CHAPTER 1

Sir Jane and the Replacement System





By JWK

copyright:

This book deals with situations that occur in a world that mirrors our own but it exaggerates SOME of the horrors that exist in this one. It does contain graphic sexual and violent content although I hope you’d agree that if it was left out, the book would no longer mirror our world. Lets play pretend realistically.
The journal section of this book is an actual non- fiction account of a hitch hiking trip the author went on... that’s me... about 5 years before this book was started. The rest is fiction... Welcome to the replacement system.

Pre-Story Vortex

(The Pre-Story Vortex is the abstract soul of the book. Skip it if it’s too foggy for you but you may have to go back to it at times because it explains the actual mindset of the replacement system starting at the bottom of page 6)

"You disguised your angry black sea with a bed of pink roses. It was ingenious, the way you made it happen. I thought I’d have to go somewhere else, but- here you are. Somewhere in between the faces of time as I know it, I’ve been searching. I’ve played the parts of all men for a clue... And that clue has led me to you. I remember my first loss of blood at age 16. The toilet seat was covered in it. My mind was a dull gray room. I covered it up with toilet paper instead of letting it flush. I’m not sure why. I hadn’t thought about it at all until I heard of your accomplishment. Until I heard of you."
That was Sir Jane speaking up there. I’m still not sure if she’s very smart or very dumb, but I do know that she’s alive and that she’s not a vegetarian. Enough about Jane. I’m writing a story right now about the way I came to be an adult in a boring and youth-less world.
College. The name frightens me. I think of popsicles getting undressed in the summertime, their center sticks rotting into the ground like bad meat. I liked the kids there, but I didn’t like what we were about. I didn’t then and I sure as hell don’t now. We were there learning to fulfill the idealistic self image of our parents as a collective whole. Everyone of us who took it seriously. Each child protected by the thick veil of common thought guiding us away from our potential selves into a family as old as the Godfather himself.
Angry black men gather around this courtyard of knowledge staring at the young black kids who seem to be getting the chance they never had. Most are not aware of the confused idle dreariness, but it’s there. It’s behind the collected smiles of professors identifying with their professions. It’s in the blood of their urine. It’s in their lazy eyes trapped in the sexual glow of youth away from mortality.
We were brought into the back room of tradition and told we wouldn’t have to grow up. After all, we belonged to the cure now. We couldn’t possibly be a part of the problem. The highest levels of faculty had grown immune to evil. They remained untouched. Their sexual favors were given willingly from students who were lazy enough to almost fail out, and from proper professionals who had nothing to do with education anyway. This was the new standard for the old program.
Anyone who fully embodied this standard developed a keen new sense of reality. They realized that God was the ancient word for peers. God was a plural noun disguised as a singular noun to ensure that only the few who dictated over a majority of people would understand it. The power of this God was the ability to manipulate a majority. To control this God one only needed to regulate desire and fear. Only the few who reigned at that level of authority would hold the right to kill systematically without a threat to their mortal consciences. Until someone held such influence they would be perceived as working against nature... and of course would be destroyed.
Enough about the loose rules of an educated mind. I’m sitting in a coffee bar right now somewhere in the presence of Sir Jane. We’re smoking roll your own cigarettes through colored straws and we’re talking to someone about a cold world. Somebody just offered her a drink because she’s a genuine mammal. She bellowed a snort of recognition and he walked off. That brings up another ongoing flashback.
Primitive man. He may hold the most expensive glass in his right hand, but he’s jerking off with his lefty during a relaxed hobnob. No doubt, surrounded by acquaintances of its own breed, eyes fixed on a mammal. I used to believe in its world. In fact, part of me still does. You don’t just shed 20 years of sub advanced training when one’s sucked into the vortex. You let your eyes adjust to the clearing smoke rising above the bodies that were left dangling across from your disintegrating front lawn... I still get a rush fantasizing about a tougher me; or out-smarting someone whom others look up to. A chance to out-snob the snob.
Hold me back I’m surrounded by unknown light and I’m scared because my eyes look like holes in the darkness! This writhing worm in my belly is no longer a friend! I’ve given it too much of what it doesn’t need!
When I get stuck in bad thought I find getting lost helps me out of it. Sometimes I get lost in bad thought and have to find my way out of it. In either case, Sir Jane will be staring at me wherever I happen to be at the time. She’s good people like that. Watching my back as well as a fellow gang member. I find it comforting to have people stare at me from time to time.
Can you see her sitting there by the table? She’s hardly there. Sometimes I wonder if she knows that they don’t find her attractive. She doesn’t seem to mind not being arranged to popular specification. For some reason she stopped painting herself a while back. She sits and stares.


