Who are you? Who am I, yes. The caterpillar, the elephant, who are you? I know who I am. The devil tried to trick me, the devil got me, Lord, must have been the devil. I believe I have gone mad. Only the devil would make me—am not mad. I’m alone on a tropical beach. We’re all mad here—very well, but no madder than most. My senses won’t deceive me. It is the gift of the prophets to make sense of the chaos, to interpret the random, to see light in lies, to see the reality behind the metaphorical, the metaphor, and that is why prophets must also be poets: for the spirit will not descend without song.
I am chained. Yes chained. That is the reality of the situation. I am chained, and the Mist of Lies has descended. The Cloud of Lies, the Veil of Lies. Everything I see and seem is—no, I am real. I am constant. What I see, the light rays, the interpretation, that may be false, but I am real. I am real and there are no prophecies. There are no prophets and I have prophesied nothing. Hoodwinked, ambushed, bamboozled, run amok. Keep it tight. I’m not insane, because I remember. The mad have no memories, no memories that are not mad. But the past, I remember, whole, unbroken, perfect, true. I am a person, just so. What has happened to me, what is happening now, that is insane. I recognize that. I scream it now, I say it outloud: If I am dreaming, if I am in an asylum, if I am strapped to a bed and my family weeps and watches, then know at least that I know that this is madness. I cannot help what I perceive to be, and I cannot ignore what my perceptions force upon me; but I have kept my sense, my common sense, and I know when what is is not right.
Chained, I am chained. This I know, this is true. My wrists and ankles. I can imagine what may be, but I try to move my joints and they do not respond. Or rather, they do, but are restricted. The chains are real. I remember the chains. The chains were there before the lies took over. The Water of Lies. My arms are spread my legs are spread I know why that is. I am not mad. Slowly, slowly. Yes, I remember that too, I remember him, sloppy and small. Disgusting and vile. Vile is evil spelled sideways, Ringo is groin spelled sideways. And John, John is—
You lose your sense and you lose everything. Think straight, think ordered, think at once. Danielle. What about Danielle? Nothing. Nothing and double. That is there, here is here. But I knew. Is this because? What did I know? I knew what. Together, together. Straight.
I’ve been down. Years, weeks, days and centuries. I know that’s wrong, but I don’t know how to argue with intuition. Everything takes so long seems to move so slow. When first I held my breath the spray came every five minutes. It didn’t last long but I knew how to count then and the Rain of Lies came every five minutes. But it slowed and it hurt and I wanted more. They chained me and raped me and sent the lies every five minutes. Now all is fallen to blackness. Darkness, blackness, silence. I don’t know when if spray comes anymore. I can’t touch it anymore. Now the lies are always there, and it takes so long. It has been many years since the last spray. I remember that I was many times younger then. Now my beard reaches the floor.
I am not that, think straight. Keep your sense. You haven’t been here long. Maybe a day. Maybe a week. Not years. You are young and healthy. Test the chains. Still there. Still hard. The spray will come soon. It has to. Then we’ll think again. Just be quiet and good now, and wait. You get nervous, edgy, tiresome. Count to five thousand. There, wasn’t that? Don’t you feel? Count to nine million. Again, slowly, again, by twos. The spray has to come soon. Just keep counting. Keep counting and keep your voice down. Your inner voice, the mind’s eye. All perception, no sensation, all numbers and counting. Do you hear? It is the motion of liquid; it is the motion of metal! The time has come! The time will be upon us! Count to one billion! Faster, faster, count as fast as you can, and just—
Ah! Ribblit bibble babbletosh arckin gaffle tockdrinfle pulbbly gimdragger. Higgy higgy higgy hog hog droggle drim drim dim. Coo coo coo coo clah. Cloggle. Cluh cluh. Klee klee. Skree skree’s what the bats said the bats all flappy scraff ha ha you look the diamonds! The diamonds! Organ bones and silicone! O, the stars…!
It’s good, it’s good, it’s good, you’re sharp now. Chains what chains? Ha! Chains! A million stars away, three point two six lights per second. Sirius, all diamonds and crackerjack, there’s nothing there, no one, but I, I, I, I I I, me me me. I am the classless emperor of the empty empire of Sirius the Canaanite star. Look upon my works and despair!
A lion jumps across space, brings me the message. It vibrates the air, jiggles the particles of my bongos and glass is breaking, the lion says. Says; what joke! What joke that is, to say says, as if a lion could talk to me! The message is too late, much later than it was. Break your own glass, foolish cat. Break your glasses and read the stars, for therein all is written! The prophet can read all from any part; any part from all.
No, break it, wait it down. Push it all back. There is no lion, not a star, or on a star. I would die on a star. And my memories: Do not lose your memories. I am on Earth. I have never left the Earth. No one has ever left the Earth. So focus. Focus and leave your perceptions alone. They are false. They are lies. Keep coming back to where you are. And if you have the time, to where to get free.
There’s a window. I don’t know how long it lasts. It doesn’t last long. This isn’t it. I’m thinking now. It takes too much effort. But I remember the past, the lucidity, the clearness, clarity, clearity, with my clear skin shining off the plastic walls. Maybe it lasts a second and maybe that’s a lie. I’m never fully healthy. It lives in my bones, I think it lives in the bones of the blind. But in the clarity I think I’m a prophet, or to fulfill a prophecy, but I could read the prophecy if I could see it.
The noise strikes. No, no, a new noise. I haven’t been here long. Have I? How long? I don’t know. Maybe no time. The Fist of Lies, the goddamned Barrage of Lies. The King of Lies. The—
Yes, the devil. Must have been the devil. It’s the devil made me mad. Only the devil—no, not mad. I’m not—I—’m not—who am I?
(Gun shots?)
I am…?
Screams, anger, violence. Bodies hit hard, yes. That is real. That is real. That and I am chained. I am chained and I see that I am chained. It’s been many days now, since the last Thunder of Lies. I can see clearly now. I can see clearly, and all I can do is see. To think—let’s not waste it.
To one million. That’s a light load, but now it takes forever. Time slows down. When the lies are gone, the numbers move slowly. That’s so the light can’t stay as long. The darkness stays forever but the light is very slow and ends very fast. If I can make it to a million, I think I can break the spell. It’s not a spell, drugged, drugged, and God knows how often raped. God knows, god, god. There is no god, but one would certainly come in handy now.
I can see it, I can see it all, my chains, the pillars, my naked body. Before I was blind, but now I can see. The machine, the vats, the stairs, the stones. A mountain of rocks.
God, give me the strength. God, though I have forsaken you, though I have led myself to this debased fate, though as I speak I believe in you not, give me the strength.
The old one is coming, coming down the stairs, running, and bloody, and bald. He is injured but uninjured. I read in his face what has happened, and when he sees me, I read in his desires what will happen and what can happen no longer. Sticky hands on filthy legs, cuffs, chains shaken and manipulated. A broken link, a free limb, the rat thrown back and tossed again. He tries to explain, but his words are devil-twisted, his tongue is red and long. Again nearer and I cannot kick away.
Dear God, give me the strength. Let the tower tip. The cuffs tighten, the chain stretches but does not break. I feel the pillars move, and I hear the stones raining down, as if the heavens themselves are let loose upon us. The machines smashed, the vats smashed, and both of us buried alive, alive as good as gone, one on top of the other, and in the confusion he receives what he wanted at the price they all pay. Dearest hunter, I will not let you live. You shall join me in this end day celebration. Folks say death is bitter, but it tastes very sweet to me.