Chapter 11
Pasqual missed his mother Huera (Tze-gu-juni or "Pretty Mouth" for too much of their lives. Her Chiricahua blood was nearly all he carried from his path of bifurcated cultural identity and may be what gave him such affinity for words and the weavings of meaning they brought. His father, Luke O'Mally was a Rastafari Jamaican writing a PhD thesis about the effects of cultural dislocation on the music of indigenous people when he and Huera met in Arizona; she was a matrilineal descendent of Cochise living in Nogales, and the two fell into a profoundly human impossibly complex love with no easy exit - Pasqual being the highest best outcome of that love.
Luke was murdered 3 days after the birth of his son; The murder was an act of random violence; He and Ernesto, Huera's youngest brother of two, were outside of a Nogales bar; the assailant vanished and Luke was conferred to the Great Spirit in the tradition of Pasqual’s tribe. The other brother, Jose Ortega, was presumed dead, "Missing In Action" MIA during the Tet Offensive of the American war in Vietnam. The Ernesto was more father to Pasqual than anyone, and with Luke the night of his murder. Stories of the two became the spoken rug of Pasqual's heritage: part fact, part fiction, though lacking gravity enough to hold a restless Pasqual in Nogales.
Just after Pasqual’s 9th Birthday, his mother married an executive from an international aluminum mining concern. Her new husband was an Apache elder with right intentions, but narrow vision. A good husband to Huera, he made every effort to raise her son well, but fate would not make them a family.
At 14, Pasqual left home, hitchhiking out of Arizona. A middle school teacher had challenged him to read Kerouac's"On the Road," remarking it would be too much for Pasqual's young mind; it was not, nor much employment for an itinerant Jamaican/Apache in post empire 'merica. Pasqual drifted into at Archer City, TX finding employement at “Booked Up,” where curiosity pulled him deeper into the dusty pages of Larry McMurty's eclectic selection of books provided discipline to the wild mind of young Pasqual once the floors were swept.
Larry enjoyed the reclusive man-child who’d found his way to his store; the two spent hours exploring language, culture and the evolution of generational struggles described in books written, and yet to be written. Eventually Pasqual decided California would be best suited for the vision quest he owed to his Ma. So he took the employment pelf and bought a brand new 1984 Harley-Davidson Shovel-head on which to conquer the “Dream Machine” of Hollywood, CA. The day he arrived on a freeway feeder from the desert;early morning traffic pushed him westward off Hollywood; Blvd; then South at Highland; as though on a hook he banged a left at Mel’s Diner. By the time he'd finished a plate of 'Americana-does-Hollywood', Eggs, Bacon, Biscuits, and Sausage Pasqual was wolfing for his alluring waitress, Angela Vigoda. 3 hours later, the two were in the rictus of sexual ecstasy, a union they would explore alone/together for the next 36 years until the 2020 fall of civilization, which saw a world struggle sideways through a “Portal” for which many hoped and prayed would become a new humanity; while others clung reflexively devoted to traditional versions of “enlightenment”.
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Angela Vigoda had been a “Valley Girl,” twenty years too late, She chased movie star dreams as a teenager. Both parents were deeply immersed in the “industry” and encouraged her dreams, however much vicariously satisfying their own fraught yearnings. By the time Angela was ingenue material, what was left of cinematography had been entirely subsumed by the computer generated graphics, to the degree that by the time the two met, it was not always clear whether the image on screen was a breathing, sentient being or the confabulation of some executive and a gifted 'ai'animator. There was just enough room in the inchoate dreams of the two to fit one another into the empty places of the other. Pasqual took occasional gigs as a stunt double, but Angela had grander plans for them and took up real estate sales, where she discovered a gift for working with people - they moved to Simi Valley and she gave birth to baby Jesus.
