Important words for an addict, “My drugs,” because that’s numero uno when you’re a junkie, your drugs. Where are my drugs, how much of my drugs are left, how soon will I need to call my dealer, when can I make a run?…these are the only things that matter, when you’re an addict, especially if you’re on the needle. If you’re on the needle, you’re done. Done. Period. With all this fetty floating around, it’s just a matter of time. Barely anyone gets out alive already, ESPECIALLY once they’re on the needle. It’s a dark world, as self-centered as it gets, because all that matters, is my drugs.
You grab your spoon, your crusty spoon, so much dope has been on that spoon, dope, & hope, all gone. Waiting sucks, so you give it a little heat, just a touch, & swirl it around, then drop your cotton, maybe a new one, maybe a used one, doesn’t matter. Might be some residue on an old one, so let’s use that one, yeah. Now a fresh spike, oh no, it’s my last one, but it’s a freshie, so no worries. Pop it, stick it, pull her up, the gun is now loaded. Where will you hit?…gotta make sure the gun is in your mouth before you pull the trigger, look at all those places where veins used to be, damn, all shot to hell, fuck, look around, looking, oh there’s one, one little spot, got it. Stabby time, & stick, it’s in, just pull up some blood to make sure I didn’t go to far, oh yes, clean shot, looks good, looks good, & plunge away. There she is. Hey girl…mmmmmmm. Hey there sweet girl. Back in our room, aren’t we girl? Just you & I. Oh wow, the room is getting smaller, like a vignette, there’s that weird taste in my mouth, oh but the vignette is closing, yes, the room getting smaller, & smaller, eyes are closing, show is over, last thoughts, as the vignette closes down to a pin, one little pin of light, one eye barely still open, stay awake maybe?…what did you say?…shhhhh…then just let go. Let go. Bye. Your body pukes out foam, trying to stay alive, but nope, you shot too much, & there’s no Narcan, or anyone around to save you anyway, & you die, alone. That’s the end, the end of your movie, & someone will find you, or rather, your body, all rotting & stinking of gruesome death.
.This ain’t gonna be no PSA for “just saying no,” or some corny nonsense like that, nope. Just illustrating the world of the dope fiend, & what comes first. I’ve seen moms do dope with their kids in the car seat. It takes away everything you have, everyone you love, everything, dope takes it all, once you’re on the needle. I lived that world for a long time, much too long. Dark days…I’m amazed I’m still here, to be honest. Feels like I’m the only one left, & they all went the same way, impaled by the spike. The worst thing you lose, is your will to appreciate life, & particularly, time. Nope, just waste away, slow suicide, until one day you’re shooting ½ gram bags at once, just to get through a shift at work. It’s insane how dark this world can become. Wanna see? Here’s a video from Kensington, a neighborhood in Philadelphia, where it literally looks like a scene from The Walking Dead. Check it out.
Not good, is it? This is some new drug called “Tranq,” & I’m not very familiar with it, nor am I interested in doing the zombie walk, sheesh, look at these people. Does this look like “life” to you? Does it look like these people are “living?” Fuck no, & it just keeps getting worse & worse & worse. There’s thousands of these videos, it’s absolutely shameful. People lose hope though, when situations go south, & they have no money, & “life,” just seems impossible, BOOM, enter the drugs, & WHAM, you’re addicted, just like that. Over time, it grows, like a little troll in your gut, stabbing at your stomach when he needs his medicine, & the more time goes by, the harder he stabs, the deeper the knife plunges into the walls of your guts, & he yells, “FEED ME!” You get anxious, then you sweat, then your stomach goes berserk, then it’s hell, the hell of kicking dope. A hell that I reserve to wish only upon my worst enemies. One hell week, then you’re free. It seems like an eternity though, for some reason.
Yeah, it’s rough, particularly off the needle, which is why so many people die. They try to kick, they try hard, they fight, nothing works though to make the cramps stop, to make the pain stop, to make the manic mind stop. Nope, there’s nothing…except dope, of course, so then they go score, because the pain is unbearably rough, & they shoot a big shot because oh that pain, it’s so bad, & because they haven’t used for a bit, their tolerance is lower, & POOF, lights out. That’s it. Done. Out. Gone. Bye. You’re no longer among the living, & everyone who’s left has to clean up the mess you leave. Foam coming out of your mouth, piss & shit on your crotch area, maybe running down your legs, cold, blue, stiffened up, just a body, as the soul has departed, & that’s the end of that person’s story, just like that. Everything they did in this life, from being born to growing up & going to school & making lifelong friends & relationships & learning your individually respective talents, & then to leaving home, & going to college maybe, & then you graduate & because college is a total waste of time for most people, you bee-bop around until you find a job, whatever. Can’t speculate generally on lives after college, because everyone goes in a million different directions when that time comes. Some find a “career,” & go on to get married, & have some kids, & get divorced, & all that made-for-television kind of life. Some go other ways, & maybe they take risks, they gamble on life, & that’s their life, just rolling with the flow. Some stay golden, & they live in the neighborhoods with the big houses, & pools, & they’re virtuous, despite their wealth. I suppose they just got a better ticket for the ride, but all-in-all, you get the point, right? Everyone goes different ways, but some, more-so than ever, go the way of addiction. Doesn’t matter what you do, or where you come from, there’s been an addict from every socio-eco-demographic you can think of. It’s a monster, a virus, a disease, a cancer, all of it in one really, & once you’re infected, it’s for life, unfortunately. Such is the way of my drugs. Do you get it yet? When you’re on the sauce, the sauce is boss. Good quote. I’m gonna have to add it to my book, The Great Quote Hunt, but I digress, as usual. Where was I? Oh yes, there is nothing else but getting well, as they say, once that needle is in your arm. If you’re not banging away, there’s still hope for you, but like I said, in the beginning, if the needle bag is open, your life is about to close up for the night, the darkest night of your life.
