I realized I was becoming conscious in a scenario that was already taking place. I obviously wasn’t that important—the plot hadn’t needed me to begin. As usual, it was night time. My brother and I were at an airport in Spain. I had been to this airport many times before, but generally not out by the runway, and the airport was, generally, not in Spain. A garage mechanic who smelled of grease was arranging my brother and I’s transportation to a meeting place. The vehicle looked like a cross between a luggage carrier and a very small, dune buggy. It was a piece of shit and I asked the grease monkey if it was legal to drive on the streets, especially at night. It had headlights the size of Christmas tree bulbs, one which was clearly about to burn out. The grease monkey assured us that it would all be fine. I paid the man with something I took out of my pocket—I don’t believe it was money. My brother and I climbed in. It was pretty tight quarters.
We drove along a curving cobble-stone road. The street-lights looked like old-school gas lamps. I’m not sure if they were or not. There were lots of tasteful, but dimly lit bars and restaurants on the street. My brother told me to pull over, I think—or maybe I did so because our transportation had started to sizzle and crackle. Or maybe I did it for both reasons. The grease monkey popped back out of nowhere.
The vehicle was a piece of shit. It would no longer start and would have to be towed. The grease monkey and my brother looked at an electrical box my brother pulled from the back of the vehicle. My brother seemed to know far more about it than the grease monkey. Regardless, it was the vehicle’s ‘brain box’ and it now apparently was lobotomized. The grease monkey walked off with it ‘speaking of repairs’ and my brother and I went into a very casual, nice bar. Or at least, I know I did, I’m really not sure whether he did or not. He just sort of disappeared on me.
I lost my brother, but did not worry about it. I knew we would find each other soon enough. We had a vague appointment to attend together. It was just this side of somewhere. The actual where and why of it was murky to me so I made my way to the bar. I’d been to this place before, although I had never here while it was in Spain. It was usually somewhere else.
The bartender was polishing some brass and looking very wary of me. He served me quickly but, at the same time—his service was somewhat, reluctant. I had not asked for anything. He knew what I liked to drink though, and gave it to me, and asked for no money. Several of the patrons eye-balled me with apprehension. It felt like my presence was being tolerated but that was about the size of it. It also felt like violence could erupt at any moment but I was no longer fearful of that. Something had happened in the past, where I had came very close to death, but cheated it, and my reward was that I had became far stronger, faster and more lethal than I ever thought was possible for me. I always thought I was a just big pussy before—probably because I was. Now though, all I needed to do was keep the proper ratio of sugar and insulin in my system. I remember thinking that insulin was basically a steroid.—a growth hormone. I thought all of this in the blink of an eye.
I tightly smiled all the patrons of the bar to back to reason and watched them settle down within their’ booths and on their’ chairs. I took my drink out the back door of the bar. There were there ferns, cool night air, sculpture and the clean smell and splash of virgin seawater. This boosted my spirits and I looked over a brass railing into the gentle waves of moon-soaked water.
I met a man who I once knew from somewhere. I had no idea where. We talked for awhile but he was acting strange and jittery. I knew he was paranoid from too much cocaine and not enough sleep. I knew he had a good career path ahead of him, and a pretty wife with several children in tow and money. I also knew that it was driving him insane and he was about to lose it all because cocaine and liqour had got the better of him. No big shocker to me—not at all. I had been there myself, several times. In regards to what this character and I talked about however— I have absolutely no idea. The price of Polo shirts at Dillards? The best men’s scent to be procured at Macy’s for one hundred dollars a bottle? Ad infinitum… Whatever—I do remember asking him, however, if he had recently seen my brother. He looked confused and walked away, mumbling to himself. I thought about my brother. He was nothing like that joker, and it made sense that they didn’t know each other. I finished my drink and walked back inside to get another one…
I lost some time…
I found myself again. I was walking farther down the same dark, cobblestone street but didn’t know where I was going except forward. There were no cars on the street, and everything was like midnight, and a little too quiet. There were still a few people in the bars and restaurants, hunched over and talking in hushed tones. My brother popped up out of nowhere and began walking alongside of me. I don’t think we said anything to each other but it was like—we didn’t have to. We were brothers, and in this place that was all that was necessary for us to know.