Addressing the old medium. " Addressing the old medium" , she says. Like in some place where worries don’t belong. There’s nothing more she wants in this life than to be free, like there’s nothing more she wants than to be a part of it. The old medium. Some smooth concoction of sick and healthy feelings. The worm in her belly. She tells me the worm in her belly is a friend. She tells me the worm keeps her on track... And on track she is! I’ve never met someone who acted on what must be done more, yet I never felt the anguish from a being such as this one either. What does it take to be a slave building a house for freedom? What worm designs itself to take all but what’s left for survival? Could this worm possibly share a common state of feeling? Does it look around afraid? I’d like to meet this worm. Look it straight into from where it sees and... from there what’s next?
My mind is a place from where I see the ancient eyes staring. You could call it black, you could call it blinded by dysfunctional light, but it is real and in me. I’ve seen the tortured animals in retirees’ eyes. I’ve felt the swollen gaze of a popular teen. The dark horses of direction guiding each individual within every generation to a common place. Where do the horses come from and why not dismount? Only only knows, I suppose. Like some loose language retrieved from the bowels of a dead god... I can only wonder about it.
As you can see, her worm has a mind of its own and she sides with it. I imagine this has to do with her being fat at one time. I’m not sure if she is fat now though. I haven’t checked the books as of lately.
I remember a story about a girl who was supposedly fat. She was 120 pounds at the meager height of 5'6". She took a try at the usual mating rituals only to be absurdly approached from behind. Her potential mate was 5'10" at the meager weight of 180 pounds. He was male. Wore a backwards baseball cap in the nude. She tried to twist herself onto her back several times but to no avail. She kicked him off. "What’s your fucking problem!?", he replied... "I want to face you, you poor bastard. Why do you keep flipping me over?" He snickered, "Well, you’re too big babe. This is the way we do it with big girls." The way the story goes is that she’s still in jail for what she did that night, but I happen to know her personally. She turned over and let him have his way. Then she made the appropriate noises to help him along. She said she thanked him and then walked home.
I’ve tried for the perspective of woman, but the closest I’ve come to it is having long hair. Having long hair is a burden to me when I’m out among the people. They look at me like I’m a part of something unnatural. They’d say it’s a woman’s place to have long hair and a man should know better. They’d say it’s a man’s world and a woman should know better than to interfere with it. Most people who finished school say that things are better now and the equality gap is closing, but I think they’re just pretending. On the outside everything does seem fine, but to those of us with sensitive third eyes there is a black sea churning. An empty void if you will, widening. A replacement system.
The replacement system. No one knows exactly what we’re supposed to be doing here. There weren’t instructions that were folded up inside of our umbilical cords. There’s a genetic map that pertains to us on an individual level, but it seems more like a description. We can see how we are linked to not only our mothers and fathers, but to fruits, vegetables and common household furniture as well. We are made up of the same fabric yet each of us sews a different set of socks with the thread we’re given. We share common ideas about good and evil which differentiate into ideas of right and wrong. Moving further down the gossip line, we approach what’s proper or improper. The original common threads that link us were meant to act as a medium. We take our equal roles as the artist building from it according to our unique perspectives. When people aren’t under control this creative flow is welcomed and decorates freely. Relativity occurs. When they are under control it creeps up in small traces or turns to vinegar from being bottled up too long. We’ve seen many exhibits of creativity using vinegar as the medium– when planes crash into buildings on purpose or when people get dragged behind pickup trucks, and such. This is why I’m afraid of the replacement system.
Sometimes the fabric knots up. It tangles with common threads making a particular section tougher. More and more threads get stuck to it because it takes a lot of effort to avoid it. It’s practically immovable. As the knot gets larger it spreads until it is cut off or brushed out if possible, unless the knot is never noticed – and that’s where the replacement system comes in.
The obstruction mentioned was formed on a basis of common threads. Without these it would have never come into existence. Naturally the fabric feels something is wrong because the flow is blocked and it begins to search for the problem. This fabric could be compared to everybody in the world talking to each other on cell phones all at once. They know something’s wrong. Sooner or later you notice more and more friends of yours are on medication or trying to fix something in therapy. This is their attempt to find out what the problem is, but unfortunately they don’t usually become consciously aware of the root problem.
The true problem escapes the consciousness of the individual in most cases because the solutions given do not address it, in fact those empty solutions help empower the problem because they are not aware of it’s existence. The obstruction does not think of itself as a problem, it knows itself as the solution. It feels that the threads were formed to empower it. In return, it empowers the agreeable traits of each thread and tries to weed out those it doesn’t agree with. The greater the obstruction becomes, the less resistance it has to withstand. This is affirmation. If each thread is a person, then each person gives up parts of themselves when empowering the knot. This is their sickness. It is felt, not understood, because everything around them is the same seemingly stable home. It’s been ingrained in them to see it that way. When they act out, from the rising sickness, they act out as part of everything around them. They weed out the traits different from them because they see those traits as the problem. They weed those traits out of other people, conforming them to the obstruction. As each individual gets weeded out, the obstruction becomes less visible and the flow turns to vinegar because it’s bottled. Awareness becomes clouded over by a section of itself. The replacement becomes less possible to detect.
Knots are a part of life and they always will be unless the fabric turns to flow. We’re at a stage of making mistakes at all levels I can imagine. Maybe everything will work itself out down the line. The spider may return to her web and correct the structure, or maybe there isn’t a spider. I wonder if after death I’ll return to this reality that I helped create. My problem is not being a thread, it’s the pull of the obstruction. I love being a thread. I love coming across similar threads too. Fortunately they just don’t do it for me all the time, so I let myself be around other threads, and I learn. Each one lends me something that sticks, and I can feel the flow at that time.
My problem is the lack of these people. These beautiful threads. My problem is also the lack of myself. I’ve been so busy avoiding the replacement system that I haven’t noticed myself becoming neurotic. I’m becoming a worn thread. I’m afraid to stroll out over the fabric because I don’t know how to relate to it as a whole. It doesn’t seem to want to know me or care about my existence at all. It just communicates with itself through cell phones. I’m writing on an electric typewriter right now. Maybe the phones will pick up some signal so I can say hello.

















