More Lies From CFOTC

Not long ago, I posted what was to be the last "Eske" flashback blog; these were my words:

"This is the final reposting of one of the writings of my dear old friend, Eske.  The last semblance of his being was destroyed earlier today, driven to death by a simple computer crash, coupled with the corruption of a failed backup system. 

His memory will live on, even as his flame is extinguished...forever. "

Whilst digging through an old antique trunk, I stumbled upon a short poem of Eske's.  I'm republishing it...now.

C.F.O.T.C

Currently listening : Almost Blue Best of Chet Baker Release date: 2005-05-31

1:20 PM - 38 Comments - 28 Kudos - Add Comment

All Parties Concerned – Part 3

All Parties Concerned – Part 3

Carolyn reenters the bedroom, walking lightly on her toes as she carries our drinks.

There's a low red glow at her midsection, just above her navel.  It burns brightly and vibrates, leaving a tracer as it moves, like a laser-sight targeting.  She stops in place and looks down at herself.

"What's the matter, you never had a bald, naked woman bring you drinks in bed?".

The wall and door behind her have become porous, a whiteprint grid, tiny pinpoints of luminous energy streaming slowly in through each opening.  The red spot below her sternum has taken the shape of a pyramid, growing and pulsing.  The needle beams of light have begun to break through her body from behind, and she gasps loudly as she begins to burn.  The pyramid expands and absorbs her, flesh and bone, body and being.  She is gone.

The pyramid ignites from within, fragmenting into squares of light which separate from one another by mere inches, pulsing in and out as if trying to free themselves from their formation.  Each square acts as a screen, projecting a streaming display of changing images.  Each stream is devoting a millisecond to a single countenance, until every face of every living being on the planet has been given their due.  The image explodes into a billion jagged particles.

The pyramid is replaced by a multi-faceted obelisk, spinning on a base of fire.  The recurring image is becoming clearer as the facets change and morph, each presenting a small portion of the separate elements that compose her face.  I'm near now, near enough to reach out and touch the surface of the obelisk.  My fingertips are inches away now, and the intense heat is melting away the detail of my fingerprints.  Then the obelisk plunges down, splitting the ground and disappearing into the chasm of fire that has opened below.

As I look down into the scalding molten plasma, I see a single spot of blue light floating above the surface.  It slowly rises up toward me, and begins to pulse.  A strong, inaudible pulsation moves through my chest, lungs and heart.  As the ball of light breaks the edge of the pit, its pulsation becomes one with the rhythm of my heartbeat.  The ball plunges into my body and explodes within me as we become one.  Then the whole of our joined beings disintegrate into silent darkness.

I wake up, roll over on the bed, and shake Carolyn by the shoulder.

"It's time to go."

End of Communiqué

The Colonel

Currently listening : Cannonball Adderly Sextet In New York By Cannoball Adderly

9:26 PM - 30 Comments - 30 Kudos - Add Comment

All Parties Concerned – Part 2

All Parties Concerned – Part 2

"At the Loveless Motel and Restaurant out on Highway 33 the matchbook says: Call for reservations, Country ham and biscuits, delicious steaks"

The tires of the SUV are hammering over the pockmarked parking lot of the "Lucky Chance Travelers Inn", an abandoned Vegas vacancy lodge twenty miles from the strip, where the majority of the tenants are the length of your index finger and have six legs…and Woo is sick to shit of this music.

Bouncing over the curb and across what was once the "courtyard", Estes pulls behind the center building, parking the vehicle under a covered back walkway, sheltered from the bubbling stream of yellow headlights flowing down Highway 167.

Just more dust, stirring desert dust under the reflected aureate rays of the setting sun.

Glancing across the center column, Woo yawns absentmindedly as he watches Estes open the car door.  A pile of bootleg CDs, blank but for a single word scribbled on each, lay splayed across the dashboard.  They'd been listening to "The 80's Mix", a compilation of Este's memories of that bygone era, complete with his elaborate verbal description, not only of each song and each artist, but each song's meaning-origin-producer-date recorded…the whole shit.  Estes spews his trivia through each song, mindless of the obliteration, the blurring of the listener's comfort.  It's all Estes – all the time.  Woo tries not to look directly at Estes, when he can avoid it; It's the ear.

