SQUID PRO QUO

(If you are generally unaware of this week's series, see Monday's post for details...)

THE CAST:

The Squid: A mind-fried crimelord on the downward spiral.

Andrew: His ne'er-do-well teenage successor.

The Locale: The Lalaurie House, abandoned, in New Orleans, in some distant future, but no less haunted...

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When Andrew—the intrepid pupil—returned from his most recent indecent travels, he bore a special sort of burden this time around. Life, the universe, the Great Divine—or whatever—had taunted him with spitballs from beyond…strange events that shattered notions of the nature of the world, then began to mock and giggle that anyone would have notions in the first place, a dipshit headtrip of deep-shit dimensions. It was unmentionable to him, and unperceivable beyond that—a mind-fuck in a muck of hazy dreams. But The Squid—the grizzled wizard—knew just what to say. He often offered advice on such strange things. He often offered advice…period. Actually, he failed to “offer,” so much as corner, inconvenience, scare, and lecture until done. But this was an occasion wherein one actually sought out his odd advice.

The two sat on dirty pillows, eye to eye, six feet apart. And class began.

“Sir, I don’t understand what happened…not a lick of it. It just doesn’t make sense. It couldn’t have been real—things like that don’t happen in real life.”

The Squid nodded intently, and scratched his itchy hand. He had rubbed a couple acid tabs into his palm not long ago. He wasn’t high, as such, but he could feel it kicking in. “Andrew, you don’t know about reality. You can’t know, and you can’t know even that. I can’t either. Philosophers call it ‘the problem of certainty.’ At least they think they do. They might call it ‘Eugene,’ and simply hear ‘problem of certainty.’ I wouldn’t know. No one can know anything. And they can’t even know that. In fact, I don’t even know what I’m saying right now. And sadly, that’s as good a proof as any.”

Andrew stared blankly. Philosophers were weird.

“You see, Andrew, we can only really guess at things. But I’ll give you my best guess. At least I think I will.” The Squid began to space and smirk. The acid was beginning to kick his ass.

“I’m open to anything,” Andrew offered, shaking his head.

“Excellent,” said The Squid. “Do you want some dope?”

“No…not at the moment. Thanks anyway.”

“Your loss. Oh well, where were we…oh yeah…we’re here. At least we think we are. In a reality of perception, which is really something different, after all.”

Andrew scratched his head. “You mean there are, like, levels to reality? I’ve thought about that...”

The Squid shook his head. The room swirled in his eyes as the colors bled. He gave Andrew a rather disconcerting smirk, and carried on. “Try not to think of reality as…whoa,” The Squid paused for a minute to stare at something he did not really see. “Wow. Uh, anyway...Try not to think of reality as…shit, that’s really fucking with me. I’m sorry.” The Squid chortled a bit and continued to stare.

“Please get on with it, sir…I’m really confused, here.”

The Squid steadied himself, and resumed eye contact. “Me too, Andrew, me too. But anyway, try not to think of reality in terms of 'levels,' or even—wow, um, nevermind—uh, dimensions…oh man. But, uh, think of it in terms of like a really big onion,” his eyes grew wider as he spoke, “Yeah, that’s it—a really, really awesome fucking onion. Now, like, think about peeling away layer after layer of onion skin, each successive layer thicker and more dense than the last, yet smaller by necessity. Far out, right?”

Andrew had never heard The Squid say “Far out,” ever. He likely never would again.

“So keep peeling and peeling and peeling, and you know what happens, Andrew? Your hands stink. And nobody will touch you, not with a stolen pair of shitty gloves.”

Andrew did not want to be touched with shitty gloves. This arrangement was just fine.

The Squid continued, “And do you know what you find when you get to the center of it all?”

Andrew nodded wearily, “I suppose that I should say that I can’t really know. Right?”

The Squid appeared agitated. He was tripping balls. “Don’t patronize me, you little shit. Oh, I sorry--that was a little rough, wasn’t it? Let’s see, where was I? Ah yes…the center. You want to penetrate the center, right? At the center of it all is Alice’s rabbit hole. And do you know what happens when you penetrate Alice’s rabbit hole?”

Andrew nodded “no.”

“I’ll tell you what you’ll get: A great big squeal of surprise, a black eye, and possibly a hefty lawsuit. That sort of thing is frowned upon in some states, you know.”

Andrew nodded again, blessed with that special twitch. Recalling earlier rants, he observed, “You know, sir—or maybe you don’t; I don’t want to start that again—you talk an awful lot about lawsuits in your philosophy…”

The Squid stared at his feet briefly, clearly observing something unobservable by others, then returned to the discussion. “Well, why not? I am an outlaw. And a philosopher. And you know what, Andrew?”

“What?”

“Not every outlaw is a philosopher, but most good philosophers are outlaws. And the nature of reality is best perceived if you have a damn good lawyer.”

Andrew marveled briefly. It was close enough to sage. “And you know what else, Andrew?”

“What?”

“Yes,” said The Squid.

“Yes?”

“Good then,” replied The Squid, “My job here is finished.”

Andrew felt betrayed by this sudden madness. “Wait—I didn’t catch what you said…”

“I said, ‘And you know what else, Andrew?’” The Squid winked back.

Andrew thought carefully, and defiantly replied, “No.”

The Squid, tweaked and hallucinating, responded as he sat up, about to leave. “Well…you should. It’s very important. I wish I did.” And with this, he left the room.

After The Squid—the sorcerer, the adept—departed, poor, shaken Andrew—the initiate, the observer—sat alone, and flustered, never moving from the spot. He shouted after The Squid, “But I can’t!” Then he shouted at the heavens—knowing it was weird above him without having to look, “I can’t know…no, I can’t.”

He then shook it off, and left the room, to go masturbate in the bathroom down the hall.


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