"

"Cassandra."

"What about her?"

"She has a secret I think you should know about."

Those ten simple words send my world crashing down as all the worst-case-scenarious dance though my skull

Ms. Cabal rolls her eyes before providing another dose of reassurance, "Relax, Darwin, she's not cheating on you or planning on leaving you.

"On the contrary, this is a secret that can prove most beneficial to our cause."

"Cause?"

"Forming the cult."

"The secret is that Cassandra has always wanted to live in a cult?"

Ms. Cabal rolls her eyes even more severly this go round. "No, Darwin, Cassandra has a submissive side."

Suddenly all the implications of that hit me; and it was never anything she's hinted at in the slightest, not in any of our sexcapades.

"Presently, she only expresses it in her paintings, it is not something she deals with consciously very often, if at all."

"Then what am I supposed to do?"

"Dominate her--in bed. Impose your will on her, and tell her that other people are going to live there and that you and she will be starting a cult."

"Are you sure about this or is this just to get me to convince her to start the cult."

For the third time, Ms. Cabal rolls her eyes in such a manner that I don't really want to see it happen again.

LATER

She makes a simple gesture, and suddenly the entire wait staff disappears from complete sight--I mean even if I was dying for another salad fork I'd be shit out of luck.

Lights dim too, a tad ominous.

"Get out of your chair, Darworm"

Uh oh.

Nothing left to do when she's raised the stakes this high but comply

That night in bed with Cassandra, I'm on top of her as usual. Not that it was ever a hit of her alleged latent submission, but she does not like to be on top, that's for sure.

Desperately trying to figure out the best way to do this; but know I have to so something tonight. Ms. Cabal didn't have me over there for her health

Ms. Cabal...that's the reason I just have to do this--she wouldn't tell me Cassandra has a submissive side unless it were true.

Ms. Cabal doesn't have to lie, especially with me.

Decide to use sex as the impetus to instill dominance in our relationship--or at least when it comes to the cult.

With my cock already snug in her cunt, start grinding away until I get worked up--not quite frenzied, but still, worked up enough to where I let my darker primal side take over...

First thing is pinning down her wrists with my hands. The widening of her eyes tells me she likes it.

Ms. Cabal wouldn't lead me down the wrong track...

In the midst of it all, Cassandra turns her face towards me in a peculiar fashion...

It takes awhile for me to catch on...

Of course, I am distracted by that minor detail of my cock pounding away at her pussy

But when I see her eyes leading my attention to my hand, previously just hanging there not doing much

Quickly put it to good use by swinging it forth and laying it across Cassandra's rosy cheeks

Her face grimaces--but just for a moment--then it's more like dissatisfaction she flashes me...

I didn't hit her hard enough, apparently.

So I oblige her in full, letting my frustrations over being controlled by Ms. Cabal spill over into my frustrations with Cassandra for--shit, I don't know, like maybe paying more attention to her godamn easel instead of me?

And as my flat of my palm strikes her delicate cheekbone with renewed vigor, she emits a cry that is as genuine an expression of pain as it is laced with ecstasy.

Damn it all if Ms. Cabal wasn't right again--this is what she wants--and she probably doesn't even know it.

Her erotic response is immediate; feel her pussy walls close in even tighter on my ever thickening shaft.

But instead of doing the expected--giving her what she wants--by digging deeper, I abruptly pull out.

The frustration on her face is prominent like a bas-relief, but then, that's just what I wanted

"C'mon Darwin, I haven't come yet..."

"I know. You're not going to, until..."

"Until what?"

"Until you agree to let Simon move in here."

She flashes me a look like she can't believe I'm actually demanding that in lieu of fucking her...

But oh yes, I am...

And just to assure her that I'm not fucking around--nor fucking her--I lay another cold hard slap against her waiting cheek.

Her scowl confirms it brought pain and the way her hips convulse tell me it brought an equal measure of pleasure

Cassandra nods her acquiescence; her decision made.

And only then do I return my still stiff prick into her hungry hole

Fuck her fast and furious, coming quite quickly inside her, long before she does.

Just the way I wanted it.

She remains unfulfilled, while I remain pleased.

"You'll come when--and only when--Simon is living under this roof."

Now the joy in the pain is removed, so she's left with nothing but raw anger.