"Fucking Was, Not Was… some excellent shit or what?  C'mon…move your ass Woo."

At the back of the vehicle, Woo picks up the duffle bag with the heavy weaponry inside.  Following Estes toward the building, he watches for the tick…and there it is; the right hand lifted to attention, the pulling back of hair.  No, it hasn't grown back yet, still gone.  Estes, habitually grasping for that ghost…long departed.  Woo smiles.

The Killers Song from the movie Twisted Nerve (and more recently, Kill Bill) whistles out from Este's cell phone. "Fucking geek ringtone."

"Hello, this is Estes…"

"I tracked the package here for you, didn't I?  All the way from Trinity, yes?  I gave you the name of the girl, the address…where she lives…is there more that you need, more I need to do…?"

"No sir, we will acquire the package by tomorrow, when the girl returns home, sir…hello…hello?"  Estes has been disconnected.

He slides the phone back into his pocket, sans obligatory profanity, and stares up at the dimming sky for a moment, before kicking a decaying door from its hinges.

"Pick a room, Woo…this one's mine."  Estes steps through the doorway and into the darkness.

Two doors down, a room has been nailed shut, its windows boarded over with scrap OSB.  Woo draws his pistol and kicks at the door until it surrenders, snapping his flashlight to life and bracing his gun hand with his left forearm, his eyes chasing the shaft of light into the blackness.  Desert heat and the smell of musty linen flood from the room. There's a scurrying sound, and his darting light beam catches a rat, scuttling to the safety of the closet.

Closing the door behind him, Woo shines his light around the dirty room.  "Typical op".

"Stuck in a rathole with a fucking goon, while the big man checks into some four-star."

He puts in earphones and scrolls through his playlist, settling on Schubert's string quartet 14 in D minor…"Death and the Maiden".

The bellhop wheels a large aluminum case into room 3207.

Parking it next to the table, he turns to the big man, extending both hands.  "Here for the convention, sir?"

With meaty fingers, the big man slips him a fifty and pulls the room key from his other hand.

"The convention…that's the plan…yes?"

End of Communiqué

The Colonel

Currently listening : Schubert: Trout Quintet, Death and the Maiden / Amadeus Quartet By Norbert Brainin Release date: 1997-06-10

6:11 PM - 32 Comments - 28 Kudos - Add Comment

Interim Blog - An Eske Flashback
Current mood: Pissed that they stole my Now Listening To thing

This is the final reposting of one of the writings of my dear old friend, Eske.  The last semblance of his being was destroyed earlier today, driven to death by a simple computer crash, coupled with the corruption of a failed backup system. 

His memory will live on, even as his flame is extinguished...forever. 

The word "elitist' has been thrown around in the news lately, so I've asked an old friend of mine, "Eske", to allow me to repost his story.  He'd suffered a severe head injury, and for several days believed himself to be an elitist.

He's since recovered, and has moved on to a position with Fox News.

Reveal

I'd like to share with you (those of you who are capable of reading) something about myself that I've never revealed here on MySpace.  I know that I've given the impression that I'm a down-home countrified "regular' sort of chap, and perhaps some of you have even considered the idea of a sit-down on the porch, while having a "chat" over a cold "beer".

Unfortunately, that would be quite impossible.

In life, I am what some of you in the "Red States" would call an Elitist.  I sincerely believe that because of my upbringing, my station in life, my tastes and my beliefs, I am inherently far superior to anyone now reading this.

 I fully expect to be reviled by the lot of you at the end of this missive, but that's really neither here nor there.  If you intend to reply with an unseemly comment or email, I'll never see it.  I have people who take care of those things, so that I needn't bother.  And, I needn't.

For you see, life as a member of the elite has its rewards, rewards the likes of you will never know.  Oh, yes, of course, there's always the "lottery".  There's only one thing worse than "new" money, and that's "found" money.  I once heard a member of the staff speak of a television (sniff) program that refers humorously to a backward lot who inherit oil riches and move to a mansion in Beverly Hills.  I find that type of "situation" to be completely lacking in all humor.  I had "Old Blind Joe" sacked on the spot, for his obtrusiveness.