We walked up to an old cathedral. A church made of ancient, gray stone. I knew that that these stones had been around since the earth cooled. My brother knew it too. It seemed like this was the place we were suppose to go. We looked at each other for a moment, smiled and nodded. Then we went in. Two priests were right inside the door. Actually, they really didn’t have the aura of priests—they seemed more like guys that would have a lot of common experiences to share with the grease monkey. They were wearing the appropriate black suits, however, and the traditional white collars, so I guess, my brother and I, or at least, I—assumed they were priests.
At first, their’ english was very broken but quickly it became more and more coherent. Within seconds they spoke fluent eastern sea board white irish ghetto american. They told us they were very busy preparing a theatrical play for the gravestone church. The said they only had a couple of weeks to put it all together. There was something really fucking wrong with them. They were grease monkeys disguised as priests, but they were fulfilling their’ roles. I don’t know what else to say or could be said.
My brother sat down on a piano bench and I believe he started talking to a lady with long white hair and glasses in an automated wheelchair. She had no legs below the knees but was in the same room, just slightly barricaded off. I had known her before, and had held her hand right before she died. She was looking a lot better now. Regardless, it seems like her and my brother had a brief conversation. If they did I was not privy to it.
My brother started playing the piano, very softly. I do not know what the song was, but it was soft and pleasant and reminded me of a moonlit sea. I had the feeling the woman had suggested it to him, but I really could not say that for sure. I was impressed that my brother knew this particular piece of music. As I said before, I did not know its title, but would not have been able to play it, if I had. My brother well—he understood things that I did not. I realized however at that moment, there were things I knew that most of humanity wants to know, but does not, my brother included. In this place however, it is far better to know what he knows and not what I do. His knowledge here is considered, brilliant and entirely acceptable. My knowledge will only be tolerated for a very short time, and then off to the asylum you go…or worse. The consciousnesses of those who possess my kind of knowledge are not fit for this world—and it generally carries a death sentence of one variety or another. But I’ve digressed again…
I watched as one of the priests grabbed a tiny, white book from the top of the piano. It had smudged prints on it, making it look dirty. He brought it over to me. He opened the book and placed it in my hands. The priest pointed to some lines and asked me if I would like to play that role. The lines the priest pointed to were printed in thicker ink than the other lines but my eyes were blurry from progressive diabetes and I had not a clue what any of it said.. I, however, refused to heal myself, or even wear glasses—so that my other senses would be heightened. As I said, I could not read any of it, but I could see that it was not written in the style of bibles. I do not know what kind of play they wanted me to participate in. All I knew was that it had the thicker lines.
It didn’t matter. I agreed to play the role. The two priests, who were now standing together, looked very pleased. My brother still delicately made love to the piano with his fingers. The old lady in the wheelchair was gone. She had been dead for quite some time, after all.
My stomach felt sour. I felt apprehensive because the priests did not ask my brother if he wanted to have a role in the play. I don’t know if he did, or did not, but it made me feel bad anyway.
I told the priests my brother and I had to go back home. I asked them if they were going to pay for us to come back to Spain when it was time to do the play. They shook their’ heads, ‘no’ and told me, ‘we would have to do that on our own’. I realized that I had sufficient money to do so, but it didn’t seem like it was that ‘good of a deal’. It felt like I was doing them a favor and not getting shit for it. I felt like telling them to ‘go fuck their’ selves’ but refrained. I just nodded my head like their’ response was reasonable.
