The man from the hyper-future, Tyra Banks, stands amazed at the chest unleashed by his powerful super-suit’s chestmaker. With him are the nerd he recently met, and soeone who looks remarkably simlar to (name deleted). But it can’t be him, can it? (name deleted) is sleeping, dreaming, even now inside the frown of the universe… then who is this man? What is his plan? And his span? Fan.

The dials and knobs on my suit dialed down and knobbed down to the minimum. I was again allowed to utilize my own bodily limbs to control my directions and motions. how pleasing it was to regain that lost control.

The night air swelled with the rush if heat of the heaving breasts on the now breathing chest, and with the cries and yelps of the hapless Torontonians who had, understandably, not predicted this occurance. Torontonians are notably terrible at predicting the emergence of body parts in the middle of their city, as their future history would bear out time and time again. Old Shafty-Cocks of 2140 really springs to mind.

I turned my gaze proportionatly, following the golden ratio, towards the man who, until only an hour ago, had been my trusted companion. And yet, after vanishing into thin air at the hospital, and returning without much ado, he had seemed to be like another man who just looked like my friend. What had hapened to him? It was like taking the orange out of the orange skin and then putting some rags in the orange skin, and then saying ‘this is an orange, OR IS IT?” I’m saying this is my friend, or IS IT? You feel me?

I ji-HAD no time to find out (had no time to find out), as the blood pooling up in my suit from my recent interaction with bullets meant i had to gather my mind and hurl my body onward. Why had my friend shot into my body with his gun? It wasnt’ even a malicious gun, it was a kind looking gun. one of those little stubby guns, that you imagined the big guns always teased and that you just wanted to buy when you saw it at the gun shelter. In the age in which i come from, guns were large wooly creatures, barely resembling the primitive guns of today, but in that stubby little fellow I saw the Grintaur, the gun I had growing up. Not actually growing up, obviously, as I blinked into existence all at once due to m suit’s conclusion that it was inevitable, but nevertheless, i blinked into existence with a full life’s memory set. With a bonus expansion pack of half remembered possible victimizations.

“You’re a real dink for some reason,” i shouted, as i turned and hopped away. My suit’s inflective screens corrected my clearly pained intonations into those of a tough urban fellow. While i said “you’re a real dink for some reason”, what (name deleted) and the nerd heard was “Yo, ya’ll is total douche machine, white honkey ghost!” Cool, right? That’s pretty cool.

The suit’s wound augmenter kicked in, and my bullet wound began to feel like a scorpion bite in my hand. It wouldn’t interfere with me running, though my leg now liberated from pain, i was running awfully hard on it, and I could feel blood glooshing out. It was without a doubt the wettest my jeans had ever been thus far. I made amental note to add it to the big wet jeans scroll in the year 249,493 when i was next visiting that time.

In the dim light of king’s college circle, surrounded on all sides by venerable old buildings, universty College, a vast victorian edifice with tasteful ivy growing on every side, i could make out the nerd leaping on (name deleted) and wrestling away the gun. The starlit sky arched overhead like a threadbare shroud, permeated with vague light from beyond. There was something remarkably peaceful about this epoch, no lip-chives, scenting the night with their spicy salivas, no gontules, lobing your legs with their lobes. No scrimshaw pipes hanging from everyone’s hoary beards, drizzling out smoke into the blustering new england autumn nights. All three of the worst things in time were absent.

In the distance now echoed the sound of sirens, emergency vehicles rushing to disruptions in the city’s life. Probably the giant breasts, I’d imagine. I’d be willing to bet that that ws, by far, the biggest disruption. However, though i didn’t know it at the time… I mean, though i dno’t know it at the time, i don’t know what i’m about to say, the galgravolt had realized it was a galgravolt. The city, and everyone in it, was doomed. I dont’ know that yet though. I’m saying it with my fingers poked into my ears so i don’t’ hear myself say it.

To be continued.

Due to his self doubt, he decided to ask an objective third party if he were dead, or merely trapped within a paradigm that was like death (perhaps Hegelianism).  What follows is extracted from the protagoniser’s gleam screamer ™.

…

The other man was in the form of a Methodist, and as his opticulated my torso and limbs with his oculonts, I gleaned from my mood groaner that his was moaning out a strong sense of recognition.

“You!” The waves of his outburst gallopped across my delicate membranes.