We, the elite, do not allow "commoners" to engage us on any level unless they are "serving" us.  For example: Late last evening, I'd required a bath.  Jenkins, (my manservant of some time) was to have my bath ready within ten minutes, per my explicit instruction.  I require my bathwater to be my exact body temperature (88.6 degrees) and contain a precise salinity of 30%, equal to that of the Dead Sea.  Upon inspection, I divined that Jenkins (apparently distracted while using the electron microscope to count the individual grains of kosher sea salt) had neglected to reduce the salinity to compensate for the perspiration of the ailing tourists who soak there.  I had him and his entire family sacked, immediately.  The sacking was, of course, conducted by Thomas, my Major Domo, who was immediately sacked for his apparent "humanity" regarding "Mrs." Jenkins baby, which was apparently "dead".

I then had my personal assistant, Kimba, order the entire cleaning staff to scrub the manor from floor to ceiling, in order to rid the building of any trace of Jenkins and his horde.  All vacuuming was to be done manually, so as not to disturb my evening self-indulgence, and garden hoses were provided to all. More to this end, all cleaning cloths were to be used once then placed in a container to be wrung at a more suitable time of my choosing. It is said that "With great wealth comes great responsibility".  No statement could be truer.

I suppose that this information could be a bit disturbing to some of you.  But that's not my concern; I'm neither typing nor dictating these words.  A team of fifteen facial recognition experts are carefully studying my face at this very moment, interpreting the changes in my expression and entering propositional quantum data (through specially designed tactile mechanisms) into a supercomputer.  The supercomputer is linked with universities' worldwide and together, within moments they will decipher the raw data and convert it into the text which you are reading at this very moment.  All to save me from the lowly bother of what some of you "folk" refer to as "conversing".

Well, that's enough for now.  If I decide again to share my valuable time, I shall attempt to regale you with those topics which bear semblance to what polls indicate are "your favorite MySpace diversions", the errant celebrities and their tedious lives, top-ten lists, questionnaires, surveys and the like.  Tah-tah!

(Now unplug this confounded contraption and ready my bath.  Kimba!!!) 

Eske

7:41 PM - 59 Comments - 54 Kudos - Add Comment

All Parties Concerned
Current mood: Pissed that they took my "Currently Listening

All Parties Concerned

His eyes are still recovering from the light change; night-vision to fluorescent bright is a bitch.

Aguilar Estes can make out a vague silhouette in the bathroom.  He can see the pale, bald woman's head, reflected between the gold veins of the cheap mirror tiles on the wall.

There's no movement.  He pulls his S.O.F. Combat Assault rifle close and spins into the tiny room, pressing the silenced barrel to her temple.  The "target" teeters from the impact, tipping forward, then falling…bouncing and wobbling its way unevenly across the cracked, terracotta tile floor.

"What the hell?"

He watches as it rolls to a stop against the base of the toilet, staring back at him with a blank white face.  He blinks his eyes, looks again, and shouts over his shoulder to Woo: "Clear!"… "Get your ass in here and look at this… the fuck is this thing?"

Martin Woo secures what's left of the front door and steps into the bathroom, past Estes.

"That's a fuckin' wig stand, Estes.  You tellin' me you never seen a wig stand before?"

"All the women I know have their own hair."

Woo looks at Este's mangled ear. "Yeah, right…you know… you should expect a woman to have a little hair on her head, especially when you're payin' for it."

Estes has Woo by the throat, slamming him against the mirrored wall as he finishes his little joke.  The back of his head hits the wall, and the impact breaks one of the mirror tiles loose.  It slides down between his back and the wall, meeting the floor with a crash.

"That is un- fucking funny, grunt!"

Estes pulls Woo close, getting eye-to-eye.  He loosens his grip just as Woo begins to choke.

"This may not be an "official" job, but I am your official fucking superior, in every way you can possibly imagine – ARE WE CLEAR?"

"Yes…Sir."  Estes jerks his hand from Woo's throat and makes a threatening fist, then quickly turns away. Taking a step, he crushes the Styrofoam head with a single boot-stomp.  "Fuck!"

Woo rubs his throat, staring down at the shattered remnants of the foam head as Estes pushes past him, out of the bathroom.

Outside the window, a full moon is rolling its way slowly across the desert sky.  She glows in the silver-gray light…luminous…like the goddess Selene, reborn.

Countless microscopic prism beads adorn her like diamonds; signal runners, carrying their silent declaration of the battle that rages inside her cool body.  With a tiny, last shiver, Carolyn is done.  She slips off of me, and stretches out slowly on the bed, arms extended over her head, toes curled and pointed to the door.