Oh but look at the time; I just heard the attention span alert go off. That must mean it’s once again time to wrap up yet another article composed by yours truly. There were good times, & hell, there were GREAT times with the drugs, but in the end, the dope casino wins & you walk out with nothing left but your socks, sometimes not even those. Not to mention, there are serious long-term effects, mental AND physical, as the human body isn’t built to exist in such a way. Self-care is important, but self-medicating to dull your wounds is no bueno. It doesn’t last, it never lasts, ever, & sadly, every junkie always gets to that moment when the drugs are almost gone, down to maybe a hit left, then gone, nothing, & you tell yourself, “I got this, I can beat it; just need a few days of detox, & I’m good to go.” Ummmmmmm…that’s a hard “NO,” NO NO NO…that NEVER works, ever, so maybe the best bet for all of you reading this, is to just never do drugs. 99 out of 100 lose the war, so do you honestly believe that you would be the one to get out completely? Ah, the junkie mind, the priorities so out of whack, & all that matters, is that phrase, “getting well.” Until next time dear readers, rewind the tape & peep my last few posts prior to this one. Get your respective selves all caught up. I could keep going, I could always keep going, write-write-writing about life, but I have a book to work on, so I can’t spend all my time on these random thought-articles I post, nor the Foozers, not until my book is done. Like I said, there’s PLENTY to go backwards in time on to find some enlightenments here in my opus of sorts. Find the “SEARCH” query, type in anything, ANYTHING, & a few fish will always bite. Over 6000 pages here…oh yes, that’s right, you heard me, SIX-THOUSAND PAGES of my madness, transcribed for all of you of course, & for none of you at all. That is the way, & I abide the truth. So sayeth FisH™…🎏
“One thing about those who’ve never ridden the train before that is remarkably puzzling, is the fact that they boldly carry on as though they can comprehend the ride, in a most condescending way too, despite the fact they’ve never even had a train ticket, much less hopped on board.” Fish F Fish🎏
Yours truly could go on quite a diatribe about the facets of opiate addiction, many diatribes in fact, countless in number. Some up, some down, all that cooks up in between, & it could be narrated, spoken via the spookily sultry spoken subtitling voice of the great William S. Burroughs, a proverbial poet-warrior, far ahead of his time, timelessly captured in a future’s past, in that bygone era Americana of the early 20th century. His only hangup was being a fag, & most certainly wasn’t the pinch of the spike, for he was one of the first to capitalize on that “conduit,” as he said, that gateway plunge to the Interzone, as I have spoken of in prior posts. Psilocybin can take you there, LSD can take you there, but what many do not know, unless they mount the horse, is that you can gallop there as well, via a needle, a spoon, & a bag of the finest dope. Of course, & with a double-edged bittersweetness, heroin & morphine have been sourced out, replaced by fentanyl, which is not a true opioid, for it comes not from the poppy. It is as artificial as a reality TV show, made completely in a Chinese chemical lab, from start to its marquee pin-hole end. It has no “legs,” so to speak, & thus, no capacity for the creation of art. It’s a knockout punch, a prayer before dying, then if you’re lucky, more unsatisfyingly short-lived one-two slugs to the chin. Would you like to hear Old Bill speak?
Although created in 1959, when Bill was still alive, I don’t think Old Bill here would abide fetty, as the street pimps call it, or the overall uselessness of it for relieving pain, or relieving anything at all, & unless sustained, only dons the mask for a half-hour or so at best, before the sleeve must come up, the veins must be raised, & the spike must be hammered into the railroad track yet again. There’s no functioning on fentanyl, hence the expression, “no legs.” A solid dose of heroin, or morphine, & an active junky can maintain a job, drive a car, have family time, without drawing suspicion to their habit. The creation of art can be pure, beautiful, perhaps even enhanced, but without legs, as when on the fet, none of these things are possible. It’s a home run to the hole, for one careless misstep, whoops, & it’s over the line you go, like falling backwards into a tunnel, it all becomes a black dot that gets smaller & smaller, until POOF, gone. Without legs, you can’t dance, & unfortunately, the dancing is done, because finding legit heroin anymore is nearly impossible. It’s seemingly all become fetty these days, along with an unending procession of deaths due to doses over the line, all courtesy of a rogue “bureaucracy,” just as Old Bull predicted. Amazing how these geniuses of a time long gone knew, they knew it as well as the biting of teeth, what was to come. Where have they gone? Where have my heroes all gone to?
