(this story is very like the last tunnel people tale,
with significant alterations…..just don’t ask me
what they are)
THE TUNNEL PEOPLE ARE AS REAL AS THIS CABBAGE
LIGHTHEARTED TALES OF ISOLATION AND PANIC
I’d get farther away from myself most days……… if I could! I judge myself –it’s called the negative script — and the disdain you can feel for yourself is quite surprising. Self-hate abounds. That’s one of the reasons I drink….
When I have a brain clawing hangover, as I have now – LAO TZU says: “START WITH COMPASSION FOR YOURSELF”,
then the world will follow in harmony around you. Now…. this morning, things are a bit different. We had a “chartreuse” party. Dexter and Nicodemus, chief brewers of the Tunnel People always did look a little green… an unhealthy hue, both men have. Then again, they’re afraid of the sky – so that puts a crimp in their tanning… Tanning? Tanning? Don’t tell big fibs – no one tans up here, cept in mid-May when the snow’s still two feet thick – hence, no flies! Bertie, Artie, Matilda & Hanks, and him who I call “Double Dexter” — he of the praying hand, 2 praying-blessing hands, like a praying mantis…. Except his routine’s not quite so dark… his female doesn’t eat her male, at least not yet anyway – not today, but the morning’s young. Maybe after they pray?..
That foxy little, full-buttocked blonde vixon with the pixie cut – she looks like she could eat something all right. I’ll give her something to chew on any time she likes! (Errrr, please excuse! Lost one thread and pulled another…) Hank is making a clanging noise at the end of the bunker…. which is extended by about ten feet after last weeks clawing and scraping into the cement construction… he chews something to strengthen the re-bar. What it is I have no idea… I don’t want to know.
So we pay Dexter $20.00 for just two quarts of “chartreuse”. We call it that only because it’s green; and it does have a sweet aftertaste of sugar and decay…
“You got tree roots in this stuff?” I ask the brewmasters, who look like the less fortunate people in A Brother Grimms fairy tale.
“Aye, and mushrooms of the rarest variety picked under a waxing crescent moon…”
Double-Dexter and Nicodemus sing this together. Did they just sing that? Have they been rehearsing? “Oh,no!” I mumble…”No one would rehearse that song.
“Dexter, where does the green come from?” I ask him. I’m on my second glass.
” IT COMES FROM THE SWEAT OFF THE ARSE OF A TREE TOAD!” he answers loudly. Did I hear that right? No, couldn’t have! Did I hallucinate it? I hope so.I’m on my third glass… and I hope I’m seeing things… Maybe I’m hearing things,too! IF THIS IS REAL THERE MAY BE
A whole sheet or irridescent white light sweeps like a sheet across Hank’s glued and re-barred wall… It’s beautiful, really… “What the fuck was that?” Foxie asks.
“Good going, Hank. You put some sparklers in the wall also,… very clever,” I say. “Better than clever, it’s CUNNING architecture….” I call out to Hank. Dexter,Bertie and Matilda are lying on the mud floor…unmoving…. Wait, I just saw Matilda make a squirming motion, like a snake… She’s crept up over Dexter now and appears to be sucking one of his digits… or is she trying to digest it?
“Ye gods, no! Is this some ancient ritual? Is everybody part of it but me? Oh God, situations like this… ancient rituals… chanting and making hissing and sucking sounds — tribes who indulged in such practices have never been kind to outsiders…”
“And… … I AM THE OUTSIDER! …….
In this… situation…” What? What atavistic primal twisted thinking is this?
“This is MY BUNKER MOTHERFUCKERS! And no genital-sacrificing lizard people are going to kick me out!” “NO WAY, JOSE!”
There appears to be a long green tunnel, rather like a vagina THE RELEASING OF THE WATERS! or a throat…..extending and twistng off into infinity… slimy, green, and glistening…. (snatch/twat/ cooze/ vulva! HOLY VULVA! —– cause of the rivers that flow…..