During their 15 years in Simi Valley the internet went through vast changes and witnessed the transformation from “Information Superhighway” to the prototype for “Turnkey Tyranny.” The hand-over-fist profits from the Dot Com Empire had never been seen before, with overnight billionaires selling off startups to ever larger conglomerates who made the “restraint of trade” business model of the Robber Barrons seem like egregious philanthropy. As a result greater amounts of capital amassed in fewer hands than anytime in the planet’s long history of greed; the world wobbled toward ecological catastrophe more quickly than at anytime since the beginning of the industrial revolution. Mankind had been robbed of its sensory capacity to experience the world viscerally and increasingly relied on the “bytes” used as click bait generating virtual income out of the glut of products techno/capitalism produced, which social engineers flogged as essential accessories for the twisted “Good Life” of Edward Bernays.
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Zchnarkzy Marskburgh was trailing Reiman by drone as he drove South on the 101 toward the Face Race Campus; so when Reiman called Marksburgh, saying he'd been driving North. “What’s North of your place?,” Zchnarkzy asked, “except vacant vineyards and ‘Vaccine Free Zones’? Why don’t you come down to the ‘Face Race’ campus? The plant’s servers are still at 68.75% capacity, and I can divert 90% of that from subscribers to do any modeling we want to localize this ‘mythological digital cache’ we’re 'NOT' hunting.”
“I have an appointment with Faik Besos at the new Babylon campus at Ghirardelli Square in ‘Friscoat 6:30 pm tonight. He approached me along the same lines you’re thinking.” Reiman broke the connection to let that sink in and called his goon squad staging outside the ‘Face Race’ campus for the kidnapping of Zchnarkzy Marskburgh; to amputate a massive percentage of the unholy triumvirate. “Old age and treachery will win over youth and ambition every time”, Reiman murmured to himself loud enough for the younger Faik Bezos to snicker at on the tapped transmission.
Zchnarkzy Marksburgh stepped into his Chauffeured Escalade Town Car, preferring pavement to the moving target practice
'helicopter privilege' for large bore laser scoped random gunfire that elite privilege had become after the 2nd killing wave of ’27. The route to his complex in the vineyards North of San Rafael was as secure as any stretch of rodeway in ‘merica post-Covid. He found freedom of movement essential in maintaining his command of events; what good was a $212 billion net worth, if you couldn’t flaunt it? His entourage of 6 were all special-ops veterans of the never-ending wars of 21st century ‘merica and his armor plated vehicle was nuclear blast rated, but the driver was still not prepared when a tractor trailer blocked their progress, and another blocked their retreat. The Escalade’s navigation screen went blank then was immediately replaced by a video of Zchnarkzy’s mother in realtime at the rear bumper of the tractor trailer blocking the retreat of Zchnarkzy’s Escalade.
“Zchnark, I lied; I’m not meeting Faik at Ghirardelli Square.” Reiman's voice advised the unsurprised Marksburgh, “I brought your mother to exchange - her for you.” Before Zchnarkzy could respond to Reiman’s threat, the entire area was lit by Halogen lamps from a squadron of drones piping the voice of Faik Besos;
“You will all surrender immediately, or I will render a 1 mile radius from were Mrs. Marksburgh stands, radioactive.” The Escalade's passenger door opened and Zchnarkzy stepped out speaking into his smart phone activating loud speakers on the Escalade,
“Gentleman, what we have here is a failure to communicate; de-escalate this nonsense immediately or i will magnetize this handset and erase the only known recording of Aaron Schtartz’s explanation on how to hijack the entire world’s economy and where to hide it in plain sight - we have what I believe is called a ‘Mexican Standoff’.”
There was then a full 5 minutes of complete silence as each party evaluated possible outcomes. Reiman was 1st to move, and stepped out from behind the back tractor; offered his elbow to Mrs. Marksburgh and calmly walked her to her son’s side; signaling the end of one melodrama and commencing struggle for the future of the world.
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Lammele Dama removed his headphones, and shrugged - somewhat relieved by the averted mayhem he’d just monitored, however much that mayhem may have served efforts to save the preserve the species.
