Brandon Project: Text for Writer = pat

Date entered: 1997/06/24 09:40

NARRATIVE: The IV cuff on my arm beeped empty, waking me from a confused and incoherent dream set in what might have been a multifaith church or a Far Eastern bazaar, in which some skinny woman had been arguing with another Brain Police officer as to who I was. the other officer, whom I couldn't identify at all, kept insisting I was now somebody else. Junkie is now known as fool. the skinny woman seemed to be arguing that due to widespread bodyplay, almost no one had any original tissue anymore so the biological didn't count, but it was hard tell since she was always talking with her mouth full and never seemed to swallow anything. At some point, a philosopher came in to settle the matter; he suggested that I be cut into two sections, one to be given to the Brain Police and the other to be thrown off a cliff. junkie is now known as fool.

DIALOGUE [fool]: some skinny woman had been arguing,
kept insisting I was now somebody else.
due to widespread bodyplay,
the biological didn't count,
she was always talking with her mouth full.
At some point,
he suggested that I be cut into two sections,


Date entered: 1997/06/24 09:43

NARRATIVE: Inside, he was like the first draft of the Frankenstein's monster. He didn't even make a good crazy quilt, he was a junk pile, visualization shifting like a runway slide show without a sequence to follow. He couldn't hang on to an idea longer than a few seconds, except for one: meeting Rowan in a crib. But he didn't know who was supposed to meet her-- him as the whore, him as Dionysius, him as Sovay as Dionysius, Sovay as him, Sovay as him as Dionysius-- he'd even lost all track of whether he or Sovay had been Dionysius. It was the type of confusion that spiraled inward. Follow it, and you's chase your own tail until you imploded into a fugue state, and when you came out of it, you'd be back in the same place, ready to start over. Black hole set on permanent rewind and replay. Junkie is now known as fool.

Anything else you want to know about teh nature of hell?

The question fluttered past me on a tattered rag caught in a minor whirlwind. The landscape that faded in was my own involuntary visualization. That would happen if nobody set the scene; sooner or later, you'd see something unless you forced yourself not to. This something was something like the surface of the moon transplanted to the badlands, the morning after a mental costume orgy. Most of the debris littering the ground didn't know what it had been before it had become debris. Junkie is now known as fool.

DIALOGUE [fool]: he was a junk pile,
shifting like a runway slide show--
without a sequence to follow--
except for one
him as the whore,
him as Dionysius,
him as Sovay as Dionysius,
Sovay as him,
Sovay as him as Dionysius
ready to start over.
Anything else you want to know about teh nature of hell?
That would happen if nobody set the scene;
sooner or later,
you'd see something unless you forced yourself not to.
the morning after a mental costume orgy.


Date entered: 1997/06/24 09:46

NARRATIVE: fool is now known as junkie.
Then I'm off on a fast hope trip. Memory junkie, yah, maybe I've been feeding the beast after all and this is somebody else's memory. Two seconds later, the trip's over. This can't be something I got from someone else because I didn't get a rise out of it. The memories I get junked up on are someone else's, no matter how dull they are. Someone else's vacation at the shore, someone else's wedding, someone else's frigging trip to the grocery store and I am totaled, buzzed and rebuzzed. But the day I killed somebody - ha, and ha. Doesn't even raise a blip.

Across from where I am sitting, the overhead rail lights up and I can hear the freebus droning in the distance like a bored hornet. Better hurry home now and see if I am hiding bloody clothes in the shower. After all, who says this is my first kill? maybe I really screwed up and got myself a murder jones from somewhere. fool is now known as junkie.

DIALOGUE [junkie]: Two seconds later,
I didn't get a rise out of it.
someone else's wedding,
I am totaled, buzzed and rebuzzed.
ha, and ha.
Memory junkie, yah,
the trip's over.
After all, who says
this is my first kill?


Date entered: 1997/06/24 09:49

NARRATIVE: Is that the way it was? A lost-soul memory junkie with a yen for more than a persona overlay. Give me a whole new life, give me somebody else's life because I am sick of mine. Give me her life, yah, that one there. The actress. I'll take her, I'll be her. They's given her my personality in an overlay and then given her my appearance as well, while they'd made me over to look like her, imprinted me with her-- Even as I thought it, I knew it wasn't quite right. Bodysnatchings weren't unheard of. There were plenty of sad cases walking around looking to hijack someone else's life and leave their own bleak existences behind, and changing their own appearance to match wasn't beyond most of them. But surgically altering the other person... not to that extent. It was easier just to suck the mind out, scramble the finger- and retina-prints, and dump the rest in a cipher ward.

DIALOGUE [junkie]: Is that the way it was?

A lost-soul memory junkie
Give me a whole new life,
give me somebody else's life because I am sick of mine.
I'll take her, I'll be her.
I knew it wasn't quite right.
Bodysnatchings weren't unheard of.
not to that extent.
scramble the finger-
dump the rest