The Birth of Sir Jane



It was a long walk back. Probably the longest yet. Something changed again. A very ordinary situation just occurred, but the way she remembered it was in bits and fragments. She was stronger now. The weak part of the morph was over. She must’ve been walking for 20 minutes and most of her skin was now replaced. It loosened up and fell off her body making way for the incoming magma drool. The heat cooled until the goo turned to steel. At this point she walked up to one of the fancier cars and put her fist through it. She wasn’t surprised. This was another change. Her mood shifted down a few notches ‘cause she still felt bad after breaking things. Then her memory started to recall what happened earlier.
"Jane", said the memory. "You went to that girl’s house. The one that you wanted to be friends with because she seemed like she wanted to be friends with you. There were other people at the house. They were all sitting around the television just staring, and the girl sat down with them and started to do the same; leaving you standing behind them. You noticed another girl crouched in the corner with her arms around her knees. Your eyes picked up that she was trying not to breathe. You stared back at the television and, as you did that, everyone in front of the TV turned and gave you a proud patriotic look of approval. All five of them stood up to shake your hand and then walked you over to where the girl was crouching. You could tell she was breathing hard now. They told you that she was wrong. That she was fat. That she should be slapped in the face because she was too lazy to perform for the TV. You got nervous when they looked at you and then you exclaimed, "On who’s authority?" At that moment a man climbed out of the television and the people stared at him like they were in love. He was a white man wearing a plain gray hat. He pulled a gun from his pants and immediately pointed it in the face of the girl who you had come to visit. The girl looked scared now. The man told you to slap the other girl in the face or he would blow off the face of your potential friend. What happened next was strange... You took two steps back and closed your eyes, but you could still see. Someone screamed out the word Cyclops. You spoke in a moan, like a whale. You pointed to the TV watchers and said, "Man is five." then you pointed to the gunman and said, "The devil is six." Then you pointed to the girl in the corner and said, "God is seven." She disappeared when you said that, and the man shot your potential friend in the head. Everyone in the room fell to the floor at the same time. The gunman, your friend, and the TV watchers. You walked over and turned the television off, then you went outside. You’ve been walking ever since."
Jane looked up at a tall oak and started to climb. It was night out and she didn’t want to come across people just then. She was near the top at 40 feet when she let herself become comfortable in its arms. She knew the people she left back at the house were not lying on the floor dead. She knew this because she’d left bodies lying around before and sooner or later they came back to life. Whether it was a year or a few minutes, many of the dead would reappear alive. Unaffected in appearance. Just attitude. They would simply stare at her until she left. Some physical aspects of existence were somewhat altered inside of her head, no doubt, but she didn’t know as to what extent. She fell asleep cradled in the arms of the tree and when she was truly out, it sang to her.
Jane woke up to the sound of a barking dog. The bark was extremely expressive. Words almost formed. She looked down to find this huge gray wolf- like hound dog leaning against the tree with its paws, staring right at her. She climbed down and stared at it a bit, wondering what it wanted. It walked up, gave her a nudge, and then walked slowly off muttering bark-like language under its breath. Jane knew to follow it and that’s what she did.
Following behind the dog gave her a sense of normalcy. Everyone who saw them would assume it was her dog. Little did they know she was following a random dog, growing more and more excited at where it might bring her. That feeling lasted for some time, given that it had been a few hours and they were starting to travel on a rural road.
More hours passed, then the night and then another day. The dog had been feeding Jane half of what it could find. Jane started out building small fires, but by the third day she was feeding raw. It made too much sense not to after seeing the wild pleasure in the hounds eyes when she watched it eat. Jane felt pleasure herself when she got past the nausea and entered the frenzy. The blood was warm. The air was cold. They slept pressed together during the night and walked all day to stay warm. Jane stopped wondering where they were going. She started to wonder what she was becoming...
I want to be alone, Jane thought. I want to continue following this dog forever. The air is cold out here but it makes sense. I don’t mind the rain the way I used to, it just covers me like everything else. I like the way this body slows down in the rain. The mosquitoes bite me and I bite them back. It’s like a little game we play. The dog knows what I’m getting at, don’t ‘cha. I can feel every tendon in this body now. I can feel the steel mingling with my blood. I’m no longer precious meat. I’m a carnivore. I’m a collector of athletes.
I can’t believe that I wanted a boy to look up to. Somebody to pet me and then go to sleep. We’d have some good talks for awhile and when that wore off we’d have each other to blame. I don’t want more of what I have already tasted. I’m special now and I wasn’t then. They would have let me believe that. They would have let me believe that I was just like them. Complacent.
I like the way my body feels. Dirt wrapped around the edges of this loose cloth trying to fuse into my skin. My hair is solid now, leather cords. An organ of its own.
People are them. There’s not one I’ll relate to now. Like some new breed of scared animal they are. I’m not scared today. I won’t be scared. I’ll just react. That’s what I was meant to do anyways, or else I’d remember more of what happens when it happens. I don’t need to know what’s going on, I need to handle it at hand. I am an artist and I react to life. Life is the medium and it reacts to me. I must address it. I must address it precisely when it bumps into me because I love it and I need it. It burned me into recognition. What would the hero be without scar tissue? What would my arms be without cool, metallic excretions? Would my memory know me if I was a whole minded person, or would it recite to me what other people told it? I know what my answer is. Follow the dog.
Jane kept moving. She moved into the 11th day, climbing upwards off the road now, into a forest of feelings. It was a forest of green trees, but the feelings were prevalent – she was knowing her mother during the climb. The dog was sturdy. The dog was steady. Moving like a shark in the water it followed some detectable scent like a junkie waking to the morning breeze. A small rustic shack appeared above them. They were close, she knew it. It was a box with a porch, a nice porch. The dog walked up and sniffed a beaten up sofa on the porch then left, never to be seen again.