‘Now would be a good time to flood the battlefield with red herrings,’ Lammele thought; picking up the secure phone, he dialed the encryption passcode to the Crocodile Cafe. “Buenos, es la Cafe de Cocodrillos, ¿cómo puedo ayudarte?” Guildern’s familiar voice was reassuring.
In his most officious nasal tone Lammele addressed his friend, “Señor Seur, this is the United States Internal Revenue Service; we have a few questions to ask you. Is this a convenient time?” . .. He loved to prank his friend of nearly 30 years; they’d met doing forensic work on the “Twin Trade Towers” in 2001 and remained close, however much physically distant .. . the pause continued . ..
“Lammele, you fuck - not funny! The file for the Schmuck Brothers is too strange, not much 'play' and once under way less room to move; there’s already blood in the water.”
“It’s worse than you might imagine, friend. The uplink you're looking at is where either Reiman Curzewel, Faik Besos, or Zchnarkzy Marskburgh nearly radioactivated a two mile diameter of the 101 freeway in California south of Healdsburg; murdered Marskburgh’s mother as well as destroy 'the recording' of Aaron Schtartz describing how to mirror a duplicate and hide that copy of the world’s financial stockpile.” Lammele was rarely able to surprise his hyper-vigilant friend, and this news flash was no exception.
“Yeah, there’s a big surprise - rats doing rat things. ‘the 3 cheeses of the apocalypse’. I’d heard that Schtartz had done some theoretical work on liberating the world economy, similar to Tesla’s concept of power sharing before Edison changed the game into the very lucrative business of transmitting energy. It shows how desperate traitors to the species can be about maintaining status quo.”
“Let me ask you Guildern, is this bullshit, or is there foundation to the ‘pot of gold’ myth these three ciphers nearly went, Mutually Assured Destruction over, if only in a 'Vineland' kind of way"?
“None of these sick fucks is stupid, though each afflicted by that greed without limits; To answer your question - Yes, Aaron was an unusually gifted Computer Scientist who was not plagued by the myopic limitations of so many of his brethren in the field; he more favored the creative bent that lent Master Einstein his prodigious leaps of imagination.”
“Well whaddya’ say ole’ friend, are you up for one last rodeo? Have a little fun at the expense of almighty ‘Hubris,’ do you feel like throwing some gargantuan monkey wrenches into the machinery of greed?” Lammele was beginning to enjoy this and that was a good sign for all involved, except the minions of mayhem.
“What are you thinking?” always a dangerous question to put to Lammele Dama, but Guildern Seur was a fearless fool kind of guy.
“I think we should dust the trail; I'd seen a pair of shoes an innovative rustler in the Old West used - they left hoof prints. While you sift whatever you can about Aaron Schtartz’ work, I'll muddy the waters very selectively with digital chaff around any computer traffic ‘the cheeses’ generate in search of whatever it is we are looking for; the worm has turned, it is now a game of who’s doing who.”
“I’m glad to hear your voice again Lammele, you sound good - clear as a bell. PTSD has taken its toll and so many we knew, simply resigned. You're an inspiration, and am glad you continue to draw breath. Take good care friend; keep me posted. We’ll talk soon.”
The line went dead, and both men sat and reflected on their good fortune to know the other.
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Carina rolled off Mordecaise, then knelt over his chest to lick the sweat that puddled at his solar plexus while making love. He relished her abandon for mixing bodily fluids and found the intimacy helped to focus his mind in ways he'd thought were gone. But there was something she was not sharing, maybe not consciously, but she was holding back something that may have been below the threshold of her awareness. She and Domhall had eaten many mushrooms during their time together. She spoke reverently about the purity of his spirit; they had even gone on a pilgrimage to the village where Maria Sabina had lived; but only to leave a modest offering in the local church and deliver a rose bush to 'the stranger' that Carina was drawn to. She made no apologies for her magic as a bruja and believed deeply in the “the little children” Maria Sabina conceived of as the natural world; conceived of and grieved for, believing they were irretrievably lost to the ‘darkening world’; Carina and Domhall devoted much of their union to reversing that fate.
