Rebel

Something about a short in the wires. That’s why I can’t think. That’s why I can’t ask questions.

The thing, though, is that everyone in my building seems to have the same short circuit. I wonder if-

Milk is cheap today. I enjoy milk. Especially with the memory lapses. The cereal is sharp and hurts the roof of my mouth. I’ll be late for work if I - don’t look at the clock. The blue jumpsuit will fit me and keep me warm on the way to the dome. Harold opened his faceplate on the open shuttle yesterday. He said that he wanted to smell the flowers.

His body leapt out of his blue suit through the faceplate very quickly. The sounds of his bones crackling and tissue ossifying sounded like paper being crumpled over all of our headphones. Like he was an origami person being destroyed by a giant pair of hands. Why would he do something like that –

Population. Revalued. Ladder. Digging. I have kernels of me hidden like diamonds in the grey folds of my own mind. I pick for them as I work. I like the feel of finding these aspects of my personality. From somewhere, I get the notion that I love beets. I don’t know what beets are but I can memory-taste them from a long time ago. I savour it. It won’t be long before the programs see what I’m doing and take it away.

Did beets grow on trees or in the –

Back at home, I’m plugged into the feed in our condo. There’s a word in the ENT show that I’m watching that seems unfamiliar to me. Wife. Wife. It makes my left eyelid twitch. I’m not sure why. I can feel electrical activity in my head. I can feel the company dogs sniffing deep in my mind to find the source. I can feel myself searching as well. It’s a race.

Janine. Her name was Janine. We were married. I can see red hair. She’s laughing. We’re outside with no suits and we’re driving a – no word – searching - car? She touches my shoulder and I make a sound with my mouth that’s like an explosive, repetitive, vocal breathing out. What is that? Why would –

I no longer have to work. My record says I have a history of problems. I am a rebel, it says. A mental incorrigant. I get to go to the room that I don’t ever have to leave. I am to be plugged into the mainframe in the tanks. I am no longer a pair of hands for the machine. Now I am a source of electrical power and heat. I am also research.

The cool thing is that without attachments and company dogs keeping me in line anymore, I can explore what little is left of me in the gray folds. I’ll never open my eyes again. I am unaware of having a body. I find sixty-two parts of myself that they don’t take away. I don’t know how long it takes. I float.

I feel like a person again.




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Grandma

(To be sung loudly, possibly while drunk and dressed in a military uniform, most likely late at night, with incredible gusto on the last three syllables of each line. Wake up the sleepers. Celebrate life. Pretend you've been a journalist for a while in some war-torn country and maybe this is one of those group effort songs that makes you all laugh your heads off and drink more shots of whatever.)

Oh, Grandma drove a truck and she ate CORNED BEEF HASH
She paid for everything she ate in COLD HARD CASH
And when she passed away it was a BIG CAR CRASH
Oh, Grandma drove a truck and she ate CORNED BEEF HASH

Oh, Grandma loved the men. She had a WOO-DEN LEG
She’d take the men to bed and then she’d MAKE THEM BEG
And every Thursday she would drink a HALF A KEG
Oh, Grandma loved the men. She had a WOO-DEN LEG

Oh, Grandma worked on fighter planes in WORLD WAR TWO
She fixed the broken engines and the PLANES THEY FLEW
And once she punched a captain. He was BLACK AND BLUE
Oh, Grandma worked on fighter planes in WORLD WAR TWO

Oh, Grandma used to hunt and she would BRING HOME MEAT
She hunted with a knife and in her BIG BARE FEET
And Christmas dinner at her house could NOT BE BEAT
Oh, Grandma used to hunt and she would BRING HOME MEAT

Oh, Grandma married money. She liked OLD RICH MEN
She’d fuck them all to death and then she’d WED A-GAIN
And when the last one went it was an E-VEN TEN
Oh, Grandma married money. She liked OLD RICH MEN

Oh, Grandma played accordion and SANG REAL LOUD
She loved to hear the people sing so MAKE HER PROUD
And sing along with me, I mean the WHOLE DAMN CROWD
Oh, Grandma played accordion and SANG REAL LOUD

Hip hip HOORAY!
Hip hip HOORAY!
Hip hip HOORAY!

(repeat as necessary to make the police arrive.)

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