Don't give a shit; pull out of her, roll over and fall asleep within the minute to the strings over her frustrated panting.

Rick Warren is a purpose-driven douchebag

2008-08-18T23:44:00.000-07:00

He was just quoted on NightLine as saying he would never vote for an atheist. He said such a candidate would be 'too arrogant' but how arrogant is excluding someone just based on their faith or lack of?

Also, he contradicted himself when he questioned Obama's links to Liberation Theology churches as being "Marxist" but then Warren himself said he's neither a Republican nor Democrat, because he's looking for 'common ground for the common good' How Marxist a statement is that?

Warren, like most lost christians, fails to realize that their own savior was King Socialist.

Ultimately, both Marxism and christianity are masks of the Illuminati, to be forever rejected in favor of individual freedom.

Entry XXXIX--The Irony of My Name

2008-06-24T19:25:00.000-07:00

My name, Darwin, has always pissed off christians; even before I became an nationally known pissed-on and bombed-out author.

And I chose it to piss them off, ever since I made the decision that xmas eve night in Chicago to change it.

THIS COULD BE PRE REVELATIONS, SETTING THE STAGE FOR THE REVELATION AFTER CLARIFYING POSITION ON DARWIN AND SPIRITUALITY FOR THE FINAL TIME.

Entry XXXVIII--Enter Simon

2008-06-14T19:54:00.003-07:00

Doorbell buzzer rings, shattering a silence in the air that nearly had me drifting off into one of those moves where it feels like your head suddenly dropped off the edge of a table because you just fell asleep while sitting up.

That must be my extra special visitor--at least, it better be.

Cassandra is consumed by her latest painting, so I don't expect her to answer the door. The more she paints, the more she wants to paint, as she tells it.

No magic formula, reckon it's always been that way with my writing, and probably most anybody's creative endeavors; the more you put into it, the more you get out of it.

Sure enough, she's nowhere to be seen as I aproach the door. But that's cool, gotta feeling it's probably better that I greet our guest solo.

Open the door, and standing before me is the most dichotomous individual I do believe I've ever laid eyes on...

"Simon's our first official guest, honey"

"What about Mrs. Latimer?"

"Sorry, but I'm not counting some crazy lady from next door or wherever who wanted to know if we had the right size antenna to detect low flying government stealth planes that can't be seen at night. And you thought I was the crazy conspiracy nut in the neighborhood, but oh no..."

Even the entrancce of one other person sends Simon retreating for his shell.

Hell, forget Cassandra, how the hell am I ever going to convince this guy to live with other people?

That's the funny thing--neither one of them knows why I invited Simon. None is aware of my hidden agenda--as directed by Ms. Cabal. Simon has seen talk of a commune promoted by the likes of Palmer, but he's never discussed the idea himself.

Yet I know he's searching for something; evidenced by his joining the discussion board on my book's website.

Can tell she'd rather be painting, but Cassandra does her best to be sociable and polite, trying to engage Simon, draw him out of that turtle shell.

"So, Simon, do you have a girlfriend?"

His face reddens at the mere suggestion of involvement with the opposite sex.

Jesus, Cassandra, I want to nudge her and whisper, can't you tell this guy is a professional virgin?.

"No." He replies abruptly and precisely. Just like a scientist.

She tries again: "Oh. So how do you know Darwin?"

"We met on his website."

"Your website?" She turns to me if I'm part of some giant porno portal

"For the book. There's a discussion board where fans--or haters--can post about the book or christianity or anything, really. I showed it to you once, remember?"

Can see she's scanning her memory, and gives me a vague recollection

"Anyway," I continue, "we met there."

When Simon speaks about the site--or anything that interests him or he's passionate about, can see his eyes light up, and the shyness falling to the wayside.

A few moments later and I'm wishing Cassandra would actually go back to painting.

LATER, WHEN ALONE

"So, what was it that you liked best about my book, Simon?"

"The way you defended science and pointed out how christianity will bash science on the one hand but uses technology to serve its own agenda on the other."

"Exactly, because their ultimate interest is control. Hypocrisy and contradictions mean nothing to those who seek to control--in fact, they are indispensable to control."

"Simon, I want to be honest about why I invited you here tonight. Beyond just meeting you in person and having you see my new home, that sort of thing."

