A gut-twisting tale of malice and mass dissatisfaction - This book deserves a place on every shelf in every airport.
The Midnight Chronicle
I haven't turned a page yet an thought, I don't wonder what's going to happen next. This is a magnificent spectacle. The author deserves a laureate - at least.
The California Times
Chapter 1
We carry the torch
In terms of my great axe-wielding self-butchery, I had forced a way through the confused calabash headed men with their explosive knife-edges searing me to the bone. . . But in terms of what the future held I was not going to sit idly by in smoke and the terror as my world went to cowardly ignominies. For the counter of hope looked me over like just another customer in its rosary of spider silk but I was going to force its mechanical hands. If I cut the fat enough. If I had the terrible focus my goal, she will in time learn obeisance. She had a handsome face, in the manner of many foul-hearted South East Asian women. She said, you've already missed your flight. I looked helpless and she didn't care too much. She began by printing out my now-invalid ticket. Then she wrote something out on it. Something old, cold and grey and faithless.
Slipping through the cracks like an enema, I later lay on the seating array and took the form of a true foreigner of negligible interest "Let them think their teeth into this for what they like," I realized. "Let them think...as I had dug in, that I was the prince of some golden infirmary where the only ghosts are the light-bleached sheets of a nuclear wind". For Forever the oath had dug in there on the second floor as if it was an angel who hadn't cared. I sat and and may as well have been one of the gray masses of concrete that lay in a tumbledown outside. Despite my meaninglessness I was still here. I had not rent my brain. Maybe that's why people treated me oddly. I was tearing your pants in public, right down the middle. . . if only because they couldn't tear me. And nobody wants that. It's not something can easily live with and absurdum, without stigma. That was my 20's. There was more to follow but now I myself had grayed. And then there was the breakup which was still raw in my imagination and which tasted like spider fingers for supper and which existed in me, clamoring, reaching in and tugging my death desire.
So at any rate; it was rock paper, scalpal, and she had won. Her incision beats everything. This time around I see the tiny window opening up. Maybe it's nothing.
And the people inside of me who had groomed me for this were People who looked at me strangely wherever I went. Some kid was lost too. Some Indian kid and her parents were calling for her. I didn't want to to be found and I didn't want to be ignored either. For me it was a joke. I wanted to be somewhere in between this side of things and the other airport I was going to and maybe the airport was a reflection. They are the mirror of my importune wit and saw me neither as a customer, or the veil that would embrace me. I also wasn't sure. I could be a shrug, not an embrace at all. A plastic spine of the curtain to keep their exoskull faces together. Yet I'd overlooked all that, and would continue to do so. This was no lot in life for the shy-hearted. I was sure of it. I would find a way out of this, ? I would make a tall story real. I would bend things in my direction so that no one could ignore me ever again. I would work so hard at one particular thing that I could never be refused a glimpse of heaven. These people who'd refused me - they'd look back in shame. They'd see the one they'd burnt at the stake. They'd get on their knees and beg God for forgiveness. My life wasn't over because I hadn't done something great yet. No, it was the other way around. I would have to do something great for my life to end. There was nothing else to it.
That's how things would be. But as of now I only had hair that looked like a tarantula's, and I walked around like a little boy runt. A little vinegared spider exoskeleton. A little boy, with a spider's gaunt and skeletal way. My eyes were the only human thing left. The rest had been eked out of me by the spider vinegar's efficient bleaching. My eyes, however, always seemed fixed the precipice of tears, peering out and apologizing for everything I was doing, while doing it, and then I went to the toilet, which was where I cleaned my face, with soap and brushed my teeth, with tiny knife-bristles. After which I went back to my reluctant chairs, refreshed. I lay down again, and then got tired of lying down. So I challenged myself to walk downstairs and ask the girl out.
This was new territory for me. I first wanted to go directly to her, but the man at the counter told me I had to go to the zone behind hers, which was no good for me. So I waited. I stared back and forth from here to there. There she sat. All serious and sad looking. She had on a mask. It was as if for all the world her focus was on the job, but once or twice they were staring at me too. I needed her eyes on me, I wanted her focus on me. Wanted for her to say "I like you too..."
After all, it's Thailand. There's no bandwidth limit for this kind of thing, is there? There's no-one to stop you from asking any girl out any time. And everything had brought me here. My self-improvement couldn't have been for nothing could it? I only ate red meat, and only once a day. Then there was the fact that I'd stopped fapping. I'd completely stopped. Then I had an idea: Let me check on chatGPT. Maybe they know when these kids knock off for the day.
So that's what I did. 8:30 PM. Swell. I had all night, anyway.