Yikes, such a blood-boiled subject, taught in a classroom with no doors, where the lecturer seems to never stop lecturing. To look at one’s arms, at the scars on the heart, the roads blocked due to landslides, is a testament to a journey gone painfully askew, into a petrifying forest of dead trees. There’s a seething heartbreak in all of it, when everything’s gone, except your last train ticket, & you only see concrete walls around, 40-feet thick, & no ropes, no ladders, no trampolines to bounce your way back out into the shining sun. It never leaves you, said heartbreak, & that’s all I’m going to say about it. To hear more, seek the wisdom of Old Bill up above there, as he has the words, & I only have the rhymes. Until next time dear readers…🎏
I spent an entire day driving, 18 hours straight through, from Colorado to Ohio, just my cat & I on the open American highway. We paid no attention to the news, spending a lot of that drive time listening to one of my favorite books, On The Road, by the great Jack Kerouac. Although I’ve read it a few times, there’s always something, some little nuance, that I missed prior, but I catch when I read or listen to it again. What a time it was, in this once great nation, what a time to be alive, in the era that that book takes place, post-Great Depression America. Ha, I hate saying “that that” in a sentence, but sometimes it’s necessary I suppose, albeit literarily atrocious. Regardless, back to the book, & as I was saying, the journey that the main character Sal Paradise experiences, or rather a series of journeys, it was all such a different time, when the heart of this country was beating like a anxious adolescent, a whole life ahead of him, full of unlimited possibilities, rather than the aged time-worn heart of a dying old man, as it is now. I thought of this as I drove through Nebraska, then Iowa, particularly when seeing the endless sea of windmills windmilling in the night, with red lights attached to all of them, flashing in sync, like an EKG machine, attached to a terminally-ill cancer patient. How sad, it broke my heart watching this surreal scenario, in the dead of night, as the Full Buck Supermoon illuminated the ground below, as big as I’ve ever seen it. Oh the brilliance, oh the woe, how did it all come apart? How did the empire fail, then fall? What happened? Where did it all go downhill? What happened to that young heart? Did it grow old, as do we humans? Did it die from a broken heart?
Strangely enough, in the book, the character of Old Bull, who has to be William S. Burroughs, he predicted this current storm of modern-day slavery, this one we are all swept up in. “Bureaucracy,” he spoke of, THIS bureaucracy, nascent back then, yet has now evolved into this God-damned infernal machine, an enslavement machine, yes sir, he called it, nearly 80 years ago, EIGHTY YEARS AGO, with such an eerie precision, it was so surreal to listen to, rather than read, as I plowed through the moonlit night, ironically hitting a deer carcass with my car, just as that part of the story began, as if a sign from Old Bull himself to pay close attention to what he was saying, ribs & blood & minced meat organs, flying into the bugs covering my flood lights. How did he know, so long ago, how did he know it would come to this? Man, he had such a brilliance, & such a penchant for morphine, which yours truly knows all too well as well. Those sages of yesteryear, where are they now? I can feel them, hear them as they speak to me, in every word I type, in every word you read, I listen to them, as if their respective old ghosts are mentoring me, carrying me in an angelically comforting manner, & yours truly is but the scribe, one keeping their spirit alive, along with the spirit of this terminally sick nation. Of course, it’s not only me, but there are seemingly, & unfortunately, a lot fewer of us, then there are of those who are accelerating the death of America. There’s the compliers, complying with their 9 to 5 manically mundane schedules. There’s the uninformed, blissfully ignorant, programmed by television broadcasts. There’s the wheel-turners, the various gears & mechanisms that paper-push numbers, like human abaci, one step to another, step one to step twenty-seven, instruction manuals for the aforementioned machine. Have you ever seen the movie Brazil? It’s a bit like that, a bit like all of those dystopian novels & films, set in future times that mimic the now-time, this tempestuous time we are currently existing in, all of them, compiled into this chaotic mess of a pseudo-reality that was not intended by the Great Creator. People often wonder where God is, & I wonder, if I were God, would yours truly still stick around to watch his own failure fall from this precipice we are all teetering on, as the first rocks begin to tumble down the mountain? Or would I turn away, holding my head in my hands, wondering where it all went wrong, & why?
Yes, as would He, I would let it fall, my city swallowed by Satan, like some modern-day Pandemonium, such as the one illustrated in John Milton’s Paradise Lost. I should do an article on that, & ONLY on that, no, I NEED to, it’s a must, that great epic poem, arguably the most savvy ever penned, as far as blank verse goes anyway, for if I don’t do it, it might be lost.(pun unintentionally intended) The game of this art, the subjective relativity of the words, MY words, if I din’t have this, what would I have that I could call my own? Material possessions are only borrowed, but words, these words, can live forever. Oh those authors of old, those long-dead heroes, MY heroes, my sages, my muses, wings dipped in gold, our poured molten into our mouths like an ancient Roman execution, all rolled into a singular spirit, a lone inspirational soul that goes beyond words, & yours truly, like a used-car salesman, so keen to just be in the same building, to speak as they spoke, as though I was invited. Art, true art, is a most beautiful thing to behold, to be created, other than babies mind you. To create a baby, to breathe life into another through the act of sexual congregation, is a Divinity unto itself, blown upon us by The Great Wind. In this world though, it escapes some of us, as we live tortured lives, just to exist through this maelstrom of a life, & the thought of bringing another one of ourselves into this square-dance party, it just isn’t an inclination we embrace, nor abide. It’s a continuous re-examining of the purpose of all of this, a geometric proof we cannot prove, despite our own awareness of the rules of the game. I wonder if it was so dreadfully draining back in those olden days, such as era Americana circa the early 20th century. I really enjoyed audio-booking On the Road again, it was much needed, particularly since I traveled on those same roads that Sal & Dean did, so long ago. The imagery of it all, the life within it, it’s just…perfect, & Jack Kerouac, despite killing himself by drinking to death, for that brief moment in this tornado of time, he caught it, he caught that big fish, & reeled it in. I too, have the demon of a slow-suicide within me, pushed along by the tugboat of borrowed time, until the sting of the hornet gets me as well, falling on my own sword. Nonetheless, I got to know them though, know them all, as well as one can know the long-dead, as brothers, in my own way, a way that bounces on the bubble of space & time. Thank God, if nothing else, I’ll always have that, souls stirred inside of mine own, their souls, swirling in the Great Whirlwind with me, & when the time comes that I exhale my last breath, I’ll swirl with a smile, for we shall be together again, maybe in heaven, or in hell, or wherever one goes once this rodeo ends. All of us, we eternal warriors of the written sword, will have a reunion, & laugh at the feverish folly of it all. Until next time dear readers, don’t let the spirit inside yourselves die, even if it falls. So sayeth FisH™…🎏