"What do you mean, Mr.--I mean, Darwin?"

His youth and naivete showed through there. But I welcome it.

Now, how do I go about this without sounding like a used-car salesman?...

"I'm talking about the future, Simon. A future independent of chrisitan values, ethics, and most importantly, free of christian influence."

"Is such a future possible?" he asks me earnestly.

The typical morning clouds must have parted, as a shaft of sunlight suddenly phases throught he window, landing directly on Simon's head, producing a momentarily blinding glare off of his blonde hair. While the less sensitive might find it annoying or obnoxious, it only serves to underscore his near-angelic innocence.

And virginal innocence too,, I suspect. Maybe if we can get some women in here we can get him laid.

But first things first--have to get him to agree to live here.

"The thing of it is, Simon, that we're never going to achieve this all living separate and isolated from each other."

Like any good scientist, he asks dispassionately, "Who is 'we', Darwin?"

Here goes nothing..."Those of us who want to live in a post-christian culture. Those of us who plan to move into this house, here with me and Cassandra, so we can get to work building that new post-christian culture, cause we both know it's long overdue."

There. Hope I didn't lay it on too thick.

Again, scientist that he is, Simon does not answer quickly or without thoughtful consideration. Fact, he even turns away from me, towards the open window, mulling over the possibilities...

Even though my inclination would be to grow impatient, hold my tongue and wait for him to arrive at a conclusion--any sort of conclusion--and speak.

And before too long he does

"You're right, Darwin. The only way we're ever going to win this is to stick together. And if that takes living together, then so be it."

Great, now that I've convinced him, all I have to do is pull the same magic with Cassandra.

Something tells me it isn't going to be so easy with her.

Her favorite part of my book is the part where we're living together--alone.

LATER THAT EVENING

After dinner, I do the dishes so she can concentrate on painting. After they're all put away, wander into her painting room. While I have been sizing up the other rooms in the flat for potential 'cult rooms', wouldn't dare to even consider this room. Afraid she might telepathically pick up on my thoughts and that'd surely land me a night in the ruts.

"So, what did you think of Simon?"

She doesn't respond at first--not out of rudeness, it means she's engrossed in a particular dimension of her painting.

"He's fine--pretty shy, but I could sense his intelligence--on an intuitive level--if that makes sense."

Smile at her, "Yeah, it does."

"What do you think of him?" she asks.

"Like him a lot. So much so that I'd like to ask him to move in with us..."

Grit my teeth, clinch my fists, stop breathing and wait for the other shoe to drop...

Instead, she continues painting, finishing up a key stroke, then peers out from behind the canvas to address me...and my proposition

"Does he need a place to live?"

"No, he's got a good place in Berkeley."

"Do we need the rent money?"

"No, we're doing fine."

"Then why do you want him to live here?"

"Good question."

"Thank you. Do you have a good answer."

"Yes, but it's not an easy one."

"Why not?"

"It's...complicated."

"Too complicated for me to understand?" Now she seems indignant, borderline insulted.

"No, of course not. It's just that...you're such a..."

"Bitch?"

"That's not fair. I was going to say--you're such a private person."

She recoils, apprently embarrassed at letting herself getting so pissed, so out of control. That's not like the bodyguard within her.

Course, she may be slowly but surely shedding that aspect of herself away.

(Hopefully she'll still protect me when we make a late-night run to the corner store)

Entry XXXVII--Togetherness

2008-06-14T19:54:00.001-07:00

Funny, as I bang this box of books against the wall of my new dwelling, all I can think about is my old apartment. The one I left behind and said goodbye to for good just two days ago.

Don't even know why I'm thinking about it, it's not like I miss the place. I was glad to finally have an excuse to leave. Rent control was the only thing keeping me there, let's face it.

Now that I have money (at least, more of it than I used to)--and Cassandra--I don't need it anymore.

It's probably just having to give up something that I had become some accustomed to for so many years.

The freedom and independence of living alone, no one to bother you, except the asshole living upstairs or an annoying apartment manager.

But that's all over now. For the first time in what feels like forever, I'm going to be living with another human being.

Spent last night at Cassandra's, and in the afternoon I packed up the last of the stuff I was carrying with me to her place (the majority of my belongings having already been packed up and carted away by an able bodied moving company, at Ms. Cabal's expense. She's also moving Cassandra on her dime.