Suddenly, I remembered there was a girl I knew in Spain, and maybe that would justify me coming back. I really didn’t know where she was in Spain in relationship to this place. Once upon a time, she was a great friend, one of the best I ever had, next to family, but then I understood something that I really hadn’t considered before. The girl I knew that now in Spain was just like a beautiful, delicate flower you pass when walking alongside a country road. If you are lucky, you spot this wondrous creation, and stop for a moment to admire it and appreciate it’s beauty for what it is. After that moment is gone, however, it is your duty to slowly walk away, already beginning to brim with sadness of the loss. You could turn around and cling but it will not be the same. The fragrance will turn to venom and the delicate petals will wither in the most terrible way. You know in your heart you will never travel this way again and you want to turn around as your eyes begin leaking…
I remembered and realized all of that in far less than a second, but no matter. My words, at best, are awkward and clumsy. I can’t even come close to explaining something that transcends and trumps all words—for words are only symbols of symbols, after all. Regardless, I promised my brother I would not digress so I shall not waste any more time on this—although I could devote volumes.
I lost some time…that is the way of things when I travel. My brother and I were no longer in Spain. He and I were walking up a hill toward a grand and spacious house. It was the house of my early years, not his, and I thank god for the latter. For it had been a house that generated and perpetuated darkness, negativity and fear. I felt none of that as we walked up to the door. It was a better place now. It was as it deserved to be all along.
My brother opened the door without a key. That was in and of itself—unusual. I walked inside to the landing. My brother ran passed me, up a stairway, and into a room that belonged to another one of our brothers. That brother had vacated the premises long ago, but he had left something behind. The brother with me now wanted to find it. Perhaps, the vacant brother had left it for my other brother to find. Perhaps, he knew someday that the brother who was with me now—would need it.
I figured it to be a toy, but I am not so sure of that now. It feels like it was something far more important than that. Whatever it was, I gave my brother time and space to try and find it. While he was doing so, I walked around the house, expecting to see piles of musty dark sick cluttered rubble, but the house was fresh and clean and the furniture and carpet was all new. It was the same place, but completely different now. I realized I was getting better and smiled.
My brother was still searching in the room. I wanted him to find what he was looking for. That’s when I heard the sound of waves. I found this unusual, as we were so far away from a body of water that could produce such a sound. I was going back outside to investigate and that’s when I saw my step-mother in the kitchen. She was hastily chopping up vegetables and making all manners of wonderful dishes to be served st some sort of banquet. She smiled while sweating. She asked, if I could help her out. I said of course I could, but didn’t do anything but follow her into the dining room.
The table was formally set, and our father sat at the head of table, alone. He was grumbling, but not hostile. I’m not sure if he was grumbling because he wanted to get along with the feasting or not. Perhaps, he was not happy that the other guests had not yet arrived. I don’t know. It’s always hard to tell with him, even though I know him best—in a way that is not easily understood. My step-mother disappeared and I went back to the kitchen and ate some delicious brownies that were on the counter.
I lost some time…
I was briefly in Spain again, in the church, for just a moment. I was about to dictate my terms to the priests for me playing the role. I realized that the sound of the rushing water back at the house was far more important.
I found myself…
I was walking through the house again. No one was around. I thought about how the house was a really nice place to live now—except for the sound of rushing water. That set me ill-at-ease. I went outside and the house was now a beachfront property. Children were laughing and dancing in the waves and the sand, but I was scared. Suddenly, a huge explosion happened right in front of me, in the water, and took the form of a mushroom cloud. Nobody else seemed to care, but all I could think about was the radiation, and getting people, especially the children clear. They were all laughing and splashing around however and my father came by in a rubber boat. No, that is not accurate, it was one of those large plastic things that you can lay on, and it was red. He was having a good time, smiling, and had a can of Busch Light on his paunch.
A huge surging wave hit me a few feet from the doorway of the house. I freaked out but then lost most of my fear of the ‘radioactivity’. I was forced to swim, but the water was crystal, clear and brightly blue. It did not sicken me, but made me feel absolutely alive. It was most beautiful and kind but I still had a little residual fear of radiation, but no one, not even myself took me seriously. The water receded a great distance and left the house in ruins. I intuitively knew my brother had got away clean, but was not sure he found what he was looking for. I hoped my step-mother was ok, but she didn’t know how to swim and was nowhere in sight. I lost my fear of the radiation but began to worry about the tsunami such an explosion would bring.
