| the shaft glides, working well, but needing lubrication. it
screams in his right hand as he pushes the cage to it's limits. everything
awhirl in motion. the thumb placed perfectly. to release the stop. if he
misses that thin sheath of steel, he could die. the craft stands the chance
of plummeting. and popping his ass onto the pavement. (a bony little ass
it should be noted. with many a bruise and boil. upon it's gray, withered
flanks.) "all the way down there," he said under his breath. but just as
quickly as his alarm was raised, it dissipated into foggy numbness. after
all he was a guy who flew. just by pumping a rather ordinary umbrella.
ok there were a few modifications, but the umbrellacraft was a rudimentary
flying machine at best. but it was cheap. and with a few tweaks and twitches,
a relatively reliable aircraft. who is umbrella man? were did he come from?
what made him? what does he want? where is he going? what in this nutty
old world is going through his soiled, pickled little mind? he's filthy.
and desperate. a hideous specter to some. a mentor to a select few. many
are jealous of his resilience to reality and chemicals. his consumptive
desire consumes his world. he needs drugs. chicks. booze and cheap thrills.
his lifestyle is unlike that of any man. survival is first and foremost.
food comes from whatever source is handy. or nearby. if it's free. he's
there. a greasy little rodent. unshaven. unkempt. a parasite. yet colorful
and amusing. possessing the social graces necessary to become a wallflower
at any gathering. silently skimming the cream off the top off the rich
and famous. carving open the soft white underbelly of the hoi poloi and
feasting on it's wasteful gut. but umbrella man does all his bottomfeeding
unconsciously. his sexual needs dominate his thoughts and actions. women
who fall into his lustful gaze stand the chance of succumbing to this heady,
manly, aromatic, possessed creature. yes umbrella man is able to satiate
even the hungriest females. and his quest. it is relentless. he's not like
a rapist or anything. women go willingly. and usually give umbrella man
a run for his money. or they end up paying him. and hounding him at parties.
blank stares and vacant smiles. once umbrella man has put his pole up you,
you become his servant. his droog. a puppy at his side. willing to risk
any punishment for a few little pats on the head. and the possibility that
umbrella man will once again turn his fevered member your way. even with
all this attention, umbrella man is generally grumpy and unhappy. he wears
his hate on his sleeve (and his snot). but his bitterness is usually accompanied
by a healthy dose of humor, sarcasm and cynicism. the world is crumbling
around him. crime is rampant. it's every man for himself. he sees the earth
as a scorched, hollowed rock. on fire. with few places left to land. having
to remain aloft for longer and longer spells. to avoid what he saw as a
very soiled landscape. 'cocksuckers got no morals,' he said his right hand
gripping the ever-jerking lever. umbrella man was out on an early reconnaissance
mission. he was flying above the hazy foothills of los angeles. he wasn't
hunting, (but good prey is good prey and umbrella man is vulnerable to
his instincts). he was barely looking around at all. immersed in umbrella
thought. 'everyone's been around too much.' 'shama lama ding dong, shou
doobie-doo,' he hums to himself. when umbrella man gets worked up, he tends
to pull at his apparatus more vigorously than usual. this of course leads
to umbrella man gaining more altitude than he might intend. the more distracted
he gets, the higher he flies. the umbrella craft, being what it is, is
a rather fragile flying machine and has a tendency to 'give out' at any
time. 'whoah nellie.' 'shit! ha ha. di and fergie, fergie and di. i'm dyin
for a deep fergie and frying slippin and sliding. shoop shoop. the bastards.
hottentrots and whatnot.' umbrella man carries with him a sense of moral
indignation rarely seen in the likes of similar, unrefined minds. his very
being would be considered repulsive to most, yet he remains aloof, cocky
and aristocratic in the midst of his pageantry and plumage. oblivious to
his own effect his countenance brings to others, umbrella man always finds
reason to be disappointed in the human race. yet he contributes to its
downfall with every whisper of sweet air corrupted by his soiled lungs.
'shit! 'filthy rodents are living in squalor.' 'have a nice day...she only..for
my body...yes! yes! yes!' he almost let go when he looked down. he was
300 yards over the town. a mere speck in the sky. he felt much more comfortable
at treetop level where a tumble from the umbrellacraft meant only a few
more bruises and breaks on this 'bony little ass.' but this was almost
as high as he'd ever flown. and his ass was trembling. his grip tightening
to almost superhuman strength. he almost had trouble discerning the ground
through the rubber and woodsmoke haze of this most glorious morning. but
he knows where he is. a toothy smile spreads across his pocked face. 'could
turn deadly' 'and get in the bedly, ha ha!' 'fred shmed teddly...shama
galic, galooo.' flap, flap, flap. the umbrella man descends, suddenly hungry.
although he no longer did drugs in the classic sense, he was so pickled
that he enjoyed a rather constant state of euphoria. his mind jumped from
one twisted thought to the next. one minute he'd be giggling, the next
he'd be cursing. 'silly little goose. i turned ya loose. get a load of
those. that honey sure is sweet. shit! shit! shit! i take it as it comes.
there are things you can cock a doodle doo. there's quite a bit that that's
what it boils down to. I can hear everything. every word, shuffle and nuance.