CAUSE OF THE RELEASING OF THE WATERS! or a throat, extending and twistng off into infinity… slimy, green, and glistening…. Dexter stares into my eyes with a look of prescient understanding… he knows the tunnel… he is beckoning to me… he wants me to walk towards it…. “CARE FOR A LITTLE STROLL?” he says with kalidescope eyes…or were they lizard eyes… I can no longer remember…and that little detail might be essential for my survival…! Too weird. It does not compute. “Hey Hank, what does KUNTz have to say about situations like this?”
Hank laughs, a long shivering laugh that he CAN never repeat in 1000 years, I hope… He says (Kuntz says): ‘THERE’S NOWHERE TO GO BUT WHERE YOU ARE.” It makes a strange sordid kind of sense… is this man some kind of genius? Did he anticipate this meeting already??? Did he know what we’d be doing here?? Dexter grabs my arm, reaches out to me from the direction of the morning star and says:
‘RELAX, IT’S TIME TO PRAY.”
Dexie doesn’t kill ya with his prayers
and imprecations…. he makes you
want to kill him. I particularly don’t like it
when he puts his hand on my head:
“The lord has not creatED (past tense) the earth: THE EARTH AND SKIES, GALAXIES AND STARS are being created as we speak by the ONE WHO IS CREATING US… The LORD IS NOT SOME jealous DEMIURGE
WHO CREATED IN THE PAST TENSE! NO! ”
Double-Dexter proclaims loudly, his fingers
clutching in my hair
“Get your hand off my head before I crack you one
with a blunt instrumen!” I say, “Stop trying to push me
back down on my knees!” I say. And I mean it.
“DO NOT TAKE ME TOO SERIOUSLY,” he says.
… I AM GOD’S ROUNDER, a drunken messenger …
“BE my companion in this rollicking dance that splits the atoms, circles the globes and pierces the galaxies….. Only one Mind is at home here, and there, and millions of light years away,
AND THAT MIND IS MINE!” he shouts
over his congregation… all of whom
are turning from pale faces – to
constant green hues.
I notice Hank over off to my right
digging his own tunnel once again,
in a snit…
I think of a hound dog digging, kicking out with
his hind paws, throwing out sand beneath
his ass – as frantic as if he were humping your
leg. Which means he has to dig fast…
This method of building cement reinforced beams out of re-bar and cement in order to support the muddy sand ceiling as he digs
deeper into his bunker with urgency…towards the East. All the while to the light of these candles that burn like toned-down sparklers…. I can only assume the black flecks in the nasty yellow of the candles are tiny dots of gun powder… What’s so funny now?” I call out. Over the hissing, cackling sounds… the staccato hissing is the candles burning…. the cackling is what passes for Hank’s laugh… “What’s so funny now?” I call out to him. “It’s what he says/…”
“What who says?”
“KUNTz!” he shouts, a bursting laugh passes thru his nose “We are too late for the gods but too early for TOUCHY FEELIES!” “You can’t fall in the same shit house twice.” You can take a train; you can take a car: But “THERE’S NOWHERE TO GO BUT WHERE YOU ARE!” Kuntz sez. ( p.s. That’s the name of a John Rock song. He’s started
to make rhymes) Kuntz is living in the upper Amazon, and has been taking a number of ayahuasca vision trips… with a shaman guide……
Has this cured the fervent explorer? Or is he even more unhinged
than he was at boarding school? Time alone will tell.
Thank God he’s not here. Kuntz! Well, you can imagine what
his nickname wuz. Maybe being called that name over and over again
across the schoolyard, maybe this is the source of his
Now Hank wants to talk. Now he’s getting lugubrious. Now he wants to express himself. He sings: “There’s nowhere to go But where you are You can take a plane You can take a car And you might go far But THERE’S NOWHERE TO GO BUT WHERE YOU ARE!” The song seems strangely familiar.
((That’s because you wrote it, fuckhead!))
(It refers to the fact that each of us travels with his own neurosis, obsessions, complexes, and negative script derisions….
whereever each of us goes, we take our whole troubled psyche with us….
so we can go to Lima, go to Alexandria, Bucharest, Bangcock – sit in a cafe in Paris, sit in a dungeon in Toronto —- and it’s the same old brain, the same old habits of seeing… but slowly we change, slowly we learn…? Don’t we?)
