THE NEW STORY

MARCUS SLEASE FICTION
STARTED A NEW NOVEL OR NOVELLA TODAY. IT’S CALLED THE NEW VISION. UTAH OF THE 90’S. BASED ON A TRUE STORY. HA. AND NOT. FEELIN THE PULL . . OF SOMETHING . .

SMALL EXCERPT OF FIRST 20 PAGES HERE:


There was no lake below us anymore. It was all dry lakes and bottle rockets and boy gangs of squeaky clean youth with big beefy blond haired guru leader. Angel did a finger comb and we all followed suit. Fingers through hair and a little lick to make it stick.  Zap all consciousness said Angel. And we nodded our big goofy heads. It was my first time with the synthetic red pill. I had given up on being a vegan save the earth straight edge superstar. I was ready to zap. Roll on into man city and come out a slave. Take your brokenboned churches and mottos and knot wisdom to the grave.


We just did what came to us from the mighty universe of old lizard brains. No lies said Angel. We are part of the return. Return to what I never knew. But I knew the way forwards offered no hope at all.  Not that I had hope. But I knew I didn’t want to go forwards. The only way was backwards and backwards was one big pregnant mystic mystery. A tap on the shoulder was all it took for that big beefy man to come our way. He mustinta seen a gal in that dry lake bed for at least a week. It was some kind of jamboree. And we were the new jam.


Alright now? said Angel. I said OK we need to zap again. Lacy was all broken bucket leaking into the sad dry earth. Shirk up your loins I said. And shirk her we did. By the time we were done shirking we had tapped that oil of frozen river boredom and were back to calling a spade a spade. No buckets.  


* * *
We harbored no illusions. We took what we could from father guru and remade it in our image. That’s what they say anyway. Remake the world in your own image. What choice do we have? We were sounding our own gongs.

Lacy was the loose string. Anyone could be a spade. A bucket was of no use. She had to get rid of her bucket consciousness or else. Or else what said Angel. I just shook my shoulders and we rubbed our heads together. We learned that from the monkeys. Rubbing or sucking made everything alright for a while.


2 thoughts on “THE NEW STORY

  1. I read this to Black Sabbath, “Symptom Of The Universe.”

    Holy New Jam, Brethren.

    Let the journey unfold . . . seep through the cracks in the cracked bucket and dry earth.

    Let it bleed.

    Let Lucy speak, and Angel wrap Truth in the gloaming . . .

    Hoohaw!

    Like

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