For all of you, & for none of you at all…🎏
“Don’t let your spirit die, even if the bastards kill it.” Fish F Fish🎏
Serum-925 was created in a lab by a Chinese scientist named Dr. Shuyi. Dr. Shuyi had a long & accredited reputation for creating various viruses & bacteria, that he himself intended to be beneficial for the human race. His overlords, however, the CCP(Chinese Communist Party), had other intentions, intentions not so benevolent. The CCP had grown weary of United States global dominance, particularly the dominance of the United States dollar. The U.S. dollar had been the global currency for decades, even after the gold standard was removed in 1971, thus the value of the U.S. dollar was now-backed by literally nothing, & to the quickly-advancing Chinese economy, this was unacceptable. It was time, the time of the planetary financial reign of the USA to come to an end. The lone issue stopping the Chinese from taking total dominion over the world’s currency exchange for themselves, was one thing: armed Americans. Open hot nuclear war would be devastating, much too messy, for all involved, as well as for those not involved. They needed a solution, something that would non-violently wipe away their mortal enemy from the West, without affecting the Chinese, & the rest of the world, & so, they looked to Dr. Shuyi, for an answer he could not refuse to give . They took him aside one day, & by “took aside,” they stormed into his office, armed, & took him away from his morning paperwork to meet with a man known as Mr. Wang. “Wang,” in China, is the equivalent of “Smith,” in English, & most likely was not this man’s real name. Anonymity was important, as well as compartmentalization, because the USA had spies everywhere, even inside the CCP, & Mr. Wang needed Dr. Shuyi to do something, for the future of his country, that the Americans must never be made aware of.
Dr. Shuyi was blindfolded, & brought to a room, a room with no view, no windows, only a desk & 2 chairs, & a CCP flag in the corner. Mr. Wang was brief & to the point, & told Dr. Shuyi that he needed to make a new virus, one that would kill whoever it infected, but kill them slowly, however not too slowly. It must be RNA-activated, engineered to ONLY infect those who had taken the messenger-RNA Covid vaccines approved in the USA, which would be the Pfizer, Moderna, & Johnson & Johnson vaccines, in no particular order. Since those vaccines were used less in most places outside of the continental United States, there would be little risk of infecting anyone who resided beyond the boundaries of the borders of the USA. Clearly the plan had begun several years prior to what the CCP was orchestrating now. Additionally, the Big Pharma industry must have involvement, & although astounded by the awareness of other shadowy globalist actors, along with the secrecy kept due to impressive compartmentalization, who was Dr. Shuyi to ponder these notions, to ask questions, or think for himself? He was no one, certainly not an individual, but only a tool, & in China, you do what you’re told without question & think only of total obedience to the State, & so Dr. Shuyi embraced his task, & continued with his instructional orders.
There needed to be a incubation period of one to two weeks, then after incubation ended, the virus needed to exit the host body. It would be made to spread quickly throughout the bloodstream, eventually stopping the heart, then exiting said host body through pores on the skin, to go airborne, & then spread quickly, infecting everyone within a one to two mile radius who had been jabbed, as the terminology goes in the West. This virus must perform precisely as it was designed, so as not to spread in an out-of-control rampant manner, & possibly mutating. Additionally, & this was of highest importance, the virus needed to be fire-resistant, because unknown to Dr. Shuyi, this would be the means utilized for the initial infections. A series of wildfires would be started all across the Canadian wilderness in Northern North America, from west to east. Thousands of fires would be intentionally ignited, so that the virus could be dropped into these wildfires from the air, & as the virulent smoke moved into the jet stream that stretched across the expanse of the USA, from Montana to Maine, it would prove the most effective means of contamination, drawing little to no attention to the Chinese. Of course, there were a few extraneous minor details included in the instructions given from Mr. Wang to Dr. Shuyi, as to the manner of testing, but we will get to that shortly.
At first, like any human being with a conscience, Dr. Shuyi was struck by a sense of sadness that he could not openly express or share, by the directions given to him by Mr. Wang. The doctor, with a blank expression, had dedicated his life to bio-engineering viruses & bacteria that would prove beneficial to humanity, not destructive, but he had no choice. He loved his country, his people, & much more than that, his own family. Mr. Wang wasn’t asking Dr. Shuyi though, he was ordering him to do this, & left some pictures of his wife, & his two sons, telling Dr. Shuyi that if he wanted his family to be safe, he would do as he was told. Dr. Shuyi let Mr. Wang know that he did not need to be reminded of this, & would begin the project immediately, for the love of the CCP, & the future of the Chinese people. He was then blindfolded again, taken back to his office, & the entire event had seemingly ended as abruptly as it began, all taking place within the span of an hour. In one short hour, Dr. Shuyi’s life had taken a complete turn, but not for the worse, or the better, because it was all about perspective. He could not think of anything other than completing the task given. From the view of the Americans, China was the enemy, the unquestionable dominant adversary, but from the view of his own country, the USA was the true enemy, the great antagonist, a nemesis representing the greatest of threats to the Chinese Communist Party & the Chinese way of life. If Dr. Shuyi succeeded, he would be a hero, forever remembered in future history, as a savior of the Chinese homeland. Also, he & his family would not only remain alive, they would be honored, & so, he walked to his lab to begin immediately, quickly having all of his prior work removed by his assistants, leaving the lab entirely new, a proverbial blank slate, so to speak, for him to begin this new assignment. This would be the only assignment, in all likelihood, Dr. Shuyi would ever work on again.