“You know me?” I rejoindered.  What a fool, he didn’t know iw as going to do that, i bet.  10 Greevalt Lamb-coins says he’s not prescient!

“Of course, or rather, i will know you–” he paused for effect “–IN THE FUTURE!”  The latter part of his sentiment was expressed with ominous arm motions and a grim look on his face.   The ocean of his face (a metaphor) became like a grim ocean face.  You see how I’m able to make you see images?

“Old man, how can you recognize me if you will only know me in the future?”

He just laughed at me, and gave me twenty canadian dollars.  He then combed my hair, while still laughing.  He pulled out a range of ties that surprisingly rated over Four Hearts on the suitability scale, and chose a 4.8er and gingerly tied it around my neck.

“This is the first time i’ll meet you, but not the last.  The last time i meet you will be the first of the last times i meet you.  And because it’s a first of something, i’ve technically met you one first time already, long long years from now.  Since firsts carry forward, in the direction they are facing, a first last faces the reverse, you see?  So that first is carrying forward relative to its own frame of reference.  That forward is our backward.  Thus, I know you already because of our final meeting, years from now.”

The chasmic void which we inhabited began to blow with warm gusts of stale air.

“That’s remarkable.”

“Yes it is.  Purely by logical construct i am able know anything, for you see, I’m a Rativore, an eater of Reason.”

“Ahh,” i said knowingly.  he had no idea i didnt’ know what he was talking about, but i squared my shoudlers to his, and mimiced his bodily attitude, while maintaining eye contact. i was winning this conversation.

“That and i live in three directions in time at once.  Forward for you, backward for you, and forward for ex-girlfriends.”

“A third direction in time?” I asked, while touching his body in a dominant way, witha broad open handed motion.

“Have you ever wondered with ex-girlfriends never seem to move on?”

In many ways i had, but i wasn’t going to show my hand.

“Maybe.  Maybe not.”  Booya.

“Well, that’s because ex-girlfriends live in a perpendicular timeframe.  They don’t move forward in the timeframe that you do.  For me, obviously, ex girlfriends move on rather quickly.  We Rativores are the third luckiest race in the known universe.  Not me though, as I am stuck in here.”

“Ah, the afterlife.  Kind of an anuser, eh?”

“Bummer.  Not Anuser.  But uh.. what do you mean afterlife?”

“Well.  I died.  In the frown?”

“Ahahahahaha,” he said each Ha as a separate syllable in a dry monotone, whie inflating gas sacks on his neck.  When he was done storing his laughter, the gas bags compressed, shooting his jocularity fog into my face.  I must admit, the effect was very amusing. “We’re not dead.  You idiot.  You’re only dreaming.  You are asleep, right now, inside the frown, after successfully giving up some of your personality by twittering on your iphone.  None of this is even real.  Except me.  I moved into your dreams last week, while you were awake, because it seemed like you had basically given up on having any dreams.  Since you clearly are using them again, i could move into your aspirations.  That’s a far more tractless void than this cavern.  But uh.  I have all my shells arranged here.”  He indicated several rows of beautiful seashells which he had arranged from smallest to largest.  “It would be a shame to have to move them.”

“It would.  It would.  Still…”

“What?”

“nothing.  You know.  It’s just… ”

“Ugh, okay, i’ll move if you want.  But look around, there’s lots of space.  If you realy dont’ ahve that many dreams, i mean.  I could even put up some of my own.  My goals are pretty great.”

“Gimme an example.”

“I want to own a boat.  Nothing too fancy, a 12 footer. And maybe retire with my 2nd wife to smalltown Ontario, and integrate into the community by volunteering to help it’s local historical society.”

“Say, that’s not bad.  You ahve a deal.”

“Good, becuase you’re about to wake up.”

“Oh, wait, what’s your name, and tell me about my future!”

“I’m Phile Maven, and actually you asked me not to tell you anything.  You made that very clear at our final meeting, just years from now.  You can’t even imagine, time is nuts!”

“What?  Why!  tell me!”

But it was too late, he already had his earphones in and was listening to his sleek, 3Gs black iphone, available at apple stores across the country.

to be continued…

Having waited for some time in the oubliet where the families of patients were abandoned, I decided to sing some more tunes to my fellow inmates. Numerous professionals of the hospital attempted to crush my burgeoning musical spirit, but I was resolute. I flashed my index finger and told them that they didn’t own me, that I was my own man, that I could do what I liked, and that I was a being composed of elements no heavier than iron. They were aware of all those facts, they told me, and wanted to see me in private. This was good news. I had probably won a prize.

