Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

norm. The truth was, Jay simply hadn’t snapped yet. All mystics have
had psychotic breakdowns, although not all psychotics are mystics.
He tried to ignore the elevator music, pumping vigorously out of the
round metal speakers in the smoke stained ceiling. He began slicing up a
Super Bird while his subconscious listened attentively to the subliminal
alien transmissions.
Jesus slowly devoured his bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich, licking
his fingers clean of mayonnaise and glistening pig grease. There was a
distant, crazed look in his eyes. He was seated on a toilet in a small
bathroom. The plastic plants in the corner added a merry, joyous feeling
to the room, like a slightly out-of-key Christmas carol played on a tin
flute.
Finishing the last bite of the sandwich, Jesus stood up and crammed
his fingers deep into his throat. A giant stream of vomit poured into the
toilet violently. It sounded like a waterfall. Little Niagara.
He staggered up to a mirror hanging over the sink, staring long and
hard into his own eyes, as he smeared bright red lipstick onto his lips and
chin, inspected his long arching eyebrows, and then chuckled, although it
seemed forced and nervous.
In a sudden explosion of anger, he slammed his fist into the mirror,
shattering it and splattering blood across the shards.
“Fat bitch!” he screamed, feeling much better.
As Johny sat waiting for his food, a man in a wheelchair rolled over to
his table. There was the strong smell of onions as he slouched to one
side. Though the costume was different, Johny thought he looked a lot
like the sailor he had seen on the bus earlier.
He turned and regarded the kid in the Rage Against the Machine
T-shirt, mumbling something Johny couldn’t completely make out. “A
thundercloud from below… I am the God who created this farce.” His
eyes darted from side to side as he spoke, and although his frame was
thin and wiry, he spoke with a profound presence. Even the waitress,
oblivious to everything short of an atomic blast or a perceived slight,
paused and looked his way.
He turned back to Johny. “O my friend, who has lost his way within
himself—contorted and wrenched by the invisible hands of Fate—how is
it that you have ascended to such heights, without ever stopping to look
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