Jane stepped onto the porch and turned cold. She forgot about the dog completely. She looked over at the sun and asked it to stick around for a little while longer ‘cause it looked like it was heading down. Something wasn’t right. She pushed the door open and walked inside. Dark. The room was dark. It was also rather empty. To her immediate right there was a 4 foot tall crate with what looked like a vial of juice laying upon it, but when she looked closer she saw the vile had a needle sticking out of it. She didn’t think that a junkie might be staying there, she knew what the stuff was. It was intelligence hormone. She could tell by the color of the stuff but she didn’t know why. She never knew why.
The creature appeared from the doorway, 10 feet ahead. All 8 feet of him, not including the knife in his hand – and then it lurched forward... Jane felt the old medium stir up inside – and then she was out.
She woke up on the sofa outside, staring out from the porch into the trees. As if on cue her memory broke in, "You were just inside this house." She was dizzy for a second, but regained composure. It went on... "A very large man – thing went after you with a knife. The knife was 3 feet long. As he moved, you picked up that needle thing from the crate and threw yourself at him. You struck first. He struck second and brought the knife down on your arm. When it struck, there was an awful screeching sound, and sparks flew. The man leaped back as this happened and then moved for you again. You closed your eyes but you could still see and you screamed, "The square root of 49?!" The creature stopped at hearing that and replied, "Seven.", then fell down on the floor and you went outside. It’s been a few minutes."
Jane looked at her arm where the cut had been. There was a crusty metallic line where a wound should’ve been. She smiled at the thought of it. Up on her feet and towards the door... the door she opened. He was there, all 8 feet of him. Old dirty brown leather shoes, a pair of tattered corduroy pants. The moldy green woolen sweater, and on his face a hockey mask. All of him just laying there on the floor of the shack. She remembered his answer, "Seven", and the way he answered. There was a form of shock in his voice. He had not intended to say that – the vial of hormone must’ve done its job. She didn’t remember being afraid and she couldn’t help but feel interested, so she grabbed onto his shoes and dragged him outside. Nighttime was truly upon them then.
She propped the creature in a sitting position onto the sofa. It reminded her of her sophomore year in college. There were plenty of big bodies to prop up from time to time. This one was a particular struggle. She had to straddle the torso and heave from under his arms with all her might. Her forehead pressed up against the mask, she caught a whiff of wilderness. It was a moist dirt and wood type of smell. The gray smell. Jane sat down on the sofa next to him ... and went to sleep.
She woke up with her head against his arm. She straightened out immediately. The man behind the mask turned his head toward her, and then straight out again. "I’ve led a difficult life." The way he said it seemed articulate in a low groan sense. "I have no excuse for what happened yesterday... It seems it’s in my nature, or was ... I understand now... More." She said, "Yeah.", and then stared off for a few moments. "So why do you wear that mask? Are you hideously deformed beneath it?"
"Yes. At least I was before today." The creature briskly strode into the shack and returned a few seconds later. "I’m still pretty deformed," he said, "but I look better than I can remember." He looked from Jane to the woods, "Perhaps I’m not condemned to be a monster forever." A loud, snortful laugh broke through the silence of his reflection. It was Jane. The creature turned to look at her and for just a moment you could see a smile somewhere in the eyes behind the mask, "If I remember correctly there’s coffee in the kitchen area, you want some?" Jane nodded her head in approval.
They were both sitting out on the porch with their coffee. It was a sunny, breezy day like so many days are. Jane looked at the creature and said, "I think I wanna be a monster. My life’s been headed in that direction for a while. At least I think it has. I notice the decay of the normal people now. I’m at a point where I want to start shaking them. Maybe slap them and throw some water in their faces. One by one. I’m less normal now. I eat wild living things. I’ve met you now and I like you a lot. Your spiritual." The great hulking man sat staring off into the woods and said, "I don’t think I’m a monster anymore. I don’t like the memories I have of being a monster. Somehow I had no real idea of what was going on. Something else was doing the thinking as I carried out the thoughts. I had no identity. I was a slave. Like so many others that I cut down, I was a slave. That vile of liquid you freed me with- I had put it there on the crate. From time to time I used to pick things up and move them from place to place. Placing that vial was the most willful act I have ever committed. I couldn’t have liked being a monster. Only now have I been my own master... and it’s pretty nice."
"What are you going to do if people come by?"
"Disappear... Here, I’ll show you." He walked off the porch onto a patch of dirt, then turned around and looked back at her. He twisted his body like a tornado into the dirt and was completely hidden within five seconds. Five seconds later he surfaced again. "I’ve been doing that for as long as I can remember... Do you want to go for a walk?", he asked. "Sure.", said Jane.
They must’ve been walking for days, Jane thought. Her body felt like wilderness and her eyes were seeing it. They were turning greener, with a tinge of yellow around the rims. She knew she was going somewhere. She knew neither of them knew anything more than their desire to follow along this path. Unwritten directions were laid out for them and it was their choice to follow.
The creature’s face was improving considerably. He couldn’t be called a creature anymore, the disfigured form was readjusting. Once in a while he took his mask off to check it. If a pool of water wasn’t nearby, Jane would update him on its improvements. He found this to be remarkable indeed. In a sense, his vibration of being was quickstepping with his exterior improvement.
They avoided people at all costs. Jane, because they threatened her, and the man because they would feel threatened by him with his mask and huge size. This avoidance led them up a mountain. When they reach the top they found an ocean below it, and what a surprise that was. They looked at each other in radiant amazement and began a dissent towards the water. When they reached a 50 foot cliff they stripped naked, mask and all. His face was fully healed. She found it attractive. Their bodies were covered in dark dirt and Jane knew the hair on her legs to be natural. She would never look this good again to herself. They held hands and jumped off the cliff.




