Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

turned towards him, there was a weight and mystery to what he said, a
certain sphinx-like gravity.
Ken got up, revealing himself as one of the “sombrero brothers” in the
corner, and came over to him.
“A journey?” Alexi asked, his fingers still fretting an E-minor chord
on the fretboard.
Rob nodded, a slightly smug smile flashing across his face. The mood
of the room had reversed in an instant, the roaring chaos silenced by a
whisper, and the cameraman panned towards Rob as the women and
transvestites tangled at his feet gathered around him in a circle like children
during storytime.
When he didn’t continue, Alexi asked if he could explain.
He nodded again. “I talk and I guide you. You relax and explore your
mindscapes, listen to the vibrations and pitch of my voice. Every state of
mind is a trance state, and I know that as you are listening to me speak,
your own mind can determine the most interesting and revealing realities
to construct from my words,” he said with incredible nonchalance, in just
the same way he might have been talking about a loaf of bread, or the
weather, or the rubber octopus dangling ominously from the ceiling over
Samantha’s head. “I’m used to doing this with one person, but I’m not
familiar with crowds. I could try it in a little while, in Jason’s guest
room.”
“You’ll explain more when we start?” Alexi asked.
“When we start, yes.” His voice was deep, and he spoke with a certain
no-nonsense matter-of-factness that Alexi found very unusual, so it came
as no surprise when he later learned that Rob carried the strong pulse of
Native American blood in his veins.
Alexi and Samantha headed into the guest room ahead of everyone
else. It was painted orange by the amber light of an old lamp sitting on a
desk, right beside a small bunk bed. Decrepit curtains flapped idly,
draped across half-open windows. There was something about the
movement that could only be explained as idle or futile, even though the
personification made little sense to Alexi at the moment.
He sat on the bed. Samantha sat down beside him, and looked at his
hand, perching bird-like on his knee.
“Hey…,” she said breathily.
He smiled at her. “I’m sorry—do I know you?”
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