Almost reach the end of the narrow hallway of the flat without incident when Cassandra suddenly pops right in front of me after making a sudden sharp turn out of her room--her painting room.

We nearly collide and only my swift reflexes prevent the box I'm holding from spilling books out all over the floor as I manage to twist my hips enough where she slams into my side.

"Sorry," she replies, a bit sheepish.

"It's cool," I smile, "I know you're psyched to get us moved in here, just come out of the rooms a little bit slower."

Psyched she is; by the time I unload the books in what we're temporarily calling 'the library', she's already made three more trips with boxes into her soon-to-be studio.

This is a pain, but at least we're not doing the heavy duty moving, that was all done for us by the movers, but we had them leave most of the boxes in the rooms nearest the door until we could figure out what we wanted to go where.

That was more Cassandra's doing--if it were up to me, the movers would have put every box in every room is eventually destined for.

But that's no fun, I'll admit. Don't want my laziness to take over. And it is a bit of a kick moving into a new place, planning out how you're going to live. Having so many rooms is cool, it allows us to have a 'library' and a 'studio' for her.

Course, I'm supposed to be filling these rooms with other people for that great 'cult' that's coming together so smoothly.

Don't even have the guts to tell Cassandra about it yet. Haven't even broached the subject.

With good cause, though, this move is stressful enough on her and me and us. Most importantly, us. Sometimes I think it would've been better if we had lived together first at her place, cramped though it is.

We're doing it the hard way; both moving into a brand new place in a brand new neighborhood while living together for the first time after not having even dated for very long--or slept together at all.

Frankly, am already overwhelmed by the spaciousness of it all; after years and years of being absolutely and anonymously cramped in the studio on Bush St., I'm now faced with an overabundance of space.

As Cassandra whizzes by me again with yet another box, hard to gauge where she's at--I mean, she seems okay with it all, she's definitely full of purpose energy and enthusiasm, but is she really happy?

Listen to me, getting ahead of myself--it's too early to tell if she's happy here.

Have to decide first if I'm happy here.

As I exit the 'library', notice some chipped pain on the door frame that I hadn't when we looked the place over prior to moving in.

Oh well, Ms. Cabal already said one call and anything we need will be taken care of. Wonder if she'd be so attentive if she didn't want me to move a whole blooming cult in here?

Doubt it.

Oops. Keep forgetting that Ms. Cabal can 'hear' my every thought--and while she can't be thrilled that I'm harboring negative thoughts towards her, I also know that she expects it, because, dammit--I'm mortal.

Is Bye Bull your favorite book?
posted by altheatheist January 16 at 8:23 pm PST

Will America ever be Christian-free?
posted by Simon January 11 at 4:42 pm PST

***Official We Want to Live with Darwin Grimm Thread***
posted by drwatson Nov 16th at 7:11 pm PST

Ugh, that one is still on the forum? It's a thread like that that makes me wish I had the power--or the tenacity--to delete threads.

Know who it is--that crazy Palmer cat, the guy who followed me around on my book tour like he was a hippie following that one band from Vermont.

It's like he's doing the homework that Ms. Cabal 'assigned' me on xmas eve, promoting the idea of a bunch of anti-christians living together to form a 'more perfect union'.

Cassandra is in her room doing her thing. I'm in mine, doing mine.

Togetherness.

Course, if I do comply with Ms. Cabal's wishes, and turn this place into a commune, I won't have my own writing room any longer. Someone else will be sleeping in here.

Calling it a 'writing room' is a fucking joke though--I don't write, I just surf the web and wait for Cassandra to finish painting.

She seems happy here though, and that certainly raises my happy quotient.

The only thing is--how will she take other people living here?

Got to figure out a way to introduce her to the idea of living with other people.

Will take care of that as soon as I convince myself that I want to live with others.

Entry XXXVI--Everything Changes on New Year's Day

2008-06-14T19:53:00.001-07:00

THIS WILL NOW BE THE FIRST ENTRY IN DARWIN BLINKS...OMEGA

Concluding the most monumental year of my life on a very low-key note; here in Cassandra's apartment, watching her paint to the strains of Wilson.