I started screaming about an imminent tsunami and walking along the wet, friendly sand toward the breaking waves. I did so with less and less caution. The shore was a lot farther away now, but the kids were all still laughing and playing. I secretly wished to have another one of those huge, cleansing waves come crashing through, so I could once again swim and splash and—purify myself. In general, it was not easy for me to have fun, but it seemed I was getting more in tune with the frequency. I continued walking on the wet sand, toward the sea, and that’s when I saw my brother again.
He was in good shape. Absolutely nothing was wrong with him. He was intensely studying something however. I walked toward him in the wet sand. He had not found what he was looking for in the house, I could feel that, but, he was not perturbed about it either. He always had that kind of nature. Truth be told—we didn’t really no each other anymore, and hadn’t for quite some time. We were far different people now, than the ones that we were before, and knew each other as before…and that was ok. He had a common dominator that transcended all of those masks and superficial bullshit scenarios that made us feel so different—so unique.
We had both tasted of death, and in coming back a bond had been bound between us that never could entirely be severed. Everybody dies, but not everybody dies before their’ death. Or at least, that is how I still claim to know him. Perhaps though—it was something for more simple than that. Perhaps, it was just because we were brothers…and that’s all there was to it.
It have not a clue, I thought, waving at him just a little way down the beach. He smiled and waved back. It was paradise. He motioned for me to come join him and then pointed to the sea. Our father was safe and secure on his little, red raft. He appeared to be laughing at the sun, and thoroughly enjoying himself. His can of beer surely must have been, never ending, or maybe, he just nursed it well.
My brother and I were nearly together again, standing on a new shoreline. What had stirred his imagination and attracted his attention was one of those whopper-sized wooden spools that industry uses to coil large lengths of wire. Eventually, after industry has had its way with them and used up all the wires, people make tables out of the wooden spools but that is really neither here nor there.
I walked up to my brother. He said ‘look at this’ and he pointed to the top of the spool. I looked at it. All around the top of the spool were holes and in those holes there were large glass tubes. In the tubes there were some ugly, but intriguing, little creatures. Despite how they looked, the little creatures put off a vibration of true glee, laughter and delight. They were irresistible. My brother and I giggled uncontrollably, just like Jesus and his twin on ecstasy, and slapped our knees over and over again (Brief aside/mini-blowhard/sorry): In several of the Gnostic gospels and in even more of the traditions Jesus did indeed have a twin—and his name Judas…Thomas, which puts a whole knew spin on the ball. Yeshua excuse me Jesus’s brother betrayed him to fulfill multiple Old Testament prophecies and it really wasn’t a betrayal at all—Judas loved his brother. Or we can go another route Thomas—the most familiar of the Gnostic authors and mentioned in Constantine’s New Testament as somebody so lacking in faith he had to poke his finger in the slash in Yeshua’s side to half-ass believe a.k.a. Doubting Thomas in the Hebrew Didymus. Or maybe it’s the Latin Vulgate…what do you think I am some sort of authority?
Seriousness eventually, inevitably, overcame us. My brother and I knew that despite it all, everything was not all fun and games—at least not at this level. All of the glass tubes were secure, safe and properly capped, except for one, and that was the cause of my brother’s concern. creature in it was dying. I nodded my head to my brother because he wanted me to fix it. I started monkeying with the lid of the tube and I got it a good share of the way, but I couldn’t do anymore. I looked to my brother and he nodded. My brother, whom had far more nimble fingers than I, took over and finished out the job. The little creature was safe and secure again, and went to sleep, breathing easy.
And my last thought before I awoke was, somehow or another, my brother and I had just saved a new world that was emerging right before our very eyes…