Back at the coffee shop



I’ve been telling you this story about Sir Jane for a reason. It’s about how she got her name. She returned to the city that she had been living at after the man she jumped in the water with never came back out of it.
On her return, everyone she came in contact with referred to her as Sir. The people at the gas station where she cleaned up said, "No Sir, that’s not a problem, but don’t keep the bathroom key." They said it without sarcasm. Somebody she bumped into exclaimed, "Excuse me Sir!" In short, she was called Sir quite a lot over those next couple weeks. I wouldn’t have believed it myself if I wasn’t a part of it.
I met Sir Jane on the first week of her return. One of my hobbies is spray painting, and I was particularly jived up one night. You see, I had just finished filling out an application to work at Blockbuster or Starbucks.
Corporate applications. This particular application wasn’t the first I’d ever filled out, and that was the horror behind it. The first one I filled out was rejected because of this questionnaire. It had questions like:
If you noticed a fellow employee take a small box of paper clips without paying for it, you would...
A – report their actions to a supervisor immediately.
B – pretend you didn’t see them take it.
C – warn them that they shouldn’t be stealing, but not report it.
D – congratulate them for their perseverance.
Well, for those types of questions I chose answers like C. This was as honest as I could be for this questionnaire. Certainly they’d allow me to warn my fellow employee/ person, about where their actions were leading before pushing them off the plank myself. No. That was a suspicious answer. Therefore I flunked their test.
The questionnaire for this corporation was the same as the previous one, which put me in a most uncomfortable position. I knew that I’d have to lie in order to pass the questionnaire and be deemed an honest person – so I did it. I really needed a job, and my options were limited. I feel like that’s a big copout now, but... Live and learn, right?
The creepy sellout feeling came over me like a dense fog fucking a pain of glass, and I got angry. I knew it was only a matter of time before I traded in for a better me. When I didn’t die at 25, I knew I’d be alive for a long, long time. It wasn’t a switch in the back of my head that flipped, it was a truth that melted down my throat over a few years of deepening awareness. The truth was that I’d never get credit, and the truth was that I’d never get results.
The walk downtown was confusing for me. I dressed in black with a backpack full of spray paint cans, but I had no intention of using them. I was going downtown for a Playboy magazine and a six-pack of fairly expensive beer. I knew that was the path left in front of me. I would go back to school so I could upgrade the quality of beer I drank annually. I’d find someone who looked good beside me and believed in the same television programs as I did. I’d have to start watching TV again and I’d have to get a wallet, but that wouldn’t be too difficult. All I had to do was get off on a Playboy magazine, then I’d make it work.
And there it was before me... The Ultimate! Barbie in the flesh, staring ahead like an abused teen, against a background of red, white and blue. It was the patriotic issue, complete with an article by the Surgeon General herself. The caption read that America is threatened by the primitive mental mind-set in countries that suppress women’s individualism. I put the magazine back down but it was immediately picked up again, this time by a respectable looking man of about 40 in a blue suit. Respectable except for the, "They’re nice to look at, but after you fuck ‘em they don’t shut up.", he said to me. Then as if on cue, the 25-year-old girlfriend type called him over to her and like a gentleman, he escorted her out of the store. I followed along after them without my ticket. I watched them walk down the street and leave in a small plastic car. I wasn’t satisfied.
Another walk. I found myself underneath the bridge that extended over a set of railroad tracks. The wall was angled at 45 degrees to the top, so I could walk up it, if I was careful. This would be the place of my rebirth. It was dirty, and it was dark outside. I pulled out a flashlight and a can of blue spray paint – like the suit. It was cold outside and I felt young again. I felt loose. The moon was out. Full blast. I unzipped my pants and masturbated staring into the moon. With a crazed half smile I zipped up and picked up the can. I slowly walked up the wall and began my message. It was going all right like...
The lifeless dawn will teach us all
And
You’re aged and you’re still growing old
And
I saw your death
And
Need is a line of deviation
Until what I thought was a cop broke my silence from directly behind me. It bellowed, "You alright, Son?"
I froze solid with a polite, "No sir, fine..."
... Silence...
I was standing halfway up an inclined wall with a spray paint can in my hand for a full minute or two in complete silence. I had to turn around.
She was face-to-face with me but four feet away and upside down. She was suspended from a rafter by her feet, expressionless. Staring into the black. It wasn’t a cop after all, I thought a couple days later, but at that moment in time I just stared at her in silence. I could only see the shadow of her face until she let herself down from the rafter. Then I could see the blood smeared over her mouth and I felt terrified, like a deer in a headlight. She must’ve read it in my face, ‘cause then she rubbed her hand on her face and said, "Hey- it’s not my blood, I’m homeless." I gathered up courage to speak.
"Whose blood is it?"
"It’s animal blood."
"Oh....." I didn’t think, I just wandered down the incline. She was a good 10 feet away.
"I was at the other side of the bridge. I crawled over to see what you were writing with your can. I liked it, so I wanted to communicate. You alright with that?"
"Yeah, that’s fine.................................... What’s your name?"
"Jane", she said with a swagger, "Sir Jane." The way she said her name made me feel instantly comfortable with her. She sounded like a friend and for some reason that’s all there was. I knew she made sense at that point and I knew there was a reason behind the blood, so I invited her back to my apartment. We left the railroad tracks and moved through the streets.



