cycle

M is tired of the endless cycle. Of arbitrary days chosen to be celebrated as markers of the new year. This time around, M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him and his divine seed) has chosen to sail through unscathed. Through the mindless drinking, the inane revelry, the consumerist evil. M scoffs at the list of Ia's new year resolutions, written neatly on yellow paper with a permanent marker.

Nightfall after the madhouse (with apologies to Issac Asimov)

It has now been three days in bedlam. Ia teeters on the brink of insanity.

M, meanwhile, seems to have lost it a long time ago. He does not even try to raise a thought against the insanity.

The high beings come to take Ia. She is suddenly enclosed by an unseen barrier; a dark envelope in which the world outside is just a dim memory. She feels rumbling from without; it become stronger; a sensation of movement. For Ia, it is a nightmare, and the screams she hears chill her heart. She imagines she can hear M's screams, gut wrenching cries of one staring into the infinite darkness of eternal sleep.

She feels her blood drain away, and an insane panic creeps into her. As she desperately tries to search for a way out of the madness, the heavens open.

All is well. Ia is home, so is M.

One of these days

"As the days shorten, the air clears, the trees are stripped, and the land is cleansed by the arctic air, minds are muted by nonsense."
-- M (Also known as Dr. T), December 2003.

M curls up on the cold white leather; his eyes are half closed, his mind completely so.

Ia, meanwhile, ponders on the purpose of existence. With the holidays drawing closer, the morning sun sets her thoughts off on a journey into years past. She remembers the cold season out near the eastern shore, and M's words come to mind.

Ding

Insignificant aide (a.k.a. Ia, curses be to her and her ignorant lot) has a sex change. She is now a female. A rabid speciescist, she ruthlessly slashes the innocent leaves that sprout forth from the black soil.

M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him, the leader of the free world): "What the f*** do you think you are doing, you moron? The gentle one loves those leaves."

Ia: "Forgive me sire, but it is not under my control. I tear these leaves because I am forced to. I am not responsible for my actions, O great liberator."

M: "Suit yourself, you pig-headed dolt. Don't come whining to me when you get your ass whipped."

Declawed in the name of preservation

M (Also known as Dr.T, a thousand praises be unto him) dreams of lumped crabmeat and breaded pork tenderloins with a mushroom reduction. His whiskers twitch, and his paws shudder.

His insignificant aide (Ia, a hundred thousand curses unto him and his wretched lot), however, is lost. Ia sits at the window, mesmerized by the bright and colorful world outside. Although the courtyard seems to be a sight straight from heaven, Ia knows he will not survive a day in its confines.

As M concludes his dream with a piece of burnt almond cake and some chilled muscat, sweet as honey, Ia wakes him up.

Ia:" Shall we go out and play, O defender of the faith?"

M: "mmmmm... huh? What the f***!!? What in the name of the lord our dear God have you been smoking now, you moron?!!"

Ia: "Shall we go outside, great leader of the free world?"

M: "Lets wait for the tall biped. He usually opens the door in the evenings. Get his ankles, I'll go for his throat. Once we have him wedged between the door, we are free!!"

Ia: "Genius, my lord!"

Ia bows deep.

M:" Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a piece of burnt almond cake to finish."

M goes back to sleep. Ia waits for the tall biped.

my shoes

Ia (Insignificant aide, a thousand curses unto him and his wretched lot) struggles and grunts under the weight of his miserable life. He views M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him) with envious eyes. Oh, how wonderful it would have been...

Vermillion

Ia (Insignificant aide, curses be unto him and his infidel offspring) grunts as he drops the two hundredth bag of potatoes at the edge of the large pile in the pantry. The evening sun lights the air with the dust from the potatoes. Their earthy odor is thick, and Ia's back feels like its going to come undone.

M (Also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him) is standing at the pther doorway, surveying Ia's work with increasing disdain.

M: What kind of shit have you been smoking, you ass! Youre slow as a cow today.

Wither Withers?

Ia (Insignificant aide, woe unto him and his ignorant lot) tries hard to mask his boredom. Cooped up all day in a room that is more dreary than the grey skies outside, with one tiny window to see the snow pile up on the fenders of the cars across the streets, three floors below, Ia keeps himself entertained whistling tunes he has never heard in his life. The whistling does not go on for long though, and he stops as his sinuses begin to complain.

Ia wonders if his situation could possibly get any worse. Before that thought can travel far, M (also known as Dr. T, praise be unto him) bursts in through the narrow white door.

M: Well ,well, well. Gooood afternoon, my man. I have great news for you!! you have just been chosen to have the privilege of helping me. Mind if I borrow your window?

As a suicidal Ia looks on, M proceeds to draw a hacksaw from his bag, carves out the window, and leaves.

Ia is frozen stiff in about two hours.

Earplugs

Its a kinder, gentler afternoon; a welcome change after day upon scorching day of summer's torrid punishment. M (also known as Dr.T, praise be unto him) steps out into the warm sunlight and closes his eyes. The soft wind ruffles the grass and makes the tiny flowers dance among the golden blades.

His mind wanders away, to distant lands beyond the seas. To rivers that ebb at dusk, leaving silver sands in the moonlight. To rolling grassland speckled with gnarled trees. To foreign places, to familiar faces, to highland malts sweet as honey.

M: This is good shit, man! mmmm

Insignificant aide (Ia, curses unto him and his ignorant lot): Yes, sire. This batch of weed has been simply divine. These are good times we live in, O esteemed leader, when one can find such exquisite leaves right outside one's own apartment.

The Fortress of Solitude

M (Also known as Dr.T, praise be unto him) reaches the summit of the small hill of ice and looks stoically at the dim distance. His Insignificant aide (Ia), meanwhile, struggles his way up the last few steps, his bones frozen by the arctic chill. The frozen wind howls past them as they stand on the summit, surveying the dim outline of the mountain that towers above the icy plain, obscured by the snow whipped up by the winds from the north.

Ia: What is it sire, what do you see with your minds eye?

M: --

A large chunk of ice breaks off underneath their feet and tumbles into the abyss below.

Solitude. M is lost to the universe. He breaks ties with all he knew to fly away into nothingness. A bitter sadness grips his heart, thick as honey. He feels himself fall, but there is no wind on his face. A blinding flash, and he finds himself walking the earth again. A new lease; one more chance to ruin everything.

party all night

A penny might masquerade as a dime for a while, but every coin has to meet its vending machine someday.

--M (also known as Dr.T, praise be unto him).

Under the bridge

Ia (Insignificant aide) is mesmerized by the exploding night sky reflected off the battered shells of sleeping giants. The behemoths lie motionless, oblivious to the ocean of colors that spews forth from the sky. It takes imagination to believe that these gentle giants will rise with the sun to fly to the ends of the earth, seeking treasure.

The moon seems to be engulfed by fire, as thunderous flashes of nationalistic colors melt into the gleaming underbellies of the large birds as they head home for the night. The fearless birds become a part of the fiery sky, and for a few short moments, they seem alive.

Ia turns to M (also known as Dr.T, praise be unto him).

Y: "What do you think it costs the city host this thing? Must be an expensive proposition, what with the expert pyrotechnics, the security, crowd control, and all."

M: "What the f**k have you been smoking, you hippie liberal faggot!? Where's your patriotism?"
M screams into the crowd "liberal hippie!!". The crowd roils into a frenzied mob, and Ia is lynched in a flood of blind fury. A happy independence day to you too!