“I’m trying to get home.”

“Trying?”

“Man, I got to go.”

“What’s the rush? Stop and smell the roses.”

“Roses?”

“Alright smell the piss of processed breakfast burritos.., but seriously, you look terrible, what’s up?”

I didn’t want to deal with this right now; I just wanted to find a lift and get home.., But he brought out, to share, the left-over half of a half pint of vodka so I hit my knees and confessed;

“I’m freaking out man!”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“Yeah, but not like that.”

“What you mean..,”

“My mind is doing all kinds of shit and I can’t stop it.., I got no control over it.., even in my dreams.., but, at the same time, feel controlled by it.”

“You feel you’re being controlled while at the same time you feel it’s all out of control.”

“Something like that.., I can’t even remember the last time I got laid.”

“Sounds like jail..,”

“Jail?”

“Orchestrated chaos..,”

“Orchestrated chaos? Is that even a thing?”

“Sure.., why not.., cause if you want to regain control you have to give up control – give up the self.”

 “Give up? That can’t be right.”

“If it can’t be right., then it can’t be wrong.”

“What?”

“Bringing order to chaos, brings chaos to order and..,”

“Now you’re just saying shit to be saying shit..,”

“You don’t understand; it’s all bullshit.”

“What’s bullshit?”

“It’s not about control; it’s about a feeling.., self-importance indulging external stimuli. So all you really need do is start to feel like you have control; you just need to turn that frown upside down..,”

“Yeah.., I guess.., I can see how..,”

“But even that is corrupt and tied to the system.”

“What?”

“Trying to control Order brings chaos. That’s why I told you to regain control you need to give up control – give up the self. Because if you absolutely and completely abandon control, it’s removed from your reality so nobody else can control you, either, as control conceptually no longer exists - chaos is gone leaving only Order.., Understand?”

“No.”

 “O.k. think of it like this..,

“The self, the conscious-mind.., the ego; is that six pack of beer in your hand; trying to get into the concert..,”

“Beer?”

“Forget it.”

“But..,”

“Look.., You’re controlled by your own need to control while remaining ignorant to your extent of control. Like, you have no idea how many people’s lives you can tarnish, or shine, in a twenty four hour period.”

“I don’t know.., it sounds..,”

“Why.”

“What?”

“Why. That’s what you have to consider, relinquish the seed of the need, or you repeat yourself.., But, Dude.., let me bum a dime.”

”A dime?”

“Get it back to you next week.., for sure.”

Gave him a twenty; he didn’t have change – didn’t expect he would; and started on home. Figured I could use the exercise. The walk could clear my mind.

I get home needing to talk but Natasha is with a customer. Since she moved in she has started doing her business out of the kitchen.., brought the whole operation; the card table and…, the cards.

Today it was Elisa Devereaux some distant spawn of French royalty.., or so she says. In the big city everybody got to be somebody. But she did have plenty of money to throw at the cards; was Natasha’s best customer.., and she wants to know when her knight-in-shining-armor will deliver all that will satisfy her soul – when she’ll be awarded that which can’t be bought or sold; and I hear Natasha say something about next Thursday between nine and five.

“Hey, that’s when the cable guy is supposed to come.”

“And what would you say your deepest desire has been lately?”

“To get all my channels back, I lost everything but basic.., my god, the commercials, I’ve been going mad.., mad I tell you..,”

“Well according to wisdom redeemed from esoteric gateways.., this Knight-of-Cups sitting between the Nine-of-Wands and Five-of-Pentacles suggests the cable guy will show up.”

“Thank you so very much. Finally I’ll have my shows back.”

Natasha walks Elisa out to her waiting driver and when she returns I’m sitting at the table in the chair still warm from sister Antoinette’s ass.

“I can’t believe a cable-guy-bit could still work - fucking flashback nineties..,”

“Believe what you want.” Natasha replied as she stashed the cash then gathered the cards.

“I wouldn’t put those away quite yet, might need em.”

“Oh I got a special deck for you.”

And she puts away the Ryder-Waite, and brings out the Crowley, Thoth deck.

“Mirror of the Soul.”

“Jeez, I was just kidding.., Did the lights just flicker?” I could’ve sworn that the lights just flickered.

I started to tell Natasha what I had been trying to keep from her, hadn’t wanted to worry her but my reality was unraveling and I thought she should know – explain the night-sweats. I went into further detail about where I had gone the night of the abduction..,

“And now I see Tommy Allen at the store.”

“What, some kind of memorial, and it brought all that back?”

“No! No memorial. He was alive!”

“Alive? But he was dead.”

“I know.”

“You even went to his funeral.”

“I know.”

“You were the guy that knew the guy..,”

“I know. But not anymore. I don’t know who I am. Tommy Allen, who’d rather be called Tom, is alive and didn’t get raped by Brother Octavio; and Brother Octavio is dead.., and didn’t rape Tommy Allen.”

“Dead?”

“Murdered ..,”

“Murdered?”

“He died from complications of SBS.”

“SBS?”

“Swollen Balls Syndrome. Somebody kicked him in the balls.., and it killed him.”

“That sounds bad.”

“I understand Pfizer is developing a vaccine.”

“No, I mean..,”

“I could go to jail.”

“At least for involuntary manslaughter.”

“What about self-defense?”

“It’s your word against that of a dead man.., a dead, man-of-god, for Christ sake.., terrible odds. You think Tommy Allen knows?”

“No. He doesn’t even know he was raped and that he killed himself over it.., he doesn’t know shit.”