Wouldn't have it any other way. In a year where I traversed other dimensions and an often perilous cross-country book tour, nothing more I want than a quiet denouement before we throw away--err, recycle the calendar.

Of course, being now infused with purpose by Ms. Cabal, am not merely sitting here letting the day waste away; I'm going through letters and printed emails to assemble my coeterie of anti-christians.

"Hey, Cassandra, get this, another one from that Palmer guy..."

Her small round face suddenly peers out from behind the large square canvas she invests life into: "I think he's got a crush on you..."

"I love when you smile. You should do it more often," I tell her.

No reply as she resumes painting in silence. Don't think she's actually pissed at me for daring to suggest she smile.

Reduced to conducting a monologue if I continue speaking, resort to returning to read the first couple graphs of Palmer's leter, but that's as far as I get until I find something I have to share:

"Ha! You might be right about that crush, hon--listen to this: "Mr. Grimm, I just wanted to let you know that I am planning to move to San Francisco!"

"Oh, Lord," Cassandra utters.

"Careful who you're evoking there honey," I snap back, and she giggles, realizing what she just said.

Shuffle through the letters, hoping to come across any from a Latino or Latina; their countries and cultures have been the most corroded and corrupted by christianity, and the cult would be well served to have such a member. Also wouldn't hurt to have this cult be more multi-cult-ural.

So far we do have at least one Asian fan who's been writing--lad by the name of Ben Chan. Hailing from Mountain View (a suburb less than an hour south of San Francisco), Ben's family is one of those who willingly permitted themselves to be indoctrinated into christianity in order to fit in that much better with their new surroundings.

His family had been Taoist Buddhists for thousands of years back in mainland China, but all that was suppressed once the family moved to sunny California. That is, except for Ben, who fortunately was old enough when his family to choose not to go down that road.

At least in his mind he was free. On the surface, he had to convert to christianity and go along with all the trappings and rituals to appease his family. But now that he's legally an adult and doesn't live at home any longer, he's had it with pretending to believe in something he doesn't believe in nor does he want to believe in it. That's even more crtitical, I think.

Ben seems like an amiable chap, one that could live in a cult.

It seems to me, the basic contradiction of Christianity is that it is primarily concerned with controlling the physical plane as opposed to exploring the metaphysical plane.

Whoa. The sheer simplicity of the statement blows me away. Couldn't have said it better myself.

Scratch that--couldn't have said it myself--it took this guy--or girl...

Scan down to the end of the letter to find it was written by one Simon Miller. Don't recall the name from any previous emails or meeting anyone with that name on the book tour. Pretty sure he wasn't the guy who shot the piss at me in New York. If I had met that cat, would surely remember his name--not Miller, that's too common, but 'Simon' is pretty damn distinct; as opposed to say, Mike, John or Darwin.

He's a scientist--an inventor. Yet there seems something fragile and innocent about him; at least in his writing.

Several moments pass until I realize I'm staring out into space--and that Cassandra's looking right at me.

"What are you thinking about?"

Dammit, hate when women ask me that. Not ready to tell her about the cult--how can I when I haven't even asked her about us living together.

"Uh...nothing much." I reply lamely.

"Yeah, right," she sneers, knowing me all too well already. Imagine how it will be if--when--we move into together?

Glance back at the letter from Simon dangling loosely between my fingers--that will serve as a convenient answer to Cassandra

"Something this guy said--wrote, I should say. Pretty cool."

"Read it to me"

I do but she doesn't seem impressed: "Sounds like something you would write, actually."

"I'll take that as a compliment, because it's pretty damn eloquent to these eyes."

Change the subject even further: "How's the painting going?"

Unlike me, she's not about to show it to me--or anyone else--an unfinished piece of art, but at least she responds:

"Alright, I guess. It's still in the early stages--not anything I would show publicly."

Nod my understanding.

Though she seems like she wants more from me, she resumes her attention to her canvass and I....to what?

Kinda burnt on reading letters, so I ask her:

"Honey, mind if I turn on the TV?"

A frown crosses the middle of her face, as she was likely in the middle of an inspired moment facing her in the canvas when I interrupted her, but she still takes the time to nod 'yes', signalling her approval of my request.

It's nice making a request and not being called 'worm' for your troubles.

