A new story, just for you PKD - Philip K Dick - fans. (With already 1 Publication request!)
prophetsam
to Chopin and drown myself in red wine, my thoughts keep drifting back
to him. Our conversations together, how we met when I was just a kid -
anxious to meet the craziest (and according to some, greatest) writers
of our time. Our generation's Kafka, or Hesse.
I used to argue with him that there was too much coincidence
between Jim, Jimmi, and Janis all leaving us in a matter of years,
Leary in jail, and the White & Black Panther party - as well as the
Weathermen - all but totally disbanded. Too much "containment" in too
little time.
"Cool it!" Fat used to say. "Just roll us another number and just
calm down. You're Paranoia stresses even ME out."
"Damn, Fat. Hearing something like that from someone as Paranoid as
YOU really does make me feel a bit nuts, thanks."
"Always glad to help, Slim. Just keep rolling us those numbers, and
putting your Paranoia's down in your stories, and you'll turn out just
fine."
You know, the usual back and forth, you get the picture. God how I
miss those conversations. Him lecturing me on smoking too much, me
lecturing him on taking too much snuff. Sharing stories about our
felines and our checking out girls - or 'Cat-Watching' as he liked to
call it. A hobby we both shared with a passion. Those days are over
now, and melancholy settles in. I wonder, though, if he could see the
number of bodies so far, would he call me so Paranoid?
Horselover Fat, dead in his fifties. Here we are, at the height of
the Regan Era, with one of the greatest champions of the Nixon
overthrow now dead for half a decade. Dead, by a stroke and eventual
heart failure - the two most common forms of assassination (minus
'Staged Suicide', of course). Ronnie and Gorby are buddies now. Deals
with Red China, and blind-eyes turned to the atrocities in Tibet.
Selling weapons to Iran and Iraq, so they can kill each other - all to
fund our little 'Drug Ventures' in South America.
Fat was right, Stalin opened the door for the conversion of the
USSR from Communism to Fascism, and we fell right in line - all under
the guise of 'National Security', of course. In a 'Cold War', what's
going on isn't nearly as obvious as in a real War, so more things can
be 'gotten over' on the public, who don't and can't pay as much
attention. No one noticed as the US became a Fascist police state, as
Russia did. No one noticed as our "Authorities" turned into the KGB.
Like a 'change-over' on a projection reel, no one notices the
difference.
Tagore is nowhere to be found, and it seems as if
Zebra/Valis/whatever is no longer making contact. Transmissions from
Albemuth have been cut off. Any progress that was made seems to be
lost. We are once more alone, and without a Prophet, or a Sibyl. No
more Divine help for the Republic. Our losses have been great. The
King, Kennedy brothers, Malcolm X, and now John Lennon assassinations.
The passing - possible assassination - of Horselover Fat. Who, then,
are we to look to? From whence shall our Hope and Salvation come? Yes,
we can break down the "Black Iron Prison", but not until we're
awakened. Who is to open the eyes of the masses?
Certainly not me. I'm neurotic, of a sensitive constitution, and a
giant coward to top it all off. Granted, though, Fat didn't exactly ASK
for the job, either. He certainly had his share of issues, and phobias.
Why does "IT" choose the neurotic, sickly ones? Is it because we are
more sensitive, so pick up on the 'Message' better? Or, perhaps, it's
because we are "ill", it uses that fact, driving us to feel that we
must heal the World to heal Ourselves.
If it is supposed to be me, though, I'm certainly not getting any
signals. Perhaps my job, my place, is just to watch for them. To alert
others to the possibility that they exist. Whatever it may be, I try my
best and hope that Salvation comes before we go too far to be saved, or
destroy ourselves.
In a way, I guess `ol Horselover got off easy. He could have never
watched us loose so much of what we tried to win back. Even if they
hadn't killed him, Fat's ticker couldn't have handled seeing how things
have turned out. One thing saddens me, though, about the whole thing.
I know how much he was looking forward to Future, the new Millennia.
May it be everything he dreamed it would be.
- Zebrahunter Slim
August, 1987