I SEEM TO BE DESCENDING INTO DARKNESS on a green hallucinatin’ chartreuse train…. dark memories…. Ninety days butt-naked in solitary confinement, wearing an asbestos fire-proof top… getting my meals from big-hipped jail matrons… through a slot at groin level…. In other words, you want to eat – you stare at her big-hipped groin or her, magnanimous butt right thru the eye slot – aye! aye! I got to like it… More than this I got to need it… BUT…. why are we talking about this? How did we get here?
.. we WERE in WAIT-A-BIT now we’re in a dungeon in Toronto…..
Oh, No! No! We don’t got no grip at all! “Two things are infinite – human stupidity and the universe…. and I’m starting to have doubts about the universe…”
“GIVE ME YOUR HAND, LITTLE LAMB; I’LL SHOW YOU HEAVEN AND HELL IN A GRAIN OF SAND, and I’ll take you to the EDGE of the Universe, THE QUANTUM GROIN OF THINGS!”
40 below Celsius = EQUALS 40 BELOW FARENHEIT Either way it’s freeze the balls off a brass monkey time.
Got a small generator going….powered an old TV set… the only thing on is a zombie movie,
“Die! Die! Die” the blonde heroine is screaming…. Better turn the volume down… in this silence the tunnel people will think it’s an invasion…. oh I haven’t mentioned the tunnel; people yet , have I? The population of wait-a-bit is 18 I bet you’re wondering where the other 14 are… These are the folk who were most disturbed by Incineration Day —- seeing everything they’d worked for all their lives disappearing in flame and smoke…. …And then came the second flash!
Bombs come from the skies.The tunnel people
do not trust the skies so much…. when they are exposed, they rush from A to B…..to the D TRAIN… deeper and more deeply TRAINED to TUNNEL into the night. No need to FEAR THE WEIRDOS HERE. Finally I get to meet the Tunnel People. I had heard of them once before… only in a dream… of green Ice-cream…. LOOK AT THE EYES ON THAT ONE! What is the green in that latrine again? The green in that drink? It is swirling, circling… OH we’re going deep deep deep — no blue at all here…. only green. THE GREEN EYE OF SOMETHING OBSCENE! It’s a friendly lizard beckoning… waving me down the green undulating twatish highway of a nostril snorting me up into a new reality… Something I’m not at all sure I want to see.
A friendly LIZARD takes my arm and shakes me… green comfortable slippers, green eyes….. now Alice meets the TUNNEL PEOPLE.
I am Alice
Down, down, down – darker still the undulating Hershey highway brown and green, green and dreaming EYE…. IMMORTAL EYE – no blue at all. Cold grip of his friendly claws, grasps my wrist. My, my , my: it’s the TUNNEL PEOPLE, at last.
…In green and purple smoking jackets, smoking a heavy WEED, handing me glistening mush-goodies. I eat. I am giddy and blue-eyed…. under the UNDULATION OF THINGS. IMMORTAL IMMORAL THROBBING…so it seems
to me when I look at the floor, my neighbours, green
bodies writhing, excreting wahoo!… Yipee!
Tunnel People at last, just like in undiscovered earlier dreams I had bye and by. Here they are at last, with green martini glasses —IMMORTAL DELIGHTs in the night: CHARTREUSE IMMORALS STILL…
WHO FEAR THE SKY?
“Dexter! Put that Bible down and give me two more glasses
of that green elixir. ”
I raise both goblets and toast the room. I take
a gulp out of one and long swallow from the other.
I call out to the room: ”
i SAY, “As Your Mayor, this is the essence of my job. You
don’t want a mayor who won’t explore….! Not here. Not
now! No way!”
” You know me:
“I’LL PUSH FORWARD ALL THROUGH THE NIGHT
INTO THE RISING EYE OF MORNING!”
Gutteral cheers rise up from the floor.
“Those are my people. What do I do?”
“I dive down headfirst into the fragrant, palpitating twat
of the unknown.”
“Hey, Hank! You catching this?”