Back at the Apartment



We were back at my apartment, and we were pretty quiet. She was sitting at my kitchen table, her mouth still covered with blood. I knew she wouldn’t want me to say anything about it. I had just put coffee on when I said,
"Did you see me masturbate out there?"
"Yeah, I did...... I understood you then....... The happiness in your pride drew me out from my rafter."
"I was pretty fired up out there. It just seemed like the right thing to do."
"I probably would’ve just watched you for a while if you didn’t break out the spray paint. From your words I knew you were alright."
"I knew you were alright from the way that you talked."
She stared into my head, "How do you think that I talk?"
"Like you know we’re both insane... but you’re OK with it."
"So what do you think it is to be sane?"
"When all your personalities blend in peacefully with one another. When you act according to how you feel, but you think well enough to keep your actions from damaging yourself or others... You know what I’m saying?"
"God’s a Multiple and we’re all its personalities............ I’m going now... I’ll see you later."
"Where are you going?"
"I’m going to a graveyard."
"You mind if I go along?"
"Not at all."
"Great."





At the Graveyard


Sir Jane led the way through the woods like a night breeze. She appeared to avoid traps in the dark with sonar, or was that a reflection of electric light in her eye, like so many creatures of the night? We climbed a fence and made our way up and down the hills which covered the dead. Did they know we were here? Could they feel the footsteps coming closer and then wandering farther away? Was anyone here trapped in death?
Sir Jane reached her destination. I walked over and stared down at the stone she stopped at. Ms. Shunwun (1736- ). An incomplete entry, fascinating. Sir Jane pulled a small recording machine out of her pocket. She turned it on, held it to the grave stone for a few seconds and then said, "Thanks for making yourself known to me. I agree to move on. In fact... I look forward to it." She then turned the recorder off and said to me, "Well, that’s it. I think I’m going to sleep here tonight though."
"What did you record on that thing?"
"A message... I believe from a spirit. You wanna hear it?"
"Yeah..."
"Let’s go sit under the Willow over there."
We sat down under the tree and she played the recording back. She turned the volume all the way up so we heard lots of static, but quite clearly in the midst of it all was, "Message/76/West/Mecca" it sounded like the voice of a dignified, older woman. Couldn’t gauge the personality though. Just a few words. Sir Jane played it over again. "Message/76/West/Mecca" The third time she played it back we didn’t hear a thing. The fourth through 11th – nothing. We talked about what the message meant. I mentioned that Route 76 was just down the road and she exclaimed, "Well that’s it! My journey west down Route 76 begins tomorrow morning. Are you up for it?"
"I’m up for seeing you off, but that’s about it. That message was conjured up by you."
"I pressed record, but that’s all. That message could’ve been for you too."
"Maybe, but I’m not ready for that yet... You look like you were born for this shit. My living’s been so cold that if I heat it up I might piss my pants. I want to wade into it. Gradually... I’ll probably quit my job selling coffee and try out a labor camp from a temp agency. I’ll get into it with you later, but that’s not a promise. It’s a possibility. I don’t make plans... You know?"
"Yeah... That’s cool.", There was a long pause and then she said, "I wasn’t born for this shit. I was born into it. Everyone is born in it... I’m glad you’ll see me off in the morning though. It’ll make me feel better knowing that when I come back around full circle you might be here again... or some presence that I can relate to on your level. If I don’t get to know you better as a person, I’ll get to know you as a symbol. I’m sure a positive world will follow......I’m going to get something to eat."

As Sir Jane was out feeding I was leaning onto a crossroad in my mind. I wasn’t afraid to go on with her. I couldn’t imagine feeling safer with anybody... But what was she doing? In the morning she’d go hiking down Route 76 on a mission given to her from a gravestone. It might have been given to both of us, but she accepted it. Wholeheartedly. Maybe that’s the problem... I figured that when I believed more... I’d somehow catch up, if that would ever happen.
Sir Jane came back and laid down next to me under the tree. We spent the rest of the night curled up together questioning the message and where it might lead. Just before I fell asleep I realized that she was the first woman I ever held on to for warmth since the first time I masturbated.






The next day




I watched her walk down the street alone and then disappear behind a hill. I dropped three shades of "there" at that moment. My body faded into the background and I felt gravity close in around me. Sir Jane was going on...
The mental fight resumed and I found myself in front of the stack of Playboys again. This time with the lack to buy it. I bought the magazine because of the lack and because of this strange new state of being.
I wasn’t there anymore. I was lost in the matrix because I didn’t believe in anything else. My colors turned black-and-white. I turned against myself. Just when I started to get excited my life took on a new shape and the soul in it simply died.
I left my other job selling coffee to work at Starbucks. If there was a reason for it, I didn’t allow myself to know. If there was a reason for me being around at all, I wasn’t aware of it. I was pleasing them... And by pleasing them I was pleasing myself. I didn’t know who they were actually and I didn’t notice anyone being particularly pleased by me, but no one had any reason to think that I wasn’t similar to them. No one had any reason to dislike me. I blended and felt nothing.
I didn’t hate people but I didn’t see much in them either. I noticed that I liked anyone a little more when they dropped some change in my tip cup. I began to empathize with other people and distrust myself. I wanted that quarter man! I could have as much as $10 extra a night and it was up to these consumers to help me achieve that goal. I began to think of them like that... Consumers.
I spent my free time watching television. I got to know the commercials. After six months I felt safer at the mall. I didn’t feel weird ignoring people anymore. What were they to me anyway? I walked around and made sure I bought something before I left any store. I watched movies. I played video games. I lived... I got married and I got divorced. Without an argument. We didn’t love each other at first so after a year she found someone more suitable to her mold of character and we ended it. No damage done. We exchanged rings once again, once and for all. I allowed myself to understand this as normal. Everything I knew became normal. Everything I knew became everything around me, except Jimmy.
Jimmy




