meow
“Hey man, you wanna hear a joke?”
“Yeah ok.”
“What did the cat say to the dog?”
“I don’t know, what did the cat say to the dog?”
“Uhh... Meow.”
“…”
“You get it? Meow. Now laugh, nigga.”
“No, I got it. I’m just thinking.”
“Yeah think 'damn that was funny'… shake my damn head.”
“Well, think about this. The cat doesn’t actually say ‘meow’. That’s just how we, as humans, interpret the sound the cat makes into the English language. So, I’m afraid to say, the cat doesn’t say meow to the dog.”
After hearing these words, the first man fell dead from a heart attack.
nutri-flakes
It happened on a Tuesday morning. The city was still celebrating the election of the National Democratic People’s Republic of Democratically Elected Officials Representing the Wants of the People. Hector woke up to the sound of nails being hammered into the lampposts on the sidewalk, and the tinny whine of the machine-man signalling the start of a new day.
“AWAKEN”
said the machine-man. And so the city awoke.
Hector awoke. He got out of his bed. He took a shower. He brushed his teeth. He put on his clothes. He ate breakfast; NDPRDEORWP brand Nutri-Flakes. He turned on the television. He watched the advertisements.
“Nutri-Flakes, now with more Rohypnol to keep your mind active and alert!”
Hector looked at the box of cereal next to his bowl. It had expired 2 weeks ago. Suddenly, he heard a knock on his front door.
There were two men in charcoal grey suits. They were hairless, and were exactly the same height. Hector opened the door and he saw this, he asked
“Yes? How can I help you?”
The man on the left, Hector’s left, spoke first.
“Good morning! my name is Mr Toy and my associate here is Mr Second. We represent the interests of the National Democratic People’s Republic of Democratically Elected Officials Representing the Wants of the People, and we’d like to have a little talk with you about your recent activities.”
“Well…alright then, come in.”
“Excellent!”
The two men looked at each other, smiled, then walked inside.
Mr Toy looks around the room. He sees the television still running, now turned to a dead channel. He sees an unfinished bowl of cereal and next to it, the box. He walks over to it and picks it up.
“Mr. Second, I believe that I have found the cause for our friend Hector’s transgression.”
Hector is confused. He looks towards Mr Second, who stares blankly ahead and nods towards Mr Toy. Mr Toy is confused now.
“Oh silly me! I forgot to tell you what you’ve done. I keep forgetting to do that. You see, you’ve committed a dear crime against our great Government, and we were dispatched to your home to discern the reason behind this act of treason, and it seems that we have found it.”
Mr Toy points towards the Nutri-Flakes box with his plastic-skin fingers.
“You see, Mr Second and I have been sent to many homes now to investigate a crime similar to yours, and it has been that each and every single person has been in the possession of this brand of cereal. As such, its recipe has been… slightly altered. You may have seen the new commercials.”
Hector looks at the box of cereal, he sees its faded cardboard charade, with cut-out cartoon figures of President Baxter (peace be upon him) and The First Lady (virgin most high). Hector looks back to Mr Toy, whose lack of eyebrows makes it impossible for Hector to see if they are crossed or raised.
“I understand, but... I didn’t do anything! I’m innocent!”
Mr Toy sighs.
“You posted last night on your SocNet timeline. I have the post here and it says “Nutri-Flakes taste like cardboard.”, it seems your post was quite popular among your friends, garnering 200 likes – oh don’t worry, we’ve already sent people to their residences to have a little chat. But anyway, the problem is that we can’t have this kind of dissent you see. If people start criticising the quality of our products well then, it can only lead to further criticism, further dissent. Then we’d have a revolution on our hands wouldn’t we?”
“I guess…I guess so. I’m sorry, I’ll delete it right now.”
“We’ve already taken the liberty of doing that for you.”
“Then…why did you come here. To tell me to think before I comment? I get that, that’s fine, and I will, but you could’ve just called. I have to get ready for work, I’m already 20 minutes late.”
Mr Toy sighs.
“You don’t understand do you. The post is gone, but there is still the matter of the individual, in this case you. I’ll be frank, you need to disappear. I don’t mean disappear as in leave the country and never return, no, disappear as in die. Cease to exist. The process is quite streamlined. We’ve already taken the liberty of erasing all records of your activity here; birth certificate, passport, dipoloma, all of it. Gone. Now there is only you.”
Hector sits down.
“So, you’re saying I have to kill myself?”
“It’s either that or we do it for you.”
“There’s no other way? I can’t just leave the country?”
“Unfortunately no, but don’t be disheartened. It could be worse. In any other nation you would have been executed in public by a death squad. We are nothing if not civilised.”