I walked with two large men, both named Security Man (as far as i was concerned) to a small enclave near the emergency entrance of the hospital. I knew i recognized this hospital, i’d seen it before. THe torpidscraller I was using to track down my victims had it displayed on the packaging actually, as an indication of the kind of flashy memory you might be able to read if only you purchased this brand of torpidscraller.

There, at the entrance, I was enthroned in a regal chair with stately handcuffs attached to an imperious metal clasp. Restrained in grandeur befitting my status, I was again abandoned by lesser primitives of this backward world to consider my own nutrients in private. Good old Glucose, master of the blood.

The truth was that nomatter how many nutrients I considered, (excluding ghost-calcium) I could only think about my buddy. Somewhere inside the hospital he lay, vomiting and asking for change, deep in his flashback to his time spent in hobo-nam. Ye shall be avenged, I pretended. They were probably tubing him up and down with their primitive tubes. And where was I? In some little office spot, with all the nutrients i coudl think of, just mentally enjoying the cycles and rhythms of my body (and any lady’s body too, you know what I mean?).

The waiting was killing me. I took invintory of the items i could see with my eyes wide open, visually scanning with actual real working eyes. I saw the table, the cuffs, the clasp. the clock on the wall that looked like the face of Sir Numberface, who sold me the magic cloak that let me pass through wisconsin undetected. But based on my knowledge of this time period, i knew that the security boys were probably calling the police boys. They woudl totally bust me! Nats!

This was the kind of situation where ordinarily i might give up hope, but ordinarily, I didn’t have exactly the person i was waiting for come into the room i was in, dressed as a doctor, and hugging my body and kissing my face.

“Hey, buddy, what happened to you? did they give you those new clothes?”

“Who cares about my clothes,” he replied in this room with me, “I just cant’ beelive you are here. they think you’ve vanished. i should have known you’d be okay.”

“Vanished? Vanished? OOOH NO.” It was the kind of meaningful realization that I get to have where you dont’ get to know the details until later in the book. It was that kind of realization that only happens to me, and then later, you know, you go back and say “OF COURSE”. Suffice it to say, I “magically got out of my handcuffs and zapped the guy and escaped”.

to be continued…

“These are my snaps. I can just tear these pants away at any time. These snaps will undo.”

“My god, that’s amazing.”

“I know. For instance, let’s say we’re running from something, say, a galgravolt, and it’s like ‘oh no, we’re running so fast, and I’m sweating too much, what am I going to do’, you know? Probably get eaten by the galgravolt. But me? I just go ‘later, suckers,’ and with a quick tug of my pants, they just tear away. Then I’m running with all sorts of bare legs. Also, check this out.” He reached down towards his feet, which were all leathery and marked with the word REBOK. A flap of skin protruded from the top, out of a patch of lacework which seemed to hold his feet tightly together, and at its apex was a small circular blister. He pinched the blister between his thumb and forefinger, and I cringed. “You just pump this up, right here, and your shoes get all pumped up. And you run way faster. So I’m like ‘oh no!’, tear tear, pump pump, ‘see ya later, ass-holes!’” He began motionining like he was shooting a weapon over his shoulder, and mimed running for a while, then he was struck by a temporal displacement field! Apparently, he was stuck in an eddy in time that ran much slower than the rest of the flow of time around us, as his motions became quite slow, and even though he rolled across the ground and took cover behind a garbage can, shooting his invisible weapon and saying “goosh, goosh, goosh, BRWAAAAAA, oooh nooo, heeee’s gooot a guuuuun,” in a deep pitched and slow voice, he appeared not to notice.

I raced over to him and grasped the arms of his body with my handlers, yanking him out of the current. “YOU ARE EXPERIENCING DANGER!” I tried to alert him with a warning kiss, but my extruder had been replaced by some form of monotreme, a single mouth that I realized I was breathing out of, talking out of, and now, French kissing out of. How did men of this era live like this? With all their functions agglomerated into single holes! I didnt’ even want to GUESS what anus i was meant to sing from! A quick smear of my face with my hands illustrated that, at least, I had two nose holes: one likely for smelling, the other likely for receiving accolades.