It only took a week, just the span of a week, for testing to begin on various compounds he had created. The CCP notoriously used homeless vagrants as derelict test subjects, which was common practice, as they offered no benefit to the State, & no one would question their sudden disappearance. The recruiters, as it were, handed out pamphlets to the street people, telling them that it was a new “medicine,” designed to help them recover their lost lives from poverty & destitution, as if they had a choice in the matter. Quickly, “volunteers” showed up in droves, providing Dr. Shuyi with more-than-enough subjects to test the the various concoctions on, until the perfect virus was discovered & isolated. Over the next week, countless subjects were infected with the different compounds that Dr. Shuyi had created. The subjects were placed inside a sealed room with a single chair, told to sit down, & to breathe normally, as something akin to Chinese elevator music played from an unseen speaker. The potential viruses were then put into condensers inside of special ovens, which cooked at a temperature similar to the heat of a wildfires. The soft white smoke would then flow through the air ducts that led into the sealed room where the test subjects sat. The subjects would inhale the smoke, then be placed into a quarantine room which connected to the testing room via a single airtight door, so as to allow the virus to incubate.
Around the one-to-two week mark, after the test subjects were initially infected, the effects began, & all sorts of horrifying conditions began to develop. After the incubation ended, as intended, the virus spread rapidly through the bloodstream, searing the arteries as it traveled, which to the test subjects, felt as though they were burning to death from the inside out. They’d convulse & writhe, in unimaginable agonizing pain as this happened, making the seconds feel like eternities. Upon exiting their bodies through the pores on their skins, the viruses would rupture the pores, emitting blackened pus, like little volcanoes, as the thousands of individually necrotic eruptions created a hell that no man would wish upon his worst enemy. It would take 1-2 minutes for the subjects to go through the viral mechanism, which felt like series of tortuous lifetimes in their minds, as each pore burned & corroded, allowing the various test viruses to escape into the open air, & once the subjects were dead, the entire room was incinerated with a special gelatinous gas, insuring that the viruses could not escape the testing room, while also “sanitizing” the room before the next test subject was brought in.
These test trials went on for a few months , & then one day, Mr. Wang showed up in Dr. Shuyi’s laboratory. He asked Dr. Shuyi how the tests were going, & Dr. Shuyi, with a nervousness in his voice, told Mr. Wang that the virus was successful, but he was having difficulty keeping the virus alive upon exiting the bodies of the subjects. At best, the virus would only survive for a few seconds, before it too, would be as dead as the host body it had been birthed from. Mr. Wang then told, or rather, he demanded, that Dr. Shuyi complete the project within the next month, or one of his sons would “disappear,” & then the following month, his other son, would also, “disappear.’ Dr. Shuyi knew that there were no more options, & there was little time left, so he had to finish the project successfully, soon. He had no choice, but to increase the number of test subjects, as well as utilize more rooms to test the potential viruses in. He asked Mr. Wang to accommodate these requests, & with a nod, Mr. Wang left the room. Dr. Shuyi spent the rest of the day writing down various chemical formulas, & thinking of his family, as well as his role in this agenda, so to speak, but he knew that the clock was ticking, so he quickly unthought those thoughts to solely focus on what he had been told to do by the mysterious Mr. Wang. He did not go home that night, passing out with his head on his notebook. He had a dream, an exceptionally vivid dream, & in this dream, an answer came to him, in the form of a formulaic compound, one he had overlooked prior. When he awoke, he was told that there were 2 new rooms for testing, so now three in total, & that there were countless new subjects ready, ready to take their “medicine.” He looked down at his notebook, & recalling the dream, he began to feverishly write. As if by some divine force, as he gazed upon the notes he’d just written, & there it was, a new formula, THE new formula, but was it the right formula? He looked at the time, & the clock read, “9:25,” & so he wrote the time above this new formula he had written down…Serum-925.
Dr. Shuyi immediately began the tests, infecting 6 “patients” with control viruses, & then 3 more of them with Serum-925. The test subjects were then placed in the observation rooms, 3 to a room, as the incubation period began, & all Dr. Shuyi could do was wait. A week went by, & the subjects showed no signs of the infection, as they read books, & watched the State-sponsored programs being broadcast to little TVs in the corners of the rooms between the ceiling & the wall, thinking they’d been given “medicine,” a medicine that would miraculously give them a new life, one where they would be assets to the State, rather than another mouth to feed. Watching this all day & night was causing Dr. Shuyi to become very anxious…so anxious in fact, that he could nary sleep a wink. This first week seemed infinite, & with no symptoms showing themselves, Dr. Shuyi again began to worry about his family, & what would happen to them if Serum-925 didn’t work as directed, but as always, he quickly shrugged those thoughts away, because he knew he needed to focus on a positive result, & nothing else. As mentioned earlier, however, the incubation period ran from one to two weeks, so there was still time, still one week to go. Dr. Shuyi had come so far, & the formulaic equations he had written down came together perfectly, like a completed jigsaw puzzle, yet still, no symptoms, no changes, nothing. He occasionally listened to the random conversations that the test subjects were having amongst themselves. They often talked about the new lives they’d lead once “cured,” & their devotion to the State for “fixing” their failed & wretched lives. “Mice,” the good doctor said to himself, “they are only mice, here to be tested & disposed of as mice are,” trying to convince himself that they were not men, but mice. Deep down, he knew he was lying to himself, along with reflecting on his own inhumanity, as he viewed the final days of these mens’ lives, & thought of his own inhumane disposition at what he was doing…what kind of doctor could go along with such a thing? As always though, he pushed these self-realizations aside, burying them, never to be resurrected, for he was soon to be a deliverer, a great conservator for the State, or dead, along with his family, who he so desperately loved.
