The Space Noir Bar, Michael Marino [people reading books txt] 📗

flew into a glass building blinded by sunlight and was brain damaged and from then on only spoke in tongues and became a Southern Baptist.I also noticed something else. Flowers,  trees, a red sky and magenta colored grass and a clear sparkling stream with singing fish not 50 yards away. The air was clear..no dust, no haze, no dark. There was color everywhere. Bright colors and intense rainbows crisscrossing the sky with a Monet  flair. The perfume of flowers intoxicating and addicting and sensual. My senses were on overload taking it all in. Nature as I had never known it in the grime of old Detroit, was now making love to me on a bed of jasmine and feathers.  As I was taking it all in Asrini broke my concentration. “Well Doc, here it is.” Then Art Deco chimed in speaking to Asrini and Maddie and said something that confused me even more. “Welcome home ladies. The Rabbit has been expecting you. You’re welcome to Yucatan. We need someone like you. Welcome to the Revolution!  Chapter 27 - The Peyote Mad Hatters

 

Working in the dark underworld of Dystopian Retropolis as a detective everything and every client was a study in psychological black and white, right and wrong, yin and yang. Making matters worse,  the physical Dystopian decay of a distressed Detroit was my habitat of gloom, doom and death by drone amidst the crumbling buildings lodged in a “peoples” society under constant scrutiny and surveillance by a paranoid government. Life was bleak on Bleeker Street...and even bleaker on Beaubien.

 

I had embarked on a journey, a questionable quest fueled by my desire to have Soma infused drunken sex with an Eskimo-Asian who entered my office, my life, my mind early one evening. We left the void of everyday Detroit life, entered a vortex of revolution, chased by a trio of gangster and government agencies hell bent on killing us once we had the “treasure” in hand and no guarantee we would come out of this unscathed or DOA.

 

Now into the rift in the universe I was awash in colors and scents, surrounded by innocence, not malfeasance. I had entered the Rabbit Hole and Art Deco was the Mad Hatter conducting a symphonic scene from “Fantasia” complete with dancing brooms as I still lusted after Asrini...the Fantasian Asian.

 

I had officially stepped through the Psychedelic looking glass and Mickey Mouse had become Timothy Leary on purple haze and I was enthralled by the sensory deluge of a fugue in spiritual redundant repetition

 

Everything about the Rabbit Hole  burst forth on the anthropological horizon as blinding as a Clockwork Orange Julius Soma flashback. It was the placenta of an orgasm of light and color and lava lamps and light shows and psychedelia along with enough sexual hallucinations from the vaginal vortex of the groin.

 

I looked around me  in awe as I swore I could see and fathom, not imagine, and positive they were not holograms,  but an army of  Hi-Ho it’s off to work we go dwarves, My imagination not were fueled by chemicals for once saw  dangerous dancing dinosaurs, macabre mops, beastly brooms and flying flaming fairies all set to a musical backdraft that put you into a blue moody mood of moody blue hue where pink Floyd flamingos dancing fantastic fandangos  descend from a Jimmy Page stairway to heaven. It was the flash from an atomic detonation or a Family Dog light show at the ancient Fillmore Auditorium listening to Inna Gadda Da Vida on purple double dome.

 

Amphetamines and marijuana sang while mescaline and acid were the opening act, as Snow White turned into a pile of cocaine and Sleeping Beauty took a hot shot of heroin, while Mickey joined the SDS on LSD and took to the streets of Chicago with a gang of dancing brooms that eventually met their demise on the campus of Kent State a few years later. The Seven Dwarves became the Chicago Seven Dwarves and went on trial for Fucking up Beethoven...and Donald Duck was banned in Sweden for not wearing pants. The Revolution was on...It was time for Mickey to turn on and drop out...and remember...you don’t need a weatherman or a mouseketeer to know which way the wind blows!

 

The film of my silent mental movie broke as Art Deco cried out to a group approaching us from a hill dotted with small cacti and azul flowers  I had never seen before, “OVER HERE! I’ve got Asrini and Maddie with me too. We made it. Tell the Rabbit!” The object or rather objects he was Gettysburg addressing were just making their way down a pale blue hill dotted with peyote cactus...I remember a Navajo friend of the old tribal school told me once..”No need to search for Peyote..the Peyote will find you!” He was right and I couldn’t wait to try this potent alien strain on for psychedelic size. With drugs, as with  Armani Gemini Gucci Gumi Asteroidal suits...one size does not fit all. (I found out later the flowers were a  highly potent strain of wild Soma plants.)