"Feel good, kitty-cat?"

She looks at me and smiles a mellow, feline smile, from ear to ear.

"Yeah Jim, I'm feelin' good.  And you, honey…you enjoy it?"

"Oh, I'm pretty sure I never want to do that again, I was scared, with all that screaming and carrying on and..."

Carolyn rolls back onto me, cutting me off.  "Fucker."  She shakes me by the chin then gives my chest a hard slap, and pulls herself closer, looking at my face.  Propping herself up on one elbow, she tilts my head and pulls my hair back to examine the tiny lump of blood and glue underneath.  "Does it hurt?"

"Not much, but a drink wouldn't hurt."

Carolyn spins on the sheets and bounds off the bed.  "You stay put; I'll get the drinks …the usual?"  She's smiling through her fingers, walking and pirouetting toward the door, naked and perfect.  "Quit staring at my ass… I said; the usual?" She disappears through the doorway.

"Sorry baby.  Yeah, the usual…that…is…one… nice…ASS!"

A nice ass. Carolyn is the one "nice" part of this whole, fucked-up mess.  At least Estes and his sidekick hadn't given us a second look back in the restaurant, that little improvisation saved our lives and bought us some time…time to position, time to make a deal.  So we have the time we'll need...but now… now that Connie's dead...does it really matter what happens next?

"Jim, get in here!"

There's no fear in her voice, just urgency.  I jump off the bed and hurry to the other room to find Carolyn standing over the couch.  She has her hands crossed on her chest and is bending at the waist, like she's discovered some unwanted insect. 

"Jimmy, this wasn't here before".

The laptop is a Toughbook, standard military issue, with a yellow post-it note on the lid.

You might find this of use.  

Colonel, it seems our "friends" plan to use any and all means to secure your information. 

The pdf will provide you with a detailed blueprint of this hotel. 

Best of luck,

S.

Carolyn makes our drinks while the laptop boots up, and joins me on the couch.  We look like two kids watching late night television, as the screen flickers to life.  Two naked kids drinking whiskey.  The desktop is empty, except for two file icons; one is a Word document, the other a pdf file. 

I open the document first.

EYES ONLY

INSAT 41408

Initial satellite intelligence detects movement of undocumented radioactive material in Western United States

Initial entry point - Latitude: 37° 46', North. Longitude: 122° 26', West - San Francisco, CA. 41008 22:00

Last known location - Latitude: 36° 10', North. Longitude: 115° 10', West – Las Vegas, NV. 41008 22:50

No further reading after 41008 22:50

End of Communiqué

I can hear Carolyn asking me what it all means, but I can tell by her eyes that she understands most of it.

She knows that something deadly has made its way to Las Vegas, and that somebody's about to light the fuse. What she wants me to say is that it's a hoax…or, it's not true, and we'll be fine.

"It means that the one thing I thought we had……well, we don't have that anymore, baby."

End of Communiqué

The Colonel

6:14 PM - 53 Comments - 46 Kudos - Add Comment

From Shadow into Light – Part 2
Current mood: vital

From Shadow into Light – Part 2

The metallic click of the closing door snaps me out of my fog.  I could never have imagined this pain, even in my wildest dreams…now, this is reality, the nasty stuff; the final black layer spread atop the darkest of all fears.

Simon’s words are echoing in my head.  "It’s your Connie…I’m sorry to say… she’s dead."

As he paused at the bathroom door, not looking back. "There’s a laptop on the table next to the bed.  I’m sure you’ll make use of it, Colonel…try and stay alive, won’t you?"  And he was gone.

Carolyn emerges from the shadows of the other room, moving cautiously into the doorway.  Her face glows with a fire I recognize, all too well.  Her eyes are welling up with the tears…the bitter, burning tears of understanding, more of the same painful rain that fell as she watched her own loved ones vanish helplessly behind the black veil.

I stand up, lean over the counter and stare straight into my own weary eyes in the mirror.  "So you heard everything, didn’t you...?"  My voice trails off as I choke back tears.  She is next to me before I can finish, pulling at my shoulder, turning me to face her.