The second week began & day one of week two was dreadful for Dr. Shuyi; the “patients” were still the same, content & healthy, no changes. Onto day two, still nothing, day three went by, & STILL, no symptoms. A small television was inside Dr. Shuyi’s laboratory, always broadcasting state-sponsored news media, the same as what the test subjects were watching, mainly about the power of the CCP, the usual stereotypical communist propaganda, along with occasional scripted “news” stories, that more-often-than-not, glorified the State in one way or another. However, something came on that caught Dr. Shuyi’s attention. A series of wildfires had erupted all across Canada, & not just a few, there were THOUSANDS of them, stretching across the entire country, from British Columbia to Quebec. There were so many fires in fact, that the whole of the country appeared to be on fire, & Dr. Shuyi quickly realized, that the plan to spread the virus across North America, had begun. The clock was ticking, & ticking fast, as though time itself was speeding up, & Dr. Shuyi knew that his time was running out.
Day four came, & Dr. Shuyi, eyes wide from insomnia, could barely write anymore, as his hands were shaking from tremors, due to the lack of sleep. His mind was a jumbled mess, a mix of anxiety, anger, depression, but most of all, fear, for he was afraid that if he failed, he would never see his family alive again. Why wasn’t the virus working as intended? He had gone over the formulas he had written down, over & over & over again, & he just couldn’t rationalize what was going wrong. He pounded his fists on the table, & the force of the thud, turned over his stained & near-empty coffee cup on the desk, spilling what was left of the cold coffee, which formed a small puddle at the edge of his desk, & began to drip onto the floor. Dr. Shuyi watched it drip for a moment, staring, as he once again, thought about his family. He then snapped out of his gaze, & walked over to grab some paper towels to clean up the mess. Just then, a sound went off from the loudspeaker, & the voice on the other side, notified Dr. Shuyi that the process was beginning, & that the test subjects were starting to convulse. Dr. Shuyi stopped what he was doing, leaving the paper towel he was grabbing half-torn, as well as the spilled coffee, & rushed to the observation room to watch what was happening. He felt a rush of excitement overcome him, utterly disregarding the fact that more human test subjects were about to experience a most-violent death, as he could only feel happy that his family might be saved, should the virus survive.
The exhaustion from all the sleeplessness, along with the symptoms of insomnia, subsided, as Dr. Shuyi hurriedly ran to the observation area, which was a room, with a series of chairs, & a 2-way mirror for the viewers to view the test subjects, as they died in agony from the various compounds they had been exposed to. The fact that these human test subjects were dying a horrible death mattered not, nor did the potential for billions to die in the same manner, as Dr. Shuyi could only think of his family, & that his success ensured their survival, as well as his own. Strange the way the mind works, isn’t it? How could one be “happy,” when billions of lives were at stake? Still, as always, these kinds of thoughts escaped Dr. Shuyi, as he eagerly watched the test subjects writhing on the floor, screaming in terror, as the post-incubated virus began painfully working its way through the blood of these “patients,” seeking to escape from these human test subjects’ convulsing bodies, through each & every pore on their skin. The shock of it all, to any “normal” person, would be unbearable to watch, particularly to a doctor, yet Dr. Shuyi gleefully continued to observe, as the subjects’ pores began to erupt the virus, those tiny little volcanoes, spewing out the blackened pus, as the subjects gasped one final time before their hearts stopped . Fortunately, the room was soundproof, & Dr. Shuyi could not hear their screams, or the last gasping. If he had, perhaps he might’ve had a moment of clarity, a revelation, that what he was doing was not only wrong, it was pure evil, but all he heard was the surreal sound of silent shrieking. It took roughly 90 seconds for the subjects to stop moving, & now was the moment of truth for Dr. Shuyi, for if the virus had died along with the test subjects, he & his family would be dead as well, but if the virus had survived, Dr. Shuyi would become legendary, a permanent hero, for the only God he knew, the CCP.
