I think about the lives of the people that might be perceived as extras on a set as a collective co-producer. No direct creative control, but some influence in how it is presented to the world.
This is the last stop for the first leg of the Downtown Street Car. The goal, to keep it running as many hours as possible. In hopes of amassing enough political and hard capital to insure completion of the line to the suburban border. This is the gate way to New Center and Midtown Districts. Outside of this realm Periwinkle Bubbles is like an annoying tag in a potentially nice lingerie photo.
Periwinkle’s problem is that he is fully aware of how this whole process is being contrived. He counters his jaded cynicism with an over active and very optimistic imagination.
So you’ve already met Qedesha, Ed, meet Lynn Nora, The instructional director for the
Here people learn alternate meanings for common language. A hoe is a garden tool. A cock is a male chicken, a bitch is a female dog. Bees provide nourishing honey and perform important tasks in the ecology. Livestock are living beings that need and deserve to be treated with respect. Technologies can be used for more than convince and entertainment. And traditions can be applied in creative methods to improve life for future generations.
In Detroit, there is a growing subculture of individuals seeking extra normal experiences. There are two distinct economic classes at work in this group. The affluent people of means and the burned out masses of the new service class. From individualized health care services to community focused mental health care workers and fast food restaurant cashiers. This class of professionals are increasing in numbers and are taxed with the weight of bearing the emotional stresses of a daunting array of people.
There is no known fair and equitable method of compensating these courageous individuals.
There are more and better ways of showing them gratitude and insuring them a more comfortable style of living.
And there is a market for it. There are still people willing and able to afford great shopping experiences and exclusivity. I know for one, big boxes, flat pack, drop ship, deep discounts and crowded aisles don’t make me want to spend money, they make me want to get my shit and get out. Like most of my life’s relationships.
We’re at Union Hall Pub, where I’d just shared a beer with Ed. Not knowing who he was, overheard me ranting at the bar full of new hipster missionaries, “politicos” and “business” people Qedesha dragged me into and invited us to a cocktail party in the next room. A few who thought it cute to invade my favorite drinking establishment, then engage me in their discussion about current events and local politics were ready to say “Fuck you Periwinkle” and walk out, but Ed came over and said. “I like what this guy is saying.” Extending his hand and a business card. Never taking his full attention off her ass. Can’t blame him, damned thing is a perfect massive valentine. “So much so, that I’m willing to put good money behind it.” He said, I shook his hand and passed the card over to Qedesha, “Talk to Ed and find out what he’s about Baby. I’m already uncomfortable in here with these stuffed shirts, skinny brims and pencil dicks.” She turns her ass to Ed and starts slowly walking away whispering. “Have I told you to Shut The Fuck Up yet? No!” And Ed is the Guy everybody is here to see tonight. So, Shut The Fuck Up Yo! We in like Flynn.”
So, here I am sweating like a stuck pig, back stage in some municipal or corporate complex theatre, make-up new glasses and a script. Nearly an hour from being put on display in front of a bunch of rich, matriculated fucks with glorious intimidating titles and alphabet soup pre or suffixing their names. I can’t stand or sit still and I’m not allowed to walk out of the building for fear that I’ll wander off, get lost and miss my intro. So, I strip down to my tee shirt and I’m pacing the service corridors, fidgeting and fighting the nervous cycling that comes with any new space I don’t have a chance to study at my own pace.
“Young man, you look like you’re going to puke. If that’s the case, the men’s lounge is right down that hall on the left. But I’m sure after you get started, you’re really going to fuck their heads. You’re brilliant. See you in a few.” I nod my acknowledgement and gratitude, excuse myself and continue wandering the building until I find a massive storage area completely void of people. I’m walking and reading the dates on the bankers’ boxes all neatly arranged by subject and date. I find my way to a section of old craft boxes with dates from the sixties and seventies, marked “Utilizing Deleted Technologies… Nikoli Tesla, R. Buckminster Fuller, G. W. Carver”. Just then I hear Qedesha calling out for me, “Where the fuck are you!” I find her in one of the isles. She stops and stands akimbo, back lit so that her legs are silhouetted through her thin green dress. “We’ve got about thirty minutes to get you ready”, She takes my hand and leads me around a corner at the end of the long high row of boxes, leans me against an end cap and says, “Now, let’s get you in a better state of mind, pulls an electric cigar from her clutch, the thick amber fluid in the transparent flavor tip lets me know that the vaporizer is ‘Batch 200, Brown Betty Bubblegum” tincture. She makes the pink light on the end glow and exhales the vapor into my mouth, hands it to me then kneels, undoes my fly, cussing “You know I hate these buttons, why can’t you have zippers like normal people.” Then she goes silent, slowly bathing my cock with her mouth. At first I’m so nervous, I couldn’t get an erection. She straightens her legs, so that she’s bent at the waist, her massive valentine shaped ass comes into full view and my cock stiffens so fast, she gags as it touches the back of her mouth. I reach out to caress Qedesha’s big beautiful behind and she swats my hand away, looks at her wrist watch, then quickens her pace, humming and moaning. I’m