Thoughts of yesterday

If one was to actually try to get out of this place, I'm sure it would be possible. Devising a scheme to get the personnel to let their guards down would be not all that hard. Maybe tomorrow at free time I can find my new friend and perhaps we can decide what to do. I think the first thing I would do would be to look up Roxella. See how the years have treated her. I can remember going to pick her up on a Saturday night after she was done waitressing at the local bar. Taking her, a bag of pot and a bottle of Jack Daniels and going to the old Smith farm and sitting against one of those old round bales, and drinking and smoking myself into a stupor. It was at one of these outings that Roxella and I, being experimental, had started somewhat of a relationship. Now I wonder what happened to her. The last I remember was her getting on a bus to somewhere in North Carolina. I miss those days.

Roxellas' excellent role playing skills could without a doubt go a long way toward our release. Release may be a little harder than escape but it's complete, there is no looking over your shoulder when you're on parole.

An electronic search of North Carolina found Roxella in suite 3 at 4425- Nugent Mews Asheville North Carolina. Problem was she had no phone number listed. As I remember she held sacred the peace that no telephone can provide.

I wrote Roxella explaining the situation, that it was vital that my friend not only be released but that he be made a heroe of sorts so that his court restrained knowledge also would be freed.
Roxella is always prompt if it's important and two weeks later I recieved a letter.

Dear L.N.

It was so good to hear from you after all these years! It so happens that I am starting my holidays in two days and I will help as best I can.

As ever
Roxella

It didn't take me long to figure what was up when in counties surrounding our institute apparitions began to appear in public spaces. At first they were simply vague outlines that media personal helpfully identified as among others an outline of a crucified Christ, a weeping Virgin Mary. Then cyptic notes accompanied these images. These notes were vague at first just like the images then they became more direct and insistant.

"There is one among us who is imprisoned wrongly"

"He that be fettered wrongly by the State bides his time with an apostle"

"Release those wrongfully institutionalized or face your makers vengence"

This was the last note needed, the Evangelical and Extremist Religions did the rest of the work. They conducted interviews in prisons and hospitals and finally it was my turn to talk. I didn't fabricate at all, I simply told how my friend behind the steel door had fascinating truths and observations in printed record and how the State wouldn't allow us all to benifit from his knowledge.
Well the State and her courts fell quickly to the Church. I was free along side of my friend from behind the steel door whose name is Buck Johnson. And if you ever called him BJ, you would somehow become one of those forgotten faces on a milk carton.

First thing we had to do was get a place to live cheap. Don't want to have to commit crime to afford a place. Neither of us were willing to grovel at The Salvation Army (its just another institute).

Squatting on or rather in federal properties really in our case seemed justified.

Isn't it funny how sometimes when you least expect it you run into what seems might be just the fix. We had concocted such a scheme to recieve a modest apartment for the exchange of some labour. On my way home, I had managed to swindle a 66 of Cherry Jack and had decided to tie on a good bender to get to know one another on a deeper philosophical level. Neither of us were on any prescription drugs though sometimes with the chemical imbalances in my head it had almost felt as though I was.Buck thinks they may have been slipping him lithium for awhile when he was first kept behind the steel doors. We came upon a drinking place called "Throttle Your Taxman and Rev Your Engine", there were a number of cars new enough to have cruise control in the parking lot we both thought it looked promising. Inside there were less than five occupied tables, from roughly the centre of the bar a group beckoned us to sit with them. We obliged, found ourselves seats and sat down. A fellow with a twitch in his right eye sitting to Buck's left made introductions. All the while introductions were being made the two bar owners from neighbouring towns Hanley and Dundurn remained static in a deadlocked arm wrestle. The woman in the little black dress with the kinda sexy and not quite slutty bra strap over the shoulder who hadn't been introduced yet seemed to be mouthing words ??? to me. I think that I pulled the guy from Pangman out of the ditch once with my pick-up truck. Buck nudged me in the ribs and whispered "What do ya think she would charge for a night?" I raised my glass to my mouth while thinking about this and then remember waking up in a Motel 6, 37 miles down the road with an enormous headache and a half empty bottle of codiene on the bedside table. The label read take one capsule for discomfort, I took two, I learned years ago to double recomended dosages.

I heard voices coming from the bathroom, I immediatly recognized Buck's I stayed laying down till the codiene started hooking up then I ventured to the bathroom door. There sitting in the tub was of course Buck but the other voice turned out to be the woman in the black dress. They were playing cards. Buck looked up, "Oh good your up, I'm so excited I've signed us both into this real cool cult that Menzies here belongs to"

"So a cult eh? Just what sort of philosophies does this cult function under and what is it called? Or is this one of those secret secret cults that only members know of its existance?" Speaking of cults does either of you know is Blue Oyster Cult a cult? It was with that comment that a dull and dull only due to the ingested codiene heart ache throbbed through my chest as I recalled the time in "The Institute" that my computer privaledges had been taken away. In a way that grounding was worse than "The Hole" I had spent seven weeks in the "Hole" with a forty-four card deck of cards, You don't even come close to winning at solitare when you play with forty-four. Seven weeks is a long time to go with your only conquests being that you made it through another night without having any major veins or arteries opened by the rats while you slept. I was reminded of that whole(pardon the pun) episode because at some point in my stay in the silence of the Hole someone with a decently loud stereo parked nearby outside and I was treated to "Dominance and Submission" and "Harvester of Eyes" from an early rightous Blue Oyster Cult album.

I noticed Menzies bra strap was up now and it seemed unnatural, it actually kinda bothered me that it was no longer visable I guess it's what you get used to that sets your expectations and standards for what is normal.

I put forward the question, "Was it necessary to give me those knock-out drops or whatever they were?"

"Well I sensed that you and Buck would be the ideal Fathers of the civalization I intend to mother." Menzies replied matter of factly. "When we were in the bar I tried repeatedly to tell you I want to bear your children." "I guess it's reasonable that you might not have been able to read my lips in that noisy bar but that is what I was trying to convey. My fertility cycle is high right now, Buck here has already contributed to our new potential civalization and I am anxious to recieve your seed right now if you are willing."

I realized that this was a thoughtful woman, by starting with two Father donors she would be able to minimize the occurance of inbred traits. What on Earth prompted her to choose Buck and I at the drop of a hat so to speak? She said she had sensed we would be "Ideal" Fathers of a new civilization. She had met us not more than forty five minutes prior to making that decision.