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Queen City and Other Dimensions. E.C. WellsЧитать онлайн книгу.

Queen City and Other Dimensions - E.C. Wells


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was an example. I gave them visions for more dimensions yet to come. I gave them something to look forward to, something real, something to ease their material suffering.”

      “You are an amazingly funny stupid man.” Lucifer slowly exhaled a thick protracted stream of vapor that rose to make curlycues in the air above the head of Jesus. The curlycues seemed to be mocking Jesus as they twisted one over the other. Lucifer jocularly accused, “You got in their way. Souls must change themselves——by themselves.” Lucifer’s vapor stream descended over the head of Jesus, turned into a golden halo annoying Jesus.

      “Stop that! Get rid of that damned thing.”

      “As you say, merchant of illusions, myths, and lies!”

      The halo vanishes. “My character never lied, Lu. I spoke only truth. I genuinely wanted to be of help. To show them the Miraculous. They chose the text over the subtext. Missing the subtle, the ethereal. Something transporting, transcending. I tried to show them the power of Will. It is the greatest power given to Man and yet they let it atrophy because they don’t know how to use it. I tried to teach them, Lu, but everything went meshugge.” Jesus was visibly unnerved.

      “See what that got you. Surely, you must agree that it is impossible to communicate truth, unless they already know it for themselves.”

      “Everybody knows the truth when they hear it.”

      “In that case, what they needed was confirmation for what they were hearing. Not the lies, my dear beautiful spirit, you wove into riddles, parables, ambiguity…your own ambivalence. Even until this day on Earth they still take you literally. Now tell me everyone knows the truth when they hear it.”

       “Not my fault!”

      “There you go again, Jeez. Of course it was. The fruit of your tree, dear boy, has rotted to the core.”

      “Thank you for that; since you feel a need to state the obvious. Besides, I will not do another performance. Once should have been more than enough for me.”

      “But it wasn’t, was it? You took many names other than Jesus.”

      “Never again. I leave it to their Nature.”

      “Not a bad idea, Jeez”

      “Lu? Maybe you should go this time. You’d make a terrific Jesus.”

      “Me? The Evil One with horns and a pitchfork? I want a makeover. Alexander the Great might be an enjoyable experience. Or Al Capone. Fun roles. Maybe a Broadway musical. I want to live and have fun without restrictions and without your pitiful guilt. Lady Gaga!Now I could do that.”

      Jesus pretended to listen to Lucifer, trying to figure why he was sitting in the best vape bar in Sumer City listening to Lu’s accusations from seasons ago. Avoid the tedious and the stale. How much guilt must one Messiah bear?

      “Lucifer, I have a question for you.”

      “Shoot, kiddo.”

      “Why must all the world suffer the atrocities of others? Must they accept their misfortunes silently, stoically, alone? Why shouldn’t I care? Why shouldn’t I try?”

      “I don’t know, kiddo. Your mitzvah, I suppose. Most atrocities are committed in the Overlord’s name! I will give your question more thought, if you will think about how that cushy bed of Faith and Belief is leading your followers to their own apathetic demise. Jesus the Christ! I hate do-gooders!” Lucifer reached into the air, smiled, held his hand out to Jesus and said, “Here it is: So they can deflect and delegate all responsibility away from themselves and place it into the hands of the invisible.”

      “What are you talking about?” Jesus asked.

      “The personification of the God.”

      “I don’t see his point,” Gertrude Stein said with a boozy smirk, “I would certainly know the point were I stuck inside a holodeck!”

      “You think?” Plato asked, although it sounded more like a challenge. “One day, perhaps, you will learn the nature of reality and the reality of nature. Give it time, Gertrude.”

      “Shh,” Gertrude Stein snarled. “I want to hear the monkey sing.”

      * * *

      Once upon a time, Sumer was the fourth planet from the sun. Then a Herculean meteor sped between it and Earth, causing them to collide. The collision generated enough energy for Sumer to carve off half of the planet Earth and incorporate it into itself. Consequently, Earth, now half its former size, was knocked closer to Mars. Sumer, along with its added mass of Earth——containing deoxyribonucleic acid, the main constituent of chromosomes and genetic information——was catapulted into an orbit well-nigh out of the solar system. Sumer revolves around the sun from the farthest edge of the solar system, beyond the ice planets. This will be the fourth rotation the Sumerians will visit Earth. They knew of the name change from New Sumer to Earth and, considering the terrible things that have been evolving on the planet, they gladly welcome the change since they no longer want to be associated with it. Earth is monitored regularly from impossible distances, but once every rotation the planet Sumer is in position for physical contact. The contact port is due to open shortly.

      “How much is shortly, Max?” asked Kuku, as if she had a lemon up her ass.

      “Yeah. How much, Max?” Kaka, twin brother to Kuku, asked as though he had the rest of the lemons and the tree up his ass.

      “As long as it takes,” Captain Talbot answered telepathically with a wink and a wrenched smile before adding, “Soon, kids.”

      “We ain’t kids!”

      “I know.”

      * * *

      You bet they ain’t kids their brains are stunted their minds are infected by a fatal disease known as stupidity they die out of place and time on a planet called Earth look again Maxfield see how the mind gets ahead of itself changes itself from harmony to dissonance you’ve fucked up time and space again allow my brain to calculate time and space folds your mind must listen not just your ears your brain is a useful tool use it WAKE UP!

      A sonic boom and Max was back at the home he never left.

      FOUR

       too much public television

      Lily is an unemployed middle-aged actor with a practical wash and dry cut. Once a natural strawberry blond, now in need of regular touching-up to keep the omnipresence of strawberry, which makes her feel better about herself, Lily is, as is V, in that middle-age agelessness that dares the hazard of guessing. To guess could lead to an existential crisis. To guess too high could be felt as an inexcusable insult; to guess too low could sound suspiciously patronizing, untruthful and definitely unnecessary. Best to never mention it.

      Another life ago, when Lily played the ingenue in the French Provincial ‘B’ touring company of Andy Webber’s Ben Hur, the Musical, she was beguiled by an absolutely perfect stranger who took her into the tombs beneath Orléans. He was a hottie, twenty-ish, with the face and body of a god named Philippe le Hottie.

      Philippe le Hottie waited impatiently outside the actors’ exit, chewing on the corner of his playbill, shivering in the hot summer night with anticipation and excitement to get Mademoiselle Champagne’s autograph. Philippe le Hottie spoke no English to speak of, so he mustered his courage to gain her attention by removing his shirt and showing off his abs. A streamlet of warm saltwater meandered through muscled ridges meeting, ever so briefly, where they gathered into the small pool in his navel, before pouring rivulets of sweat that wandered through the heat and humidity in the dark maze of his curly love trail.

      Philippe stood glistening under the alley streetlights on that hot summer evening, catching the attention of everybody in the cast and crew as they exited from their final performance of Ben Hur, the Musical, he blessed himself and prayed to Saint Joan of Arc for the famous Mademoiselle


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