Surf through the channels until I land on DVNT--and wouldn't you know it, but there's Pleasant; it appears to be a story about his political aspirations.

Turn up the volume just in time to hear: "...speculation is running high that any day now Rev Theodore Pleasant, former general of the Persian Wars, will announce that he is forming a third political party to run in the upcoming election.

"Cynics claim this is just at attempt to force incumbent President Harper to select Rev Pleasant as his running mate in order to ensure the evangelical vote in America, now considered essential to victory in present-day America.

"President Harper scoffed at the allegations, pointing out that before he was a religious leader, Theodore Pleasant was a five-star general, well-equipped to deal with foreign policy."

Suddenly, a cut to Harper appearing at some sort of event, commenting to a slew of cameras and microphones: "With all due respect, perhaps some of the esteemed members of the media out there are too young to realize that Rev Pleasant won us a war or two; he will be invaluable when serving my duties as commander-in-chief."

Perfect, he insulted those in the media who raised the legitimate concern as to Harper's motivation without singling anyone out individually; he even said 'out there' instead of 'out here' But the smarmy condescension in his voice was undeniable.

"Five...Four...Three...Two...ONE...HAPPY NEW YEAR!" we mutually countdown our first New Year's Eve together, toasting champagne glasses. Yes, even mine is filled with genuine bubbly, figure one glass won't send me over the edge, spiraling backwards into alcoholism.

Besides, have Cassandra now; never had an anchor like her before (hard to regard Ms. Cabal as an anchor).

In the window before us, we can see the upper range of fireworks being shot off by the Embarcadero, an annual ringing in of the new year done here in the city.

Following a healthy drink by each of us, we lock lips in a kiss that seems like it's going to last until the next New Year's Eve...

Took this long, but this is our first really great kiss...and it sends electric currents running through me and when we finally do break my head is swimming, spinning...it's a high like no other.

Our eyes pop open simultaneously and can see that she's feeling the same--or at least she's doing a pretty good job convincing me she's feeling the same way.

Both of us wanting to return to that place so we open our mouths to each other and soon tongues are entwined in a blissful union.

Without having to say a word, we both know this is the night--and we manage to keep kissing even as we remove various articles of each other's garments.

Suddenly Cassandra stops, pulls her mouth from mine, popping open her eyes in sober realization: "Wait, we can't do this hear--we're too close to the canvas, and if something happened to that, it would ruin everything."

Clarity--along with a corresponding dousing of the flame below--comes over me as well--"Oh, right, we shouldn't."

She gestures with a waving hand, "C'mon, let's go to the bedroom..."

Certainly not going to object to that demand.

Even in a frumpy sweater and tattered jeans, she looks so good to me and I feel so fucking lucky to be here.

So lucky I'm going to tell her, "Hey, even with all the great things that happened to me this year, like finally getting a book written--not to mention published--being here with you is the best. At least, all that shit that happened wouldn't mean as much if I was sitting alone in my apartment right now."

"We can't have someone as wonderful as you sitting alone."

My heart swells with warm and tears encroach my eyes and she takes my hand and leads me to the bedroom...

As soon as the bedroom door is closed behind us, Cassandra makes her intentions ever so clear by grabbing at my boxer shorts and the stiffening pole that pitches a plaid tent.

She pushes me back so my butt's perched on the edge of the bed as she drops to her knees and promptly pulls down my shorts, takes a few moments to admire my cock (however modest I may regard it to be, both size and girth wise), stroking it with dry hand.

Friction slightly irritates and could use some lubrication which she promptly provides by putting my now engorged cock into her wide and awaiting mouth.

A complete and utter contrast from my encounters with Ms. Cabal--or for most women I've known, for that matter.

And as her mouth slides up and down the shaft of my oh-so-pleased prick with a style that maximizes tongue while minimizing teeth, it occurs to me this is yet another arena in which I've likely underestimated Ms. Sullivan. Never would have taken such a sweet artistic Irish lash to be such a proficient cocksucker--but then again, her initials are C.S...

Like a pro that's a non-pro, she waits until I'm good and excited until she fingers my balls as they creep up the shaft.

Whew...and I thought I was spinning from that kiss...

NYE TOAST, POP THE QUESTION, SEX SCENE

NEED A LAST NITE AT THE APARTMENT SCENE