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Machines of War; Collected Short Stories: 1993-1995
Gangland
Chapter 1 Page 5
Machines of War; Collected Short Stories: 1993-1995
Gangland
Chapter 1 Page 5
We cut the bonds that made us civilized men. Desiring more than six day schedules and bleeding ulcers, we sought the demon. We sought the beast within our brains. It danced elusively from our fingertips and pirouetted into horizons of our imagination, ever moving, ever changing, a shadow of abstract reason that was not reason but insanity. The beast called to us in many languages, spoke to us in many tongues, beckoned from the gleam of polished chrome, from the squeak of lacquered leather, from the gauche colors of the gaudy rich. The demon summoned us to counsel in the shopping malls and city streets, bade us conduct ourselves as devils in its name.
For the sake of greed. Green, envious, greed.
For that was the demon's name. And its nature. Disciples we were, every one, madmen to quest for a grail unholy, an article of faith to seal the covenant we had made with our own sinful nature. Roaming the city, we turned violent in frustration. Daily, our terrors grew. Monthly, we examined our place and found it wanting.
As if in a nightmare, we struggled to fulfill the quest, to complete our sacred charge. As if in a nightmare, we fought and fled, but seemed not to move. With each unrequited emotion, with each denied fantasy, we were undone, bit by bit, piece by bloody piece. The chinks and stop measures that had held us together for so long crumbled and failed. Like automatons with crossed circuits, we were blinded and stumbled.
In pursuit of the dream, we fell. We fell, and groveled on our knees for forgiveness, debased ourselves in a final plea to know a wholeness of being.
For the sake of greed. Green, envious, greed.
For that was the demon's name. And its nature. Disciples we were, every one, madmen to quest for a grail unholy, an article of faith to seal the covenant we had made with our own sinful nature. Roaming the city, we turned violent in frustration. Daily, our terrors grew. Monthly, we examined our place and found it wanting.
As if in a nightmare, we struggled to fulfill the quest, to complete our sacred charge. As if in a nightmare, we fought and fled, but seemed not to move. With each unrequited emotion, with each denied fantasy, we were undone, bit by bit, piece by bloody piece. The chinks and stop measures that had held us together for so long crumbled and failed. Like automatons with crossed circuits, we were blinded and stumbled.
In pursuit of the dream, we fell. We fell, and groveled on our knees for forgiveness, debased ourselves in a final plea to know a wholeness of being.
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