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Angela had developed an ingenious method of communicating between the team using Marksburgh’s own Face Race platform and revolving passkey codes based on currency fluctuations within any country of the world; one need only know the location of an operative to decipher which post contained which comment germane to the discussion. So within minutes of the end of their discussion, the principals understood the content and were able to deduce ramifications of Lammele and Guildern’s conversation - initiative being the guiding light · adapt and improvise. Domhall and his brothers, Reynaldo and Demsford had been deceptively close, and their successive deaths of affected Domhall deeply with increasing intensity. They'd all struggled for calm after the death of their parents; then found themselves children, worth millions in a world losing its moral compass. Domhall was the anchor, though he himself was solitary having difficulty forming close bonds with any but his brothers.
Their guardian Lammele Dama insisted each obtain an education to Bachelor degree level before they gained unfettered access to their fortunes. Domhall began to study law, but switched to Computer Science finding the wooly west nature of an emerging dark web intriguing. Demsford and Reynaldo took the Grand Tour in Europe when of age; Demsford took a liking to Paris as a young swain of uncommon intellect and sensitivity, choosing to study fine art at the École des Beaux-Arts; Lammele Dama’s kindly but acerbic critiques precluded conceit, and Demsford had been delivered from the venal fantasies which talent and devotion to fine art were prey. Reynaldo chose literature and the world of ideas - eternally wondering what his life might have become had his parents survived.
None of the brothers had a concern about livelihood and so wandered on occasion into excess and the dangers of “dissipated youth” only to find either Lammele, Domhall or both laughing at their folly. Reynaldo was the more wounded in these excursions and for a time was laid low with an addiction to heroin; saved through the ministrations of a prostitute in the “Little Saigon” of Southern California; shortly after which she became a buddhist nun leaving a stamp on the romantic mind of Reynaldo Schmuck.
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Carina struggled to open her mind to the questions Mordecaise asked while he tried to help her work through her grief at the recent loss of Domhall and to better understand his mysterious demise. But the chasm between cultures - a Bavarian organ builder and a transplanted Chilango Bruja on the slopes of passion in Oaxaca Mexico seemed too vast a gulf to bridge meaning. However a single fact
about the journey of Domhall’s paperless corpse from Oaxaca Mexico to Montevideo Uruguay remained after unrelenting inquiry in search of connections between his death and his disappearance - one obscure fact · the name of an Argentine Cocaine addict, “Tito Rivera”
During the interrogation of the man who’d tried to frame Mordecaise for smuggling currency into Mexico, Commandante Gonzales had been unable to learn who was behind the failed frame, but he did learn the name of the mule who delivered the $25,000 USD to the operative who committed the fraud at Aeropuerto CDMX - Tito Rivera; who'd taken a return flight to Uruguay; authorities there were still seeking his whereabouts. Carina had proven to be a better source of police intelligence than the Abogada Sra. Ley, though the two remained in contact with each other several times a week.
Often when Carina and Domhall had taken mushrooms, he'd tried to communicate telepathically with her; she never understood what he was trying to convey - she an artist, he a computer scientist - their common language was very much on the physical plane. Domhall’s great interest in nonverbal communication is possibly what informed their very evocative sex life. Besides the psychoactive approach, he explored a variety of pictograph prompts to stimulate a nonverbal channel of communication with her. From what he'd said about his parent’s death; then after the deaths of his brothers in quick succession, Carina surmised his interest in nonverbal communication was more than academic; she deduced he was attempting to penetrate to the afterlife.
(˚ ㄥ _˚)
04 May 2021
http://ExtinctionChronicles.blogspot.com
http://JosephTStevens.blogspot.com
http://Stoanartst.blogspot.com
prohibited from AI sampling in any form
reprinted with permission; all rights reserved
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