yes and every snap of the toaster. i'm very apologetic. i'm so sorry. i
have a bit of a temper. we're a bit uptight. i hope that we can just live
happily.' 'my grandmother died last night.' 'i'm too depressed, but i'll
figure out something to do.' 'bye-bye's lately umbrella man was feeling
a mere shadow of his former robust self. his lungs were corroded from breathing
too much smoke. he hacked and spat with an emphasemic enthusiasm. still,
when it came to smoking anything, the umbrellaman's credo was, 'got any?'
his umbrella was getting beat. it was time to build another one. he was
constantly muttering to himself when aloft. the spring mechanism squealing
in his right hand. the webs of the parabola stretching and releasing at
a frenzied pace. holding the umbrella man aloft. just enough to clear trees
and people. yet able to muster the strength to fly with an armful of beautiful
woman. and it's off to his lair. mumbling little curses to himself as he
works his magic. the smell of a man enjoying himself. tending to a ladies
every itch. with a scratcher that's equally itchy. and twitch twitch twitchy.
umbrella man is constantly talking to himself. and anyone else that will
listen. but usually no one wants to hear the nasal twang of the umbrella
man. to get within listening range means risking a whiff of his foul breath.
those who have lived through it talk of onions and anchovies. cigarettes
and whiskey. herpes and hickeys. his voice is dry and mechanical. the tone
is frustrated, and at times, furious at the world around him. he speaks
of injustice: "have a nice day i said to her and she snubbed me. rub a
dub dubbed me. wanna get in the tub me." you have to listen close. and
sometimes it's worth it. because the cat is downright profound sometimes.
and prophetic. which accounts for his small but manic group of followers.
to some he's guru, father figure and lover wrapped up in one stanky little
package. his age is unknown. his dark eyes always hidden behind the aviator
goggles. 'gotta get these goddamn things fixed,' he said pulling his boots
on. a lace burst as he pulled. 'Fuck!' he cried, throwing it to the ground.
one of his droogs jumped back as if expecting a blindside blow from the
explosive umbrella man. at any ungodly moment. the wrath unfurled. on the
side of the head and whatnot. umbrella man took a halfhearted kick toward
the droog before moping off. with boot in hand. one foot on a banana peel.
the other in the twilight zone. he giggles. 'take that damn thing off sweet
soul sister,' he said to an emaciated co-ed huddled in the corner of his
chamber. 'come to pappy,' he leered fumbling at his buttons. his festering
erection straining against the soiled, once red flannel long underwear.
'i love you,' she moaned pulling away her dress and pressing her hard,
frail body to him. 'i could break you like a stick. it's no trick. see
how thick? shit! goddamn it! that's ohhhhhhh. don't! stop! don't stop don't
stop!' whirling her around the room. spittle and bodily fluids sailing
around. flinging against the walls. furniture straining. the sound of wood
splintering and glass breaking as the two lovers climax in an earth shattering
crescendo. 'there, there...shit! no, no, no!' he mutters, 'gotta fly now.
say good bye now. deerive the plow now sow. and how. come back here. and
don't touch me there. well maybe just a little. shit! fucking whoah!' late
at night the umbrella man is seen deploying his craft on street corners.
first there's a distant flapping sound. then a darkness. as he moves in
close. then the stench. the umbrella man will eat anything. or anyone for
that matter. it's not unusual for the umbrella man to be found bar-b-queuing
some small domestic animal in the park after sunset. the grisly feast speared
on a spit. the rigor-mortised legs splayed out. revealing the fright and
shock of the killing. still somehow displaying it's agony. long after it
was skinned and gutted. some ladies poodle. or, if he was lucky, and had
hunted skillfully, a cocker spaniel or fattened dachshund. nothing green
ever crossed his lips. (unless it is chunder hurling from his repulsed
body.) never a fruit or vegetable. or fiber of any kind. as a result, the
umbrella man is in a constant state of painful constipation. he longs for
the evacuation of his bowls. and only finds relief only in times of great
sickness. times of wretching and spewing. where the fluids drain from him
in every way. until he is left a dehydrated mess. with the hunger returned.
and a whole new craving to fulfill. in the late steam of winter nights
umbrella man lurks. his huddled figure waddles down back alleys. umbrella
in hand. poking at bits of garbage. and lifeless, homeless figures. they
start at the prod of his oily black extension. 'hey, watch it buster,'
croaks a scarred voice from under a newspaper blanket. 'what a waste of
trees' sneers the umbrella man, his dachshund nipping at a fold of exposed
flesh. the umbrella man yanks at the spiked collar. 'damn it sophie!' he
snaps, jerking cruelly on the chain. the dog yelps sharply. letting go
and glaring back at umbrella man. beady little red eyes. staring with the
hate of the imprisoned. fed on the scraps of the bottomfeeder. sophie is
umbrellaman's only constant companion. his only friend as it were. found
twitching in a dumpster by the big-hearted umbrella man. too sick and small
to eat. but if he nursed it back to health, she could make a fine watchdog.
and partner in crime. a devilish little pooch for devilish little tricks,
trinkets and whatnot. another weapon in umbrellaman's arsenal. sophie is
faithful to a fault, yet independent and rugged for her size. she takes
a kicking. and keeps on ticking. She, like umbrella man, will eat almost
anything and is able to extract life-giving nutrients from the most vile
sources. an opportunist ready to yap at the first opening. of her prey.
despite all this, at the root of this twisted and polluted little creature
is a heart of gold. man's best friend and loyal to the end. and although
umbrella man will probably never admit it. he loves sophie more than any
of his nearest droogs...................to be continued |