Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

The cop scowled and reached for his handcuffs. Jesus struck a very
cop-like posture and waved the fish at him with a stern expression on his
face. “He thinks he’s the vine, but he’s really a leaf!” Jesus said to the
Agent.
“Threaten me with your rules of office, rattleback? Rattle it backwards,
knocking spinal fluid everywhere in frenzied and incessant cries.
Trained muscle response, ‘backwards in muscle to discover who I could
have been.’ Think about tit, unfreed Gottfried, young Percival with a
lance and iron lung; trained to do war with transparent nightgowns, selfperverter;
trained to stock the shelves twice daily, ready for use inside
the breast-work, screaming ‘On Trojans! On!’ as Apollo, but with sillier
hair.”
“Lost yourself in the supermarket and cried out for mummy’s linen.
Mummy was doing cheap tricks in the seafood section, and came back
with a bucket of prawns. Daddy was involved in vaginal strangeness with
live lobsters, wearing an ancient bronze cod-piece and screaming ‘On
horses! On! Good men are ready to give way when the offender wants to
pay! I am the earth-shaker, my hands are gripping the spear, my heart is
beating high, my feet are dancing along, one two, one two! I’m ready to
stand alone and gallop the horse to madness!’ Equine dollar-bills a
George Washington-deep in cocaine. Childhood decisions a Mother Hive
Brain deep in decay. And you can quote me on that, sir.”
The cop was staring blankly at the limp fish in Jesus’ hand.
“Come, Dionysus,” Jesus said to Agent 139, quickly trotting off towards
a cream Nissan Maxima.
The police officer also went to his vehicle and radioed for backup.
I was going to quote, or at least introduce myself, but the mood
bummed a cigarette, bounded down the stairs, and stole my car. I suppose
I’ll tell you anyway. People call me Jay. I am really known as
“Handsome” Jim Manitoba, Pugilist extraordinaire. Realizing that you
realize as a non-entity that I know that you know that this is an active
world, which I still occupy, I feel that I should reply to outsiders using
my assumed name of “Jay, Cartesian mystery cook” otherwise I have
defeated myself…again. Yes, we all have plenty of crosses here. I lived a
life in a toothpick once. Ethics don’t work when you’re living in a toothpick—there’s
no “yes” or “no” in a toothpick. Now I work as a cook at
Lenny’s. The new Aryan race just keeps getting in the way of proper
behavior. Barbarians with linen napkins and battle axes and copies of
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