The time had come, & some men in biohazard suits with various instruments, began entering the room via a decontamination walkway of sorts. First, they needed to flip the bodies of the test subjects over, as they had all perished face down. They needed to get to the vital organs, as well as take blood samples, tissue samples, etc. The subjects had left a mess on the floor, which was now stained with the blackened pus, one of them leaving a haunting handprint, which Dr. Shuyi noticed from the observation room, & for a fleeting moment, some minuscule sense of humanity overcame him, as he thought about his own son, the youngest one, making handprint art for him only a few months prior. The shouts from the testers in the biohazard suits quickly flushed those thoughts away, however, as Dr. Shuyi had finally gotten the news he had been so anxiously awaiting to hear. The virus was alive, virulently alive, aggressively healthy, yearning to survive & thrive within another victim. Dr. Shuyi was instantly ecstatic, consumed with joy, the joy of all that was to come for him, & his family, with zero inclinations as to what this meant for the human race. A few more tests would be needed, for sure, but Dr. Shuyi knew that Mr. Wang would be quite pleased that Dr. Shuyi had been successful in the task he was given. He would be honored, taking his place among the historic halls of distinguished heroes, a savior of the Chinese Communist Party, for the rest of time, & his family would be at his side, glorified eternally as well by the Chinese people, HIS people.
The fires in Canada continued to rage, most of them uncontrollably now, & the smoke was covering cities in the United States from Bismarck to Manhattan, riding the current of the jet stream. Only the Western part of the United States was spared the smoke from these wildfires, thanks to the wind shear courtesy of the Rocky Mountains, sloping the western half of the country from New Mexico to Montana. News reports in the United States had begin to warn residents of the air quality, & blamed the wildfires on “lightning strikes,” but none of them had a clue as to what really created this country-wide inferno engulfing much of Canada, as well as what was really about to come from these intentionally set fires. Setting the fires was easy, but getting Serum-925 virus into these fires, would be another feat in itself. Meanwhile, Dr. Shuyi had been reunited with his family, who he held close for several minutes, so long that his wife showed a glint of concern as to why Dr. Shuyi, a normally expressionless man, suddenly seemed so cheerfully happy to see them all, as if he hadn’t seen them in a very long time. She had no idea of what he had done, or how close she & her children had been to being “disappeared,” via the orders of Mr. Wang. Dr. Shuyi had always been a loving father, but when the tears of joy fell at the sight of seeing them alive, his wife knew that something was different, but as was common with Chinese wives, she asked no questions & showed no concern, simply assuming that Dr. Shuyi had done something great for not only his family, but for the country. Unconditional love & total devotion to the State was primary in China, above all else, & as the adoration from CCP members began to befall Dr. Shuyi & his family, Dr. Shuyi’s wife got caught up in the moment, & quickly forgot about the tears that her husband had shed upon reuniting with his family.
Across the ocean in the United States, breaking news reports began to be broadcast, reports of unidentified balloons flying high above the western parts of North America, first from Alaska, & then from northwest British Columbia, & then down to Montana. The objects were still unidentified, only that they looked to be “balloons” of some kind, & that there were several, slowly moving east, as they drifted into the interior of Canada, & then down into the Continental United States, following the jet stream. What the news reports did not report, however, was that these were the dispensing mechanisms for the Serum-925 virus, & that the balloons were moving into position, to do just that, dispense this deadly virus. A series of canister’s on the underside of the balloons, which had now been successfully guided by GPS via radio frequencies into strategically proper positions, began releasing the Serum-925 virus into the atmosphere above the wildfires. The virus fell into the clouds of smoldering smoke from the raging flames below, which was heavier than the air, & as the smoke lost altitude, it descended with the ash, now contaminated with the very-much-alive Serum-925 virus, & began to cover American & Canadian cities.
Quickly, the pathogen, created in a lab by the great guardian of the CCP, Dr. Shuyi, began to infect the human populations below, unknowingly, as the “vaccinated” people below breathed in what they thought to be smoky air, but only the air of wildfires, as was common at this time of the year when wildfires annually occurred. Surprisingly, few wore masks, which was a stark contrast to the mass psychosis displayed by mask-wearers during the Covid epidemic. This went on for a week, then week two began, as Americans rallied to celebrate the 4th of July, ironically a celebration of freedom & independence. What the North American public did not know, was that the Serum-925 virus had been inhaled now, by millions of them, millions who were so desperate to get the jab during Covid, as well as many of them getting “boosted,” preparing them for the real Chinese-created pandemic, which would undoubtedly, kill them all once the incubation of the virus came to fruition, for lack of a better term. The Serum-925 virus entered their bodies, through the mouth & nose, down into the lungs, to incubate, before it awakened, so to speak, & began to violently erupt, from each & every pore on their skin, like the little volcanos that Dr. Shuyi witnessed from the observation room, expelling the black pus magma, leaving the gruesome handprint on the floor, from the last “patient” he would ever treat. So began the end, the end of us, the end of these United States of America.
“For all of you, & for none of you at all.” by Fish F. Fish🎏
Whoops, did I say “derp” in the title up there? I meant “dead,” the walking dead, not derp, how clumsy of me.Although, I suppose either can apply, as I’ll get to below I’m sure, assuming I don’t tangent off into something else, as is par for my little mini-golf course here. If I were rich, I’d have the dopest mini-golf course; there would be some kind of animated obstacle at each hole. What would my theme be, my motif, if you will? I’m thinking Roman-esque, pillars & statues, with a touch of Fellini, minus the gay shit. What’s with all the gayness, sheesh? Seriously, & I’m not just talking about this Foucaultian “queer theory,” being shoved down everyone’s throats via the narrative-pumping mass media. No, I’m going back, back in time a bit. One of my favorite writers, with arguably the best writing/reading voice ever, a sheer literary genius artist magician, but gay as fuck. I’m talking about the pioneer of Interzone, the whimsical William S. Burroughs.