 

As the strange group approached I noticed they were all females, undoubtedly the Rabbits Hymen Hutch of revolutionaries. Muscular and well built is putting it mild. These were marble sculptures in the flesh. The cream of the galactic crop kidnapped for the purpose of  being transformed into Erotibot Sex Cyborgs but had managed to escape and had been holding the Tohos at bay for years eluding capture and liquidation...they were the last line of defense between us and the falcon and eventual freedom. I only hoped the ringleader, the enigmatic Rabbit would agree with my synopsis. I had a practice to return to, a manuscript I had to write for a book for Arthur to publish and utility bills long overdue. On top of all that I had to steal some more script pads from Doctor Ekins desk and I was more than ready for a week long fall down in the gutter binge of sex and drugs...now that’s entertainment if you’re a high school dropout  mystery noir dick lit writer and a  private eye with a public dick.

 

Asrini gave the order to move forward and follow the female phalanx as they had stopped 50 yards away but motioned for us to come with them. “Don’t worry Doc. This is the easy part. Up the hill and across a stream and then “home plate” as you like to say,” she said with more sarcasm than I thought was necessary so rebutted with “Not home plate you sarcastic bitch, I always said I like to get to First base . FIRST BASE..you know..and I’m sure you do know. Probably had more pucks in your net then most!” I could feel an edge in my voice that had me at the point of no return unless I held it in and smothered it with a pillow and let it grab it’s last gasp of volatile air.

 

She was right though. It was all about sex. The universe is about sex and sex is a sport now and always has been. As we headed for the hillside I decided to engage Asrini once more in a battle of wits, knowing full well even on an intellectual playing field she’d kick my ass.

 

“Look Asrini, I have noticed over the years a correlation between sex terminology and the lexicon of the locker room, but then again anyone who knows me also understands that I tend to find that common denominator in as simple a phrase as “Happy Meal” or “Gimme an F” or “Would you like that Biggie Sized?” Sports and sex are not strangers in a strange steroid laden bedroom of of boudoir frolic.” I was proud of the fact that I had the rollerballs to take her on and my momentum foolishly urged me on, lured in by her momentary silence and perturbed look.

 

“In fact,” I continued, “The Holy Bible of Jockdom, Gladiator & Sports Galaxy Illustrated, is for the most part devoted to which college quarterback is being tapped for the Eagles or Packers, but the masses go for asses and the annual Nude Alien Edition bears or rather bares this out rather nicely. Tits and Ass will replace baseball stats every time!” I said emphatically.

 

I was on a fucking roll. “We all remember the first time we made it to first base in the back seat of Buick? Even better, remember that first line drive and home run when you slide into home plate and your crowd of testosterone did the wave and your jumbotron went ballistic? Again, sports terminology got your batter, batter, batter up and you finally didn’t strike out! Let’s face it Asrini...these were the play offs and damned if you  didn’t go for the gold for the penis pennant of victory or in your case, the Vaginal Olympic Gold!”

 

Maddie was laughing and jumped into a private battle that now was no longer contained. It was turning  into a carnal conflagration! “Hey Doc, don’t forget hockey. You did reference it Mr. Macho and isn’t it a coincidence that  Puck rhymes with Fuck? After all the purpose of hockey is get your  puck into Asrini’s net isn’t it?  Using your big stick and getting your “puck” in her “net?” Maddie scored big time. She opened the floodgates and now Art, Wang Chung and Long Wang wanted a piece of me and the action deserting a sinking ship like wharf rats who’ve eaten too much heroin on the docks of Marseilles.

 

Art Deco was a  real fucking comedian. “Basketball is the best. I mean the whole purpose here is simple enough and that is  to get your ball into her basket without an assist and without too much dribbling.  Dribbling tends to spoil the mood.”

 

At this last comment Long Wang decided to take the plunge filling in any conversational space to deny entry to any pregnant pause that may rise up and quell the anger and buffer the opposing teams. Already I was outmanned by two females and three transsexuals. I had to wonder, how many trannies does it take to screw in a lightbulb? I don’t know either and I wasn’t about to bend over and become a socket to find out.

 

“I don’t know,” Long Wang bikini waxed poetically. “I find a little dribble goes along way to heighten a mood.

 

Wang Chung now wanted in and was an avid fan of fabulon transsexual football. “Look, football speaks for itself..it has fabulous ladyboy cheerleaders and every Fubulon high school has a bevy of he/she cheerleaders and the best part is they’re almost legal aged! You also want to get the punt in the final down, sort of like being at the holographic drive-in in the backseat of a sex pod and the hologram  is almost over and you want your fabulon to say it’s ok and make it seem like it is actually his/her idea..and unlike football a turnover is actually to your advantage. Kick, Punt, Kama Sutra!!”

 

My gawd...Asrinis was laughing her sweet Asian ass off and Maddie was ready to roll over and masturbate in a field of hallucinogenic flowers and peyote! It was madness and Asrini made an encore appearance. “Don’t forget Doc. I