Chapter 2
The malediction
That's when I came across the book like some newly scalpellum heart rattling with rarity. It was lying on the dusty floor of some forgotten corridor of a second rate airport in a 5th rate country. Only maids and suspicious courtesans of the hospital-palace went down there. I picked it up and it resembled something from the lackluster tiers of an archangel's shriveling smile. At first I didn't care for its yellowed gold-pasted pages. They seemed too filth-swept. But as I cleaned the spiderwebs away, the very message emerged and it seemed destined.
"Consider yourself the Hades of tomorrow." It said. "Consider yourself covered in monsters sinkholes, pockmarks, capacious shriveling shine-tarp. Even your eyes. Your weak little eyes are being eaten as you speak. By the oxidation of hopelessness. You're the inside-out of the belly of the beast and it's just dark with score-marks of a musical weirdo.
The demons have got the upper hand over you. They seem to have slaughtered everything you love. They've even stolen and been with the woman you loved. In the most intimate of ways... And to make things worse, you're stuck in this gunk.
So now it's up to you. It's all on your shoulders to prove what you're made of; with everything stacked against you and nobody on your side.
You're already suicidal. So what could another few years of degradation do that haven't already been done?
Women look the other way. Children make fun of you. It's like they got the cue from the demons who run your world.
You're aging, you're falling apart. So what worked before won't work again. Your genetics are against you. The aging process makes blocks that were once tried and tested a pathway to ruin. Those blocks on the pathway to the dungeons are solid though. You want to go along them, but you turn back. You'll have to break your feet for a while.
Cultivate an unstoppable vibe.
The women who turn away from you don't matter at this point. You're beginning to learn they never really did. They're the most full of it. They've been brainwashed to hate anything that needs their help.
So ignore the women.
Become unstoppable.
As you begin to realize that women, while you're in this state, resemble parasites, you'll move quicker. There's no looking back. You've brought a lot of this on yourself anyway. You're the one who let the first girl in the door. The one who ripped your guts out and sold them for expensive make-up and jewelry to seduce the next man.
So you're going to the drawing board now. You're starting from the top. You're going to see where you went wrong last time. You're working your way down to the women again. The women are insatiable. They don't know anything other than desire. They're on the bottom floor.
The promise
Disease and malediction have disenchanted your very soul. So you are in the process of building a new soul essentially. The last one had one tiny bug that unraveled the entire fabric and fruit of your being. Now you're going to beat out the bugs. That'll be the first thing.
But you can't do it without the holiness of one who is above all this. You need the Christ. You need him to sever the bugs that live inside your deepest ligaments and fascia. You need to squelch and poison them out of yourself, and for a while you'll resemble a 1000 year old.
Your joints will hurt, especially those connecting your lumbar spine for some or other reason. It's like you're carrying the cross and the burden of the world. You see a beggar with a scoliotic lump as pronounced as a fist. You realize you are him in some way.
So in spite of the magic being gone and torn out of you, you still have to gain enough strength to capture the enemy. He is the bug king of your life. He's the demon who was made to mark you from the day of your birthday. Jung speaks of the id. This is not it. The id is the interface.
It merely interfaces with the demon who presides over your ill-fortune.
This creature is an actual demon. As real and raw as they get.
Fortifying the Spirit
In this worm-eaten ship you call your soul, there is one salvific essence. It is the oil of sanctification. It will drive the bugs out and they will beat out of their faster, the faster you seek this spiritual oil.
For it is the oil of Truth.
So you must first of all love the truth, whatever it is, and however far it shall take you.
Chapter 3
The sleepover
So it's been no carpet-ride for me. The role of Aladdin is handed to some silly little Americans with no philosophical bent at all. They could ask any girl out. Anyway, I go to the lady on an escalator and she turns round kind of warily but mostly just tired. I had noticed her when she got off that chair at her little help-desk. It was like she had been in a porno movie or something the way she walked. Like her spine or something was out of whack. She was not shapely or anything. Quite the contrary. I guess the airlines just use people for their specific roles. Good bodies go to the cabin-crew. Good faces go to the ticket-counters. It's a hell of a business.
I speak in bold lines usually. Usually I'm all gusto and nothing to show for it. I'm on holiday after all. That's when my holiday spirit emerges. And I need a rest day. To go out there right now and act the fool is my responsibility now though. Anyway. Long and short of it is she didn't seem to believe I was asking her that in the first place. It took a while for me to explain it. I got all emotional, more emotional than her, and maybe that's where I went wrong, but I'm not sure, the whole thing seemed off for me. I should have rather said: Let me buy you a burger at burger king? But that wouldn't have worked either so no need for regret.
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