My companion now resumed his normal speed of existence, fortunately, and we did a classic “stroll about” in the town. We weren’t certain what we were looking for, but The Suit was still in communication with him, indicating things and then he convayed them to me in turn. “Over on our right is the historic Royal York hotel, first opened on June 11, 1929, Jesus Years, and was for a time the tallest building in the England Global Domination Zone, until replaced by the Canadian Bank of Commerce tower. On our left, is historic Union Station, first opened on August 6, 1927, in a lavish ribbon severing occultation. The royal offspring of the England Global Dominators used a pair of valuable slicers to sever the ribbon. That ribbon was later preserved in memory, and passed down through the ages until the epoch of the Cognators, who revived the ribbon, coaxing it out of memory, and reincarnating it. They later considered that ribbon to be their king, but after a regicidal plague killed all the kings that were ribbons, they swore never to avenge its death, a custom that still persists today.”

I could not have been less interested in this boring, almost dadlike explanation of non-pertinence. Though, fortunately, I was to be spared further pain by my own ingenuity.
“So, what is your name?” I asked.

“Oh. It’s Banks.”

“Just banks?”

“Well. Tyra Banks. What’s yours?”

“Oh, its (name deleted).’

“Huh.”

“What…”

“Nothing, just, that’s a girl’s name,” he said.

“it’s a man’s name in my time,” I retorted. It was a retort I would regret for the rest of my life, as it was, as we say in the biz, the sort of retort that opens a locator array which vast and crucial enemies use to home in on your present location. Before we could continue our witty banter, one of these primitives blustered into our face with a pistol drawn. We weren’t scared, because it was drawn on a piece of paper, but it was a picture of the gun he had in his other hand, which we only then just noticed. What a bunch of guns’n’papers it was!

“Totally fork over all your mondo cash, broseph and broseph! These days of you having your own rad cash are WAY over, dwaynes!” He shoveled that gun into our pugs, and we reacted instinctively. I reached forward, and seized his gun, pressing it against my chest and began shooting, hoping to fire off all his bullets into me so that I could take control of the situation. If I fired all the bullets into myself, then it would rob him of his initiative, and take the wind out of his sails. It was a brilliant plan. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, I shouted, to muffle the sound of the gun firing bullets into my soft body. Triumphantly I collapsed on the ground in a bloody heap, laughing and going into victory shock.

“Now what are you going to do, eh tough guy?” This guy was a total amateur. I showed him how committed I was, now he’s got nothing. What’s he going to do, pull the bullets out and shoot me with them again? He’s got NOTHING. “Yeah, I thought so. Got no more bullets left eh? Ooh, what’s wrong? They’re all in my body, THAT’s whats wrong. Huh? Huh? Yeah, i thought so.” And I really did think so. That, I might later realize, was my greatest strength, the ability to say I thought so, and to actually think so. It was the deftest type of lie, the type that even I was unaware of, because of how much the truth it turned out to be.
Screaming and running away, I watched this total amateur flee from our scene of triumph, as I victoriously coughed up a litre of blood and proudly felt cold and saw the world turning dark. Then, my life flashed before my eyes, froze still, and turned into a synaptic cube, as was our custom in my time to do just before dying. The little white cube of sweet tasting memories tumbled to the ground beside me like a bear rewinding a tape. “Uh oh, “ I thought privately, maintaining my smug facial expression, “that’s not a good sign.”
Tyra Banks shouted to the men and women who walked past, “Like, mega get this man a total ambulance, niggas!” Then such a frenzy did I observe, of circular forming crowds hanging overhead, of shouting and advice giving.

“You have to suck the poison out!” one said, “let me do it!” said a particularly effete man with pursed lips. Another took off his shirt and bewailed the rising tide of violence that modern life was cursed with, and shouted that he would retire to the forest, and no longer participate in a global economic culture that ravaged the individual human spirit and repressed personal expression, which I felt was an appropriate response. If you were retarded.

Ultimately, the amateurs and their medical thoughts were silenced by the arrival of some real pros, these ambulance men, these boys of summer, these sweaty lad lads that so feverishly forced tubes into me. They wanted me, I could smell it in their eyes. “Easy there, big guy, I don’t’ fuck on the first date, “ I said, totally playing hard to get in a major way. I could tell it was working, because he then inserted more tubes into me with some sweet salty vein water. Yeah, I was going to be just fine, and to prove it, I decided to lose consciousness, but really casually and still clearly gloating from my deft handling of the whole gun situation. What a babe I must appear to be, full of pipes and tubes and oozing holes. Just like J-Lo.

to be continued?