Monday, April 30, 2007 by Billy
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Harve created the beast. He social engineered it with the wit of beat poets. It propagated into the collective conscience with the virulence of bubonic plague. Now the beast wants god head.
It summons Harve in a twisted dream. He awakes. His heart pounds in his skinny chest. The beast jumps out, watches him with a puzzled look.
“What's wrong Harve?” “You didn't like the dream?”
Harve splashes water on his tired face. A grasshopper hops on the mirror and waits. He swipes at it and the beast snickers. The insect falls into the face basin. The beast wants him to drown it. He resists. The grasshopper leaps from his open palm and lands on the computer.
“A Buddhist eh?” “Buddha's suckling huh.”
Harve locks out the beast the moment his fingers touches the keyboard. He scours the web for a most perfect plan to eliminate beast.
His inboxes are filled with spam and forwarded mail. He deletes them in quiet fury.
“Come on Harve you are missing the juicy stuff man,” Beast yells.
Harve smiles. Morning light infiltrates the house. He prays for family and friends and earth. Beast retches in the corner.
Someone hammers the front door. The beast races in front to welcome the six am intruder. Harve smells alcohol as he approaches the door.
Shaky is waiting with four bottles of beer. Beast hops and skips like a maniac.
“Yes yes yes,” it whispers into Harve's ear.
“Hey Shaky I see you ready for the weekend?”
“Ya man Harve, take two beers for yourself.”
Harve takes a long swallow and sighs.
“This is good man,” he exclaims.
“You know how it is Harve since last night I partying.”
“Is all good rebel let me put on some music.”
He goes inside. Selects a playlist of up tempo music on the computer.
When he comes out beast is bouncing to the beat. Harve smiles. Beast is overwhelmed with joy when Harve takes the other beer. Shaky has already finished his drink. He invites Harve to the rum shop. Beast follows them beaming like a kid in a candy store.
Beast anticipates the usual weekend binge. The shop is already filled with drinkers preparing for the day. Shaky wades in greeting his inebriated brethren. Harve lingers on the periphery. Beast jumps into the fray.
“What's happening Harve you stop drinking man?” someone shouts.
“Stop drinking you crazy!” “Mister is the beast,” Another hollers. Harve flinches but enters for the beer that Shaky offers. He drinks it quick.
“Yea man I know you like it. We all like it,” the shop owner exclaims grinning. Beast can't contain itself. It grabs Harve. Holds him tighter than the iron maiden. Thanks him profusely for its existence. Harve screams out.
“The beast is out the beast is loose!”
The shop erupts in laughter. They order another round of drinks. To their utter astonishment Harve declines their offer.
“What's wrong man?” “We thought you were drinking.”
“I'm cool,” Harve replies.
“Come on man the beast is ready to roll,” they implore. Harve smiles and walks outside.
“So roll with the beast,” he declares.
The beast can't believe what has just transpired. It is caught between the drunken men and Harve. Harve heads for home.
A sullen ill tempered beast starts to fade but is saved by Shaky who orders another round of drinks and begins to sing his trademark love struck lyrics.
Harve created the beast. He social engineered it with the wit of beat poets. It propagated into the collective conscience with the virulence of bubonic plague. Now the beast wants god head.
It summons Harve in a twisted dream. He awakes. His heart pounds in his skinny chest. The beast jumps out, watches him with a puzzled look.
“What's wrong Harve?” “You didn't like the dream?”
Harve splashes water on his tired face. A grasshopper hops on the mirror and waits. He swipes at it and the beast snickers. The insect falls into the face basin. The beast wants him to drown it. He resists. The grasshopper leaps from his open palm and lands on the computer.
“A Buddhist eh?” “Buddha's suckling huh.”
Harve locks out the beast the moment his fingers touches the keyboard. He scours the web for a most perfect plan to eliminate beast.
His inboxes are filled with spam and forwarded mail. He deletes them in quiet fury.
“Come on Harve you are missing the juicy stuff man,” Beast yells.
Harve smiles. Morning light infiltrates the house. He prays for family and friends and earth. Beast retches in the corner.
Someone hammers the front door. The beast races in front to welcome the six am intruder. Harve smells alcohol as he approaches the door.
Shaky is waiting with four bottles of beer. Beast hops and skips like a maniac.
“Yes yes yes,” it whispers into Harve's ear.
“Hey Shaky I see you ready for the weekend?”
“Ya man Harve, take two beers for yourself.”
Harve takes a long swallow and sighs.
“This is good man,” he exclaims.
“You know how it is Harve since last night I partying.”
“Is all good rebel let me put on some music.”
He goes inside. Selects a playlist of up tempo music on the computer.
When he comes out beast is bouncing to the beat. Harve smiles. Beast is overwhelmed with joy when Harve takes the other beer. Shaky has already finished his drink. He invites Harve to the rum shop. Beast follows them beaming like a kid in a candy store.
Beast anticipates the usual weekend binge. The shop is already filled with drinkers preparing for the day. Shaky wades in greeting his inebriated brethren. Harve lingers on the periphery. Beast jumps into the fray.
“What's happening Harve you stop drinking man?” someone shouts.
“Stop drinking you crazy!” “Mister is the beast,” Another hollers. Harve flinches but enters for the beer that Shaky offers. He drinks it quick.
“Yea man I know you like it. We all like it,” the shop owner exclaims grinning. Beast can't contain itself. It grabs Harve. Holds him tighter than the iron maiden. Thanks him profusely for its existence. Harve screams out.
“The beast is out the beast is loose!”
The shop erupts in laughter. They order another round of drinks. To their utter astonishment Harve declines their offer.
“What's wrong man?” “We thought you were drinking.”
“I'm cool,” Harve replies.
“Come on man the beast is ready to roll,” they implore. Harve smiles and walks outside.
“So roll with the beast,” he declares.
The beast can't believe what has just transpired. It is caught between the drunken men and Harve. Harve heads for home.
A sullen ill tempered beast starts to fade but is saved by Shaky who orders another round of drinks and begins to sing his trademark love struck lyrics.