Hector looked down to his shoes, into the centre of his palms, and to the wooden chipboard floor of his apartment.
Mr Toy sighs, and taps the floor with the toe of his shoe. He hums a snaking tune, then coughs and says.
“I may be of assistance.”
Mr Toy gives Hector his sidearm.
Hector looks at the gun, his reflection stares back, rippling in the metal. Hector raises the gun to his temple. Mr Toy looks at him with a smile.
“Any last words?”
Hector looks at Mr Toy, then to Mr Second who hasn’t moved from the kitchen and is still staring blankly at the dead television. He looks back to Mr Toy, and laughs.
“Nutri-Flakes taste like cardboard.”
Hector pulls the trigger.
cybersteamjazzpunk
In the eastern bloc of the sprawling cybersteamjazzpunk city of Brooklyn, there is a building that houses a most extraordinary man. After emerging from his flat, dressed inconspicuously in lederhosen, beanie, scarf, trench coat and of course, Air Jordans™, the man breathes a world weary sigh. Luc (formerly ‘Luke’) has had enough of this world. He has seen through the veil and shattered the once pristine and innocent illusion. Luc is an individual. He doesn’t believe that he thinks like the other wageslaves, blindly worshipping the God of Consumerism. He took a drag from the Marlboro™ between his index and forefinger, then looked wistfully towards the elevator, dreading another day in this existential nightmare. Taking a half step forward, he knew he was forgetting something but he couldn’t quite place it. Did he leave the oven running? No, it couldn’t be. He didn’t own one. Descending to the streets he looked out into the world. A dystopian fiction which he hated to call home. He knew his attire would draw attention to himself, “sheep” he muttered under his breath.
Luc enjoyed coffee, poetry, and marijuana. Not always in that order, but he knew he liked those three things. He felt a spiritual attraction to them, probably due to the religious fervour in which he prayed to the classical poets of old. Kerouac, Ginsberg, and Bukowski. He knew he could revolutionise the world with his writing. If only he knew how to write. Or what to write. In truth, Luc wasn’t writing a new and exciting piece of literature that would shake the very foundations of the world. The paper was blank. The typewriter had no ink. When Luc was in high school he had a discussion that changed his life. A guidance counsellor had been brought in, and she asked the students what they would do if they had one million dollars. Their answer would then be their future occupation. When it was Luc’s turn to go up he simply responded “Capitalism is slowly killing me.”, and left the room. It was decided that he would be an excellent accountant.
That didn't matter to Luc. After all, education is the opiate of the masses. Who needs an education when you can gain all the knowledge you need out there in the real world. Yes. The real world. Shiny and plastic. Ready to eat. Just heat in any standard microwave two minutes. Half off now, get it before it sells out! The real world. Luc didn’t know what was real anymore. He was swimming in a sea of existential angst as his world became ‘fake’, and ‘consumer’. Even his local dealer had become a corporate drone, shilling the mass produced acid (which was the same as he would sell before, except now it wasn’t stolen). Melancholy flooded his body. Alcohol flooded his body. Marijuana flooded his body. His body had been flooded with the feeling that can only be described as when you it’s bring your child to work day and nobody had told him because nobody loved him and he had no child. Luc didn’t know what to do. He was alone in his suffering. Who else could know his pain? Who could share with him the burden of being ‘unique’? Special. A snowflake in a snowstorm. The tortured artist. The lonely poet. The downtrodden beatnik. The disillusioned writer. The isolated. The confused. The desperate.
Luc was all of them.
And he was none of them.
flea market ft. chinese grocer
It cost a dollar to enter. It was free to leave. A twenty-something was selling yellowing paperbacks stacked in cardboard boxes next to vinyls of Donna Summer and Peter Frampton. Next to him stood a young Indian couple hawking toys. An old white man and an asian woman, husband and wife, selling onesies, and rubix cubes. He told me his grandson has over thirty cubes. The woman simply smiled. Another woman in a blue parka sat in a plastic chair. She offered palm and psychic aura readings. Her face was as creased as the palms she read. She seemed as if she couldn’t read her own. I saw t-shirts and metal signs covered in slogans
“Will work for sex”
“Guns don’t kill people; I kill people”
“NO SOLICITING
we are too broke to buy anything
we know who we are voting for
we have found Jesus
seriously unless you are giving away beer
PLEASE GO AWAY !!”
I looked at their back. Made in China.
I left the flea market and walked across the street to the Chinese grocer. Walking through the doors was a lot like getting off an international flight; you’re nauseous and already regretting leaving home. I realised I was out of my depth. The characters didn’t make any sense. I didn’t recognise any of the products. I heard someone ask “what the hell is Lye water?”. I’ll never find out.