64. Doppelganger Bond
I see myself; smart and sharp in tux. For a while I could not recognize this handsome figurine of a man: polished, dapper, and cheeks chiselled with a healthy masculine glow. Not a strand of hair out of place, as though they were glued to his scalp, as though they were moulded of the same material as flesh; a perfect plastic toy.
Then I saw his eyes. They were mine. The windows of the soul; my soul.
JC’s undeniably done with me. Remade me. And now I am here to see myself.
It’s a typical black tie event. Women are in designer gowns, and all men are penguins. Some do more justice to their suits, but nonetheless, it’s the fairer sex who provides the flagrant lavishness that incites the lascivious coveter in all of us. Such occasions makes one wonder life: that all men are but uniforms; and women, red carpet opulence.
By the load of praises pronounced, I can tell, even upside down, the roaring embrace of JC’s work. “Masterpieces,” I hear them proclaim; and the guests are chattering and discussing what emotions these murals evoke, what they’d taken from the tapestries, how the configurations had spurred cognitive revelations and understandings of brave new worlds within them. Esoteric knowledge written plain and decoded on buttocks. How heavenly.
“I am in love with your mind,” JC announces as he strides up to me after closing hours. He must be talking about my dream; and I ponder which character is he. Master Wan or Wong Boom Bong most probably. He never tells; he just shrugs and fishes a shimmering orb out of his coat pocket. “Technically, your mind is here,” he fingers the marble, “...remember...Anesidora? Ewala gave it to me...popped out from her vulva...like a fizzy drink dispensing machine,” shaking his hand, “oh...but you needn’t have to know that,” he laughs out loud.
“See, what I can’t figure is,” he squats, now eye level with me, “where your imagination is coming from? It can’t be from this ball because it’s busy noshing my wife! It can’t be from that guy,” JC points to the debonair version of I, who just stares icily at me through cold blue eyes the whole night, “because I made that mind. And what we got here,” he knocks my cranium, “is just a hollow trunk. By the way, when you have the time, I suggest you get to know your other you. He’s quite creative, too...just like you.” James Bond I raises his champagne flute my direction and sips its crystal content.
JC continues, “So, my educated guess, the probable deduction, would be it coming from here,” he stands and slaps my butt. A current ripples through. “Fascinating, fascinating. You can actually think with your ass!” He fizzles and exclaims, “More than that, in fact this fat flesh,” he pinches, “can visualize such fantastic realms and make them a reality. I must do more study.” The last phrase, he wasn’t speaking to me. JC marched off, pointing a finger to the air, and the crew cut me down.
JC had promised I won’t be a prisoner. I was free to come and go and wander within his palace walls. And considering, it’s a huge castle indeed. I was given my own room too, and chic clothes, for it’d been long enough that I’d trudged naked.
The abode was spartan, somewhat like that pocket dimension Jai-I and I designed. Speaking of which, I’d not been to in ages, and I wondered whether our business plan, the coffee culture franchise, would have flourished. I also got to think of my friend...I miss him, and I hope he is all right. I would have to get in touch with him after this, after JC discharges me. Track down Trekz.
My abode, yes, it’s spartan. The way I prefer. Uncluttered. A humble bed lines the side, and a study table adorned the opposite corner. The room itself was not large, but it was very comfortable. It had a cushiony reclining chair, and on the other side of the wall was an entertainment unit filed with all the books, movies, music and games I would have the pleasure to read, watch, listen and play. JC ordered that I be continually inspired, so I spent many hours indulging the arts, which was a luxury I’d not owned for some while. I devoured through and through, nourishing my brain cells, expanding knowledge of infinite realms, reading up on a myriad of gods - their deeds, their creation - and how innumerable heavens collided and fused, and the sciences behind how one could travel between and beyond portals, touring to and fro across multiverses. An analogy which best describes is the literature and film and albums and MMORPGs I have in the room. Each novel paints different lives; each video illustrates unique adventures; each song reflects the soul of a singer at a particular point in time; and each electronic sport or mission, contested and challenged, exists in its own unique digital environment of a game-universe. We, as consumers, can choose our amusements. So, similarly, we, as demigods, and some lucky humans (our pampered pets), get to traverse dimensions just by the push of a mental button. Thus, if Christopher Columbus discovered the New World, we are all explorers, encountering new spectrums at the end of rainbows daily.
Occasionally, I was to spend the night in the infirmary after they’d conducted tests and there was a need to monitor my responses. It was not unpleasant, and there were other talented individuals in the ward. We will peep through hospital gowns and marvel. Same like me, these guys are geniuses, for the tales their tattooed butts told were nothing short of spectacular; we’d all hold our breaths in joint admiration of the crazy and entertaining worlds wheezing out of farts. I caught threads of my own flatulent fable on some of the lines on their posteriors, and it’s proof again, I guess, that all spheres entwine, and that the minds of all men are but one, albeit, a massive one, with rooms and doors and secret passageways that weave across wide illustrious labyrinths.
Friends I made during my stay were Charles Schmuck, Dilidos and the Grinlock. There were others, but these three I related most closely, and our time was full of nostalgic memories. Strange, somehow, incarcerated in an asylum of prodigies brings back the child in us. Moreover, when the timeline charted across is an eternity, one would naturally feel like a kid in the presence of a god as great as JC.
We have a common hall full of fun stuff. Working at Google would be a pale comparison to the toys we had at our disposal. JC was always encouraging us to go mad. Don’t let any inhibitions stump us.
So, that said, I wanna talk about whoring Earthlings.