There was one person I got to know when I worked at Starbucks. It was on the second anniversary of the last time I saw Sir Jane. I had been married once and earned two semesters of college credits attending part-time. Jimmy walked into the store right up to me and asked, "Could I have a 1984 please?" I looked at him for a second and then called out an order for a vanilla latte. He nodded and then told me he didn’t have any money. I told him he couldn’t have the coffee then, and he replied, "No Sir, no problem at all." He walked out the door and I followed. I’m not sure why I followed him, but I know what triggered it. It was the "Sir" remark. I started to feel pathetic.
Jimmy was walking so fast that I couldn’t walk fast enough and still remain normal looking in my approach, so I just bolted. I caught up with him as he turned into an alleyway. "Hey!", I exclaimed. "Take some of this change I earned this morning. I didn’t mean to-" He grabbed my head with both his hands. They were strong hands, kinda made me feel bashful. He stared directly into my eyes and muttered, "Who could be so obscene as the truth hider and his enemies?"
I didn’t know what to say. Something clicked inside of me though. I began to wonder who the truth hider was but he broke in with song,
"1492 the ship came in
a variety of crooks and Scabs
with a few good men
ants on a tray of marmalade
a questionable girl with a bridal maid..."
He let go of me and violently jerked back. "I’m sorry... I’m in a trance", he bellowed out. He set up a 4x4, against the wall in front of him, then called out:
"Shadows of anger cover my walls
these shadows are mirrors and mirrors tell all
these shadows are windows to what I’ll become
I’ll become wrath if I can’t be undone
and I wanna lose the hate in my veins
although I’m in love with the pain of my age"
I threw a dollar on the ground by him and started walking away ‘cause I saw that he was completely insane. I sort of felt bad for him. He probably lived in that alleyway praying to himself through the walls each day, but he wasn’t that crazy... He called to me as I was leaving,
"Hey man, I’m sorry about that... it was just a trance. I wasn’t ignoring you. Stay awhile and thanks for the dollar. I use those, thanks"
"Sure, no problem. I thought you were some place else, not rude."
"Yeah, I was somewhere else. I knew I was somewhere else though, that’s the difference between me and the crazies. I don’t have the guts to completely leave here."
He laughed at that and I couldn’t help smiling. This man seemed very debonair in an extreme sort of way. I walked over by him and sat down against the wall. At that moment I knew I was at The Crossroad once again. I was leaning against it with one hand nailed in. I would hate to go back to work once I became comfortable here, and work knows that I hate it. The other workers didn’t know me enough to know that I hated being there, but work itself knew. I’d be written off within the hour on account of some technicality. I sat down across from him and it felt good. At that same moment three blocks away in a coffee shop, my name was accidentally erased from the computer when a manager was trying to find my home phone number.
"I’m sorry you were fired, man. I know losing a job is a stressful thing."
"How did you know I was fired?"
"Well, you came in here after me ‘cause you left your job, right?"
"I left my job to find you. I wasn’t fired then."
"Are you fired now?"
"Well, probably."
"That’s a shame, man."
"It was... But not anymore"
I gave up rational thought for the moment. It was only getting in the way. After all, he was right. I did lose my job. It didn’t matter how or when. I felt a crazy inward smile surge up through my insides and I started to grin. Things were making sense again, like they always did when I stopped thinking enough to be fascinated. I asked him where he got his trances from and his eyes twinkled with green light but his face was somber.
"It’s a long story, really..."
"That’s no problem. All I got is time."
"It all happened in San Francisco. I remember being 22 years old and not having a clue what was going on around me for real. I’m 54 now. At least I feel about twice as old now. Anyway... I had just dropped out of college ‘cause I didn’t know what I was doing there. I started walking all over the city. I was living in one of those cheap hotels, but I liked being outside of it... Comparatively. I noticed that the only people who really talked to me for the best part of the year were bums, you know, living in alleyways and such. Everybody told me that they just wanted money from me but they were wrong. When they asked I told them I didn’t have any money, but they still talked to me. Eventually I started hanging out with homeless people regularly. It was because they made more sense to me, but sometimes they were off in their own worlds and I got left behind. I guess that was the drink. All of them made less sense after being on the drink for awhile, but they made sense enough to each other. Well, I started in on the drink myself. I didn’t like the taste of it so I knew I was in for some trouble, but I didn’t mind... It was better than what was going on then. The drink worked for awhile; I’d say almost 10 years. I understood everybody a bit more than I could have sober, and I got to know them all real well. By-and-by I tired of that existence though. The bums started blending in with the people I used to know too much. I couldn’t accept that... But I did for the next 10 years. Those next 10 years were tough ones though. I got lost in the drink trying to quit more than I ever did swimming in it on purpose. I finally let it go for one whole day though. I swam out to that island Alcatraz is on. Not the whole way of course, I used a rowboat to get near it. Then I jumped out and started swimming when I was 100 feet offshore. I wanted to lose the boat in case I tried to leave for beer later in the night. It worked. I never saw the boat again, but I almost didn’t reach the shore neither. I was out of shape, man. I mean... really out of shape. It was dark by the time I got myself together and it was cold out too. I had the shakes real bad so I figured I’d start walking to keep me alive and all. I climbed up the rubble toward the ruins of that ancient prison and something struck me funny– I was going through a lot of shit to get to jail! Well, as I was thinking that, I noticed a light out of the side of my eye, so I headed that way. It turned out to be a small fire with no one around it. I looked around and there wasn’t anybody there. I thought to myself, "This is pretty strange." When I moved close to the fire I noticed something really strange. It was cold as rock. There was a fire there but it didn’t feel like one. I reached down to put my hand in the fire and something yelled "Don’t!", so I didn’t. I noticed that there was an Indian there then, sitting on the other side of the fire. She wasn’t dressed in feathers, just jeans and a T-shirt. "Why are you putting your hand in the fire?", she asked. And I said, "Cause it’s cold." Then she picked up a stick and put it in the fire. When she pulled it out, it was solid ice. "You could still get burned.", she said, and then laughed. As she was laughing I noticed that the fire got hot, so I figured she had something to do with it. We started chatting it up for awhile, about what we were doing here and all, but I never can remember what she said she was doing. Anyways... We were talking about how we felt estranged from people in some ways, and she tells me that she could help me out if I made one of two choices. The first was that I was to go back and live out the rest of my life among people. The second was that I could stay on the island and eventually die, and she’d be around to make sure that I didn’t feel any pain. Well, I chose to leave the island ‘cause life wasn’t impossible to me, I just wanted some help. She smiled in a half serious but un-deliberate sort of way, and then handed me a pint. She said it would help me out as long as afterwards I never drank again. Well, I drank it. I felt a little rush and then BOOM!- she was gone. The fire was gone too. I think the sun was just coming up and would you believe it, another boat was floating up onshore! I left in a good mood. I didn’t feel as alone as I did before. I’ve had these trances ever since that day. They occur whenever I let them, but it’s hard to get out of them. I love them though... I see things that are there that other people don’t think are there.
He was quiet for a while after that, so I had time to take it all in. Question his authenticity and such. It could be as much false as it was true, but this man obviously wasn’t drunk. He didn’t slur. He didn’t waddle. I had to ask him about his trances, but I couldn’t think of anything concrete.
"So how long has it been since you drank last?"
"It’s been awhile. I think I was 43 then, but I figured that out a few years back, and I wasn’t sure then... Let’s say I was 45. I’ll stick to that. Anyways, I haven’t had a drop since I left. What about you?"
"Oh, I had a few beers last night. I don’t drink as much as I’d like to though."