smoking my e-joint and relaxing when I open my eyes, there is a face starring at us from beyond a stack of boxes. A young taupe skinned woman is glaring and damned near entranced until she notices I am staring into her face. I inhale the vaporizer deeply and let it drift out of nose and mouth, sit it down and grip the shelf with both hands so as not to muss Qedesha’s hair. I continue staring in to the young woman’s face, growling beneath my breath, “I love the way you suck my cock. When we get home tonight I want you to fuck me ‘til I cum in every hole.” She takes her lips off my throbbing dick long enough to say, “It’s almost time Baby, cum for me”. I lean my head and let my eyes roll back, just long enough to enjoy the beginning of the end. Then I continue my staring contest with the girl across the room. Who is now standing straight up, breast exposed clearly fingering herself. I clinch the shelf and cum hard, deep in Qedesha’s mouth, she coughs a bit of nut out her nose, eases the shaft out, sucks me dry and starts closing my fly. Whiles she’s fussing about all the buttons, I motion her to look behind her. Reflexively Qedesha’s makes a quick zipping motion, my cock still partially exposed. “That’s why I button fly.” While standing, Qedesha’s shimmies out of her panties, then takes my hand to lead me back to my dressing room. The girl had ducked behind the wall of boxes and I guess was moving toward an exit. “We’ve got about fifteen minutes to get you ready. Say the first ten seconds of your intro for me.” I talked while she directed me to look behind the boxes while she walked to the far end, where she caught the girl trying to sneak away. “Get over here!” Qedesha’s grabbed the poor frighten, horny child by the hand, spun her around and smashed her panties in the girls face. “Smell that! Yeah. You like that don’t you? Qedesha’s gave her a deep open mouth kiss and he tastes good too.” She turned and barked at me “Come on Baby it’s almost show time.” I caught her extended hand, strutting confidently, got dressed, and recited the first ten seconds of my presentation. “This town is my muse. Like Don Quixote’s Dulcinea, a realist to the point of painful, stagnant, static cynicism. Beyond hope and far beyond the optimistic words of poets, priest and politicians, beyond the plans of capitalists, visionaries and engineers. I always thought myself to be more like Sancho than Don. Until…” Qedesha clapped her hands one time and said you’re almost ready.” She took her panties out of her little purse, sniffed them, moved them under my nose then, folded them into a neat little square and tucked them into my jacket pocket, kissed me slow and said “Now you’re ready.” I answered. “Come in.” to the knock at the door, it opened slightly. “Five minutes Sir.” Qedesha thanked her and the door swung wide open to reveal the young lady from the warehouse, who now stood full in the threshold mouth gapping and stammering, “I-I’m supposed to escort you to the stage. You-you left this in the warehouse. Pretty strong stuff.” Qedesha said, you keep it, Sweet Pea. Matter of fact, sit next to me and we’ll share, while my man makes his presentation. Qedesha patted me on the rump. “Now, get out there Baby and tell those fucks what they need to know. Now Sweet Pea, what is your real name?” “Min Mae.” “What do you do around here Min Mae?” “I maintain all of Ed’s Achieves.” “Are you fucking him.” “No he’s my uncle and guardian. But I like sex. And music. And art and science and a lot of things.”
I stood back stage and heard Ed say to the crowd outside. I’m about to introduce you to the man that has designed your next project. Before he does, he’s going to explain the why and how of it all. No need for applause or anything. Just listen, take notes and when he’s finished, feel free to ask him questions. I bring you the incorrigible Mister Periwinkle Bubbles…
The scent of Qedesha’s panties, wafting up from my pocket, brought me comfort.
STFU Periwinkle was sitting at a bar staring over a pair of dime store reading glasses when he met Ed. “This seat taken young man?”
“Go right ahead, please”
“I’ll have a club soda with lime and a menu.”
“Another
“The End of the World, really is it good?”
Adam popped the cork on the bottle of beer and poured it like champagne into Periwinkle’s snifter.
“Care for a taste? I’m Periwinkle. How ya doin’?”
“I’m Ed, good to meet you and just a taste, my gut won’t allow me the pleasure of more than that. Thanks. So what’s that you’re reading?”
“Presently I’m re-reading Containerization, Dymaxion and Rodman’s commentary on John Nash’s “War Games”. Oh, this! It’s an essay on the failure of a planned community.”
“So, are you planning to fail?”
“No a friend gave it to me and asked for a critique. They mentioned the children’s story I’m writing, ‘Urban Crop Circle Project.”
“Wow! This is a very flavorful beer. Nice.”
“So Ed. What do you do?”
“I used to findings, kind of like costume jewelry for clothes. Then I sold shoes.”
“I imagine things and make them. Right now I’m imagining a neighborhood. You know Ed, I’d have taken you for a newspaper guy. More ad department than op-eds. But there’s machinery and ink in your blood.”
“I used to put a lot of ink on paper, but the industry left.”
Tell you what, read this article, and tell me how to avoid the pitfalls. My date is here. Excuse me. It was great meeting you.”
Welcome to the Urban Crop Circle Project.
Engineered graffiti for a better society.
It takes time to learn to do something well. But time is a luxury that many of us don’t have, because we are not learning how to do things, we are learning the code behind how things are made. We’re learning theory, not application.
Application is a tradable commodity.
The need is great, workers are few.
I am a fictional character in a series of pornographic prose and verse.
The result will be an interwoven interactive brick and mortar set from where broadcasted media is produced. I am the designer of the whole realm.
My name is Periwinkle Bubbles.