Gah, but WHY??? I just don’t get the faggotry I suppose. I read Burrough’s little book titled “Junkie” many years ago. As a former junkie, & I suspect I was at the time I first read the aforementioned book, so I was into it, page after page, until the gay parts. Every book I’ve read of his…great…great…great…fucking gay…puke in my mouth…great…great. It’s a double-edged sword for one to read Burroughs essentially, is what I’m saying. Bummer. Fellini too, although he himself was not gay allegedly, he would include homosexuality in his films. Try the movie “Satyricon,” if you wanna debate me. Revolting, but the Fellini-esqueness is so captivating, ugh, he’s such a solid filmmaker. I don’t know, I just don’t understand the nature of it I guess. Maybe because it’s UN-natural. Call me a “bigot”, or the now-infamous term “homophobe,” sure, call me whatever, I don’t care. One, only ignorance creates bigotry, & I’m not ignorant, I’m quite well-informed thank you, so kick rocks on that one. Two, the suffix “phobe,” implies a fear of something, that something being the prefix of the word, in this case, “homo,” so “homophobe” means “fear of homos.” I’m certainly not scared of you silly sad clowns, or your degenerate behavior ya beady-eyed bun burners. Preferring sweaty hairy man ass over sweet female yumyum, ummmm huh?…yeah, no thanks, I don’t even like chick ass.
Nope, no ass, no “eating ass,” which is popular apparently these days, but not for me. Nope, no ass, & no fear here, just bewilderment as to how this bizarre phenomenon goes on, this perversion of free will. There’s quite a bit of “free-will perversions” happening, not just the LGBT-IDC nonsense, but the indoctrination, the programming, it’s all part of THEIR sick game, not yours, unless you venerate “Satan,” like they do. My oh my oh my, what a tough red pill to swallow; the red pill of Satan, ironically, & it’s so red, maybe the reddest red pill there is. This pill illustrates the notion that these s-elected “leaders” in power positions running things, also worship the devil, whether that be as Satan, or as Lucifer, varying as the variables vary, doesn’t really matter the specific avatar, it just represents evil, & these sinister snakes abide said evil, giving their energy to the chaos of crumbling dark destruction, rather than creating benevolent beauty, & lifting up the night with real light of creation, not the pseudo-light of self-adoration. Don’t be deceived by false light. Creation is the way, not termination, & you baby killing minions of the netherworld, the upside-down, you terminators, are trying to make this world backwards, like a blackened mirror reflection.
You destroyers are the true walking dead, there’s no life in you. Breeding isn’t creating, it’s propagation for you, just more mouths to over-consume, fattening you up for the next great harvest via The Great Recycler. No, breeding yourselves creates nothing but more destructionists, destructive dark parent/s means rage-filled killer kids. Add the programming on top of that hotcake, & you get these automatonic zombies, just like some surreal NPCs, but in real-life. It’s spooky as fuck, isn’t it? Oh, & I got this, I almost forgot, the predictive programming. Look at all the zombie shows out there, shows, movies, kid’s toys, it’s staggering, but why, why are there so many themes about “the walking dead” shuffling around in the zeitgeist? Do your masters know something you don’t? Is there something big on the hazy horizon approaching all of us, something only the capstone club knows about, while they keep you all guessing whether or not to go left or right in The Great Mouse Trap?
Simle answer: YES. Yes, of course they know something, they know EVERYTHING at this point really, with the unlimited data plan they have with the AI. It’s ALL the information gathered via the Internet over the last few decades, ALL in their sweaty little stink-palms. I was thinking something earlier, & I’m going to be as humble as ever here, but I was thinking, “Man, you are dumb as fuck, you know that?(referring to myself) Fuckin hell you’re embarrassingly stupid, but so are so many people, so it’s hard for the other dumdums to know how dumdum I am I assume,”…that’s what I was thinking earlier, & it’s true, sadly. Why am I so dumb? It’s this socially engineered public-schooling systematic dumbing down of society, to keep us low, so they can go higher. Humans have an unbelievable capacity to learn as youths. There’s SO much to fill young minds with, but they don’t here, unless you’re a special kid in the special club for the special people. Otherwise, you’re fucked, just another dumbass programmed zombie, shuffling from one bi-weekly paycheck to another. Left, right, no go straight, no that’s a dead end, go backwards, now right, no left, round & round you go in a labyrinth you cannot escape.
Thus, the dead keep walking. I am dead too, they ruined my mind in the indoctrination camps of my younger years, but I don’t walk, I drive. I’m the driving dead, one step above the walking dead. I help drive the zeitgeist, which is all one can really do from way down here. The game down here is the game of consumption, consuming like pac-man as you endlessly run around the maze of life…left, no right, no make a left, ok ok, I made a left, now where?…go right, now make another right, gahhhhhhhhhh it’s SUCH A DUMB GAME WE PLAY in this Great Mouse Trap. Damnit, why can’t anyone else see the exit sign? It’s a bright neon flashing marquee, “EXIT, EXIT, EXIT,” & you just have to be brave enough to walk out & see what’s on the other side, but you don’t. Maybe it’s because you’re just dumb, dumb like me. Hell, this writing thing is all I got, so what do I know that makes any of this drivel worth listening to?
Simple answer: NOTHING. I am NOTHING, nunca, nada, no one. I know NOTHING, I don’t know ANYTHING, I just like to illustrate this experience with my own hand-crafted wordsmithery. There’s a magic to this, & I love it, & I feel like maybe it’s analogous to playing music, ya know? I don’t know, but I keep creating anyway. Until next time, create something, or be nothing. So sayeth FisH™🎣
EaT~aLL~YouR~FisH™ 