"My friends
gathered in hospitals
speaking freely in prison cells
their chemical eyes are fierce and my bad half swells
all around and through the thick, quick molding bricks that stick
and fall on children in the crowd
too many dead, or slowly breathing
I lose a little faith
and watch the old age pick my hand up and press it down in pain"
I knew what was going on. He was in a trance. I decided that I’d try to communicate. There is no harm in that... I thought he was feeling bad about his life as a drunk so I said,
"That’s all behind you now man. You’re not that old."
"Friendly you walks like Santa
tired from the joys of life
friendly you is wasted
from the discipline of signs
friendly you has one fine mate
who turns your damaged soul
she’s sucking out the poison
and filling holes"
"Are you saying that I’m not keeping it real?"
"Listen twice behind the words.
It’s not the words but the glance inside that hurts."
"What’s this about a mate? I haven’t had anybody in my life since my divorce , and she wasn’t really in my life then either."
"A powerful finished idea
in an ordinary life
without strings or disbelief
to push it aside
what dreams could be dreamed
to keep it alive
from the chaos and the current
of ordinary life"
"This isn’t making any sense, man. I can’t make it to make sense."
"Bury the dead part of your mind
let the natural light guide you to your entity"
I was starting to freak out at this point. It seemed like something was supposed to be directed at me. I wanted to end it so I said,
"Are we almost done yet? I think I’m done."
"Look at your life again
where are we now?
We’re underneath the rain in the crowd."
"Yeah, I’ll say."
"You’ll say what?"
"I’ll say that I don’t know what you’re talking about."
"Me neither."
"What?"
"Was I talking to you just now? While I was in a trance?"
"I don’t know, man. You were talking the talk and I was trying to follow along, but I couldn’t walk the walk. Some of it might have made sense... You’re telling me that you don’t remember any talking?"
"No. Not to you. I was looking at a series of images, and I was listening to strange music, that’s all."
"Are all your trances like that? You know, images and music?"
"Naw, not all of them. Sometimes I’ll talk to somebody who’s really interesting or reality as I know it will fade into some weird place. I saw the Indian girl I told you about a couple of times. I saw a scraggly dark haired, walking girl eat a bunny rabbit once."
"Sir Jane!"
"Oh, you see her too? I found her a bit odd, in a sense."
"Yeah, she’s odd alright. She was odd enough to be my friend a few years back. She just about changed my life. What else do you know about her?"
"She’s dead."
"She’s dead?"
"Yeah, that’s what she told me. She said she was dead and was on a mission to resurrect her life. I commended her on her ambition."
"Do you know if she really is dead or not?"
"You mean if she’s dead to this place... I’m not sure. In a trance I can’t tell about that sort of thing."
"That’s crazy. I almost went along with her on some mission. Instead, I took the job where you saw me at. After meeting you today, I feel like I’ve wasted so much time."
"Don’t worry, there’s no such thing as wasting time... In fact, there’s no such thing as time. You were just replaced for awhile."
"Replaced? By what?"
"By someone else who’s very much like you, in fact they are you, although they aren’t you to your fuller extent."
"Are you saying that I’m complete now, but I wasn’t then?"
"I’m saying you were partway alive before, and you were sleeping. Now you’re partway there, but you’re awake."
"How do you know I’m awake?"
"Because you’re searching."
"How do you know I’m searching?"
"Because you’re the guy that worked at the coffee shop, and then you walked out and followed me. Now you’re the guy who used to work at the coffee shop. You left where you were to come here, and you’ve been asking questions. In doing that you’ve become someone else. You are doing what I did a while back, you know – that story I was telling you?"
"Tell me more about being replaced."
"I can tell you about the whole replacement system if you’d like."
"All right, tell me about the replacement system."