Her lustrous eyes are full of sympathy, pulling us into one another through our common pain and desire.  One thing is certain; there’ll be no need for questions, no words…only the actions of two people who share a need, to raise the flames under this fucked up human condition.

Lust and love, fear and passion and remorse, all twisted up between the pain of being and the need for contact, a hunger for the most intimate form of shelter.

I try to speak, but her lips silence me; her eyes lock into mine as she presses her body against me and kisses me, all tongue, deep and wet.  Her hands fumble with my belt; I snap the buckle open and pull it from my waist as she unbuttons and opens my pants.

Then she stops.

She reaches up behind her slender neck and pulls at the strings that hold up her dress, letting it drop to the floor.  I reach out for her, I want my mouth on her breasts, but she stops me with a hand on my chest.  She looks down at the woven leather belt in my hand, and takes it from my hand.  She spins me around by my shoulder and pulls me close to her, binding my wrists with the belt, all the while kissing my shoulders and the back of my neck, holding me and tying my wrists…tightly.  She turns me back to face her, kissing me, pulling away to drop to her knees…she licks me slowly, up and down, never taking her eyes from mine; As I lean against the counter, there’s one thing I’m sure of:  I don’t know how much of this I’ll be able to take.

She takes me in her warm mouth, working her tongue, sucking me slowly.  I close my eyes and watch her move; the bare skin of her scalp looks as smooth as silk and feels hot when it brushes against me.  She’s moaning, and the vibrations are travelling through me, up my back, making every muscle tighten along the way.

After just a few minutes, she can tell I’m near the edge and pulls away.  Standing to look imto my eyes, she teases me with her tongue while turning me.  She lifts herself onto the counter’s edge and pulls me between her legs. I begin to kiss and lick her, tasting her breasts, moving slowly down until my tongue is between her legs.

"I need my hands".  I stand, and she reaches around me, untying the belt, kissing me deeply.

Hands freed, I kneel in front of her, licking her and gently entering her with my fingers, searching for the spot.  Slowly stroking and pulling with my fingers, I can feel her start to shudder, vibrating with the little quakes that will lead to the big ones, the ones we both want.  She’s pulling my hair, guiding my tongue as the first big orgasm hits her, in a wave from head to toe.

The light bulb pops, like a birthday balloon.  Through the darkness of the hallway, they are coming, heads swiveling, scanning the door numbers through the green glow of night vision.  Outside the door, they stop and listen for sounds within.

They let their automatic weapons hang on sling and lift the heavy battering ram.  "1…2…3".

The door jamb explodes in splinters as they drop the ram, pulling rifles to the ready.  The golden glow of light from the bathroom is blinding.  Removing their night vision goggles, they move toward the bathroom doorway, with singular reason.

End of Communiqué

The Colonel

Currently listening : All Apologies/Rape Me By Nirvana Release date: 21 November, 1996

4:52 PM - 51 Comments - 45 Kudos - Add Comment

Rx

The following is a repost of my first blog here on MySpace.  It’s a fiction excerpt from a novel; The working title is "Rx".  I hope you’ll enjoy it while the Colonel is taking a brief respite.

C.F.O.T.C.

Rx

There can be a point in a police officer’s career when he loses the ability to feel.  Once that point has been passed, a unique moment in time will be required to cause the hardened cop to begin to feel again.  For Detective Alan Mitchell, that moment is now. Gazing into her unblinking eyes, glancing over the hair and flesh, he sees that this lifeless body, of all the bodies he has seen in twelve years of work is truly unique. He will never see another dead body like this one.  It is the body of his daughter.

Tara Mitchell was leaving Federal Way, Washington for the last time. Federal Way was a logging settlement in the 1800’s, and by the 1920’s the old Federal Highway 99 was the main road between Seattle and Tacoma. Over the next fifty years its winding North/South course grew the usual residential developments, hotels, strip malls, burger joints and shopping centers.  Alan Mitchell joined the Federal Way Police force shortly after the city incorporated in 1990. He had moved his family to the area after deciding to continue his police career in an area more suited to raising a family than his hometown of Berkeley, CA.  He only half-jokingly referred to Emeryville as the "demilitarized zone" between Oakland and Berkeley, but there had been a staggering increase in violent crime during his life as a cop on the streets there, and he’d had his fill.  At the age of 40, with his parents living in comfortable retirement in San Ramon, Alan left Emeryv