1. |
Night of the Long Knives
02:39
|
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Find myself hoping for a night of the long knives
Find myself wishing for a night of the long knives
Find myself pining for a night of the long knives
Find myself screaming for a night of the long knives
Yeah!
A natural culmination of your politics of grievance
A fitting forfeiture for your cowardly malfeasance
Streets littered with burning limousines
Automatic rifles with empty magazines
And then you’ll all go away
With your hacked noses and spited faces
And on the walls dancing shadows from the bonfires
Twist the night away
I yearn to watch you dance with knives in your backs
Your greedy blood bleeding out and staining the track black
Desiccated corpse of ideology subsumed
Vegetation covers all those monuments in ruins
And you’ve all gone away
With your hacked noses bleeding from your spited faces
And on the walls dancing shadows from the pyres
Twist the night away
Find myself hoping for a night of the long knives
Find myself wishing for a night of the long knives
Find myself pining for a night of the long knives
Find myself screaming for a night of the long knives
Yeah!
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2. |
Gridlock
02:46
|
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Culture lines identified then weaponized
The media divides
Then all the leaders can ignore the needs of every side
What we need just might not get attention
Airwaves have some other things to mention
Freezing us in time is their intention
They’ll keep throwing crumbs in our direction
Culture lines identified then weaponized
The media divides
Then all the leaders can ignore the needs of every side
Making everything about the culture war
Anything good must be no more
Does not matter if it’s dated
Gridlock has now been created
Culture lines identified then weaponized
Political divide
So now the media ignores the needs of every side
They wanna make you afraid
of anybody not like you
Intimidate every town and every city
Gary Indiana, Portland Oregon, Zanesville Ohio, New York City
Hampton New Hampshire...
do you have a problem?
Fresno California is... don’t say shitty
Culture lines identified then weaponized
The media abides
Then all the leaders can ignore the needs of every side
They want to make you afraid of everybody beside you
Don’t question the state of national security
Culture lines... culture mines... but everything is fine... just fine
|
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3. |
Dusty
02:02
|
|||
(Instrumental)
|
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4. |
||||
(Excerpts from Book of Revelation)
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5. |
Catapult
02:07
|
|||
Got a brand new toy
I like toys
It’s a special one
Going to get my hair done
That’s what I said
I wanna look good
For the last time
I mean this time
You gotta try this
It’s simple physics
It’ll get your there
You can bet your life on it
Go ahead!
You know you wanna
Be free with the birds
You can go to the moon
Pardon me while I release the catapult and you go fucking flying
Try to find the time to care when it’s obvious I’m not really trying
What happened?
We were so close
And now we’re getting
Farther and farther away
It’s funny how you say that
Without a hint of irony
While I pick up the pieces
Of my hopeless dramatic existence
Pardon me while I release the catapult and you go fucking flying
Try to find the time to care when it’s obvious I’m not really trying
|
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6. |
Where's My Hammer?
03:06
|
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You’ve made up your mind
Nothing to find
Nothing to learn
Nowhere to
Turn, turn, turn of the screw
Not what you do
You go up and down
There’s nothing new
It just comes round
Nothing’s been found
Nothing was lost
You don’t exhaust
You go go go
It’s what you know
You’re good for it so just go on ahead and try it
If all you have is a hammer, then everything looks like a nail
Things that need suction, abrasion or heat, you bash and you beat
And leave their broken bits in your trail
Listen!
And then proceed
What else do you need?
A formal invite
A guiding light
The light that breaks
The ground that quakes
The sound that makes
It pounds, it shakes
Like you do when you’re quiet
If all you have is an ear, then everything sounds like a sound
When all you do is drop, all you can look forward to is the ground
You rear up and swing
The clap! The ring!
To everything there’s a season
A reason to even care
To stop and stare
But no one’s there waiting around to supply it
When all you have is a hammer, then all you want is a nail
And when somebody offers you a screw, then you call that a betrayal
|
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7. |
Structures
02:41
|
|||
Millions of us are flying in the sky.
Across the ocean.
Millions of us are eating super-size.
Can’t stop the world in motion.
10,000 years of civilization
Who wants to compromise?
Humanity has got no mission
Other than to colonize.
I know
I am.
The proof
That something has gone wrong
How can
I be
Part of
Something that’s gone wrong?
The sun has risen a billion times
Could this be the last dawn?
Redemption is too late to organize
When it’s covered in spawn
Trillions of planets ready to urbanize
Prepare for the big launch
When parasites have nothing left to take
They go for the next host
I know
I am
The proof
That something has gone wrong
How can
I be
Part of
Something that’s gone wrong?
I fertilize
I sterilize
I televise
Cannibalize
|
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8. |
All The Time
02:51
|
|||
Now watch it burn!
We love
We crawl
We snatch
We fall
I see with my police state eyes
All the temples
All the lies
When you call
When you weep
When you fall
Scratching at the earth, at your face, at the walls
Hey!
All the time
I can see it shimmering in the distance
While we bleat
Goats in heat
Then I strike with my police state club
Like a deacon
Like a thug
Run blind

Stumble forth
Hear the call
Slashing at the mothers, at the major, at them all
Hey!
And all the time
I can see it burning in the distance
While we low
Cows in droves
Now they scrape all the flesh off the bones
Curse the sky
Curse the drones
Red earth
Red rocks
Red hands
Bleeding in the caves, on the ground, in their land
All the time
I can see it bursting in the distance
Still we bleat
Goats in heat
We love
We crawl
We snatch
We fall
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9. |
Little Suck-a-Thumb
01:24
|
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One day, Mamma said "Conrad dear,
I must go out and leave you here.
But mind now, Conrad, what I say,
Don't suck your thumb while I'm away.
The great tall tailor always comes
To little boys that suck their thumbs.
And ere they dream what he's about
He takes his great sharp scissors out
And cuts their thumbs clean off, -and then
You know, they never grow again."
Mamma had scarcely turn'd her back,
And the thumb was in, alak! alak!
The door flew open, in he ran,
The great, long, red-legged scissorman.
Oh! children, see! the tailor's come
And caught our little Suck-a-Thumb.
Snip! Snip! Snip! the scissors go;
And Conrad cries out - Oh! Oh! Oh!
Snip! Snip! Snip! They go so fast;
That both his thumbs are off at last.
Mamma comes home; there Conrad stands,
And looks quite sad, and shows his hands;-
"Ah!" said Mamma "I knew he'd come
To naughty little Suck-a-Thumb."
|
||||
10. |
Meaty
02:46
|
|||
(Instrumental)
|
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11. |
Murder Hornets
02:28
|
|||
"Why everybody wanna turn me away?"
"You should hear what they have to say."
Slice like a skill saw, worse than a bee
Like some opposite, asshole Muhammed Ali
They rose out of the swamp in blankets of shimmering filth
Quoting Tucker Carlson and accumulating wealth
"Why everybody wanna turn me away?"
"You should hear what they have to say."
Slice like a skill saw, worse than a bee
Like some opposite, asshole Muhammed Ali
A swarm of warm maggots weaned on Ayn Rand and Nutrasweet
Slurping and burping up nectar
Sharpening their stingers
Practicing their zingers
Rehearsing all their singers
In a choir of buzzing whine
Mimicking debaters
Fascist little haters
Dishing out what caters
To the bleakest cynic's whims
In a choir of buzzing whine
|
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12. |
Don't Get Comfortable
02:40
|
|||
Afraid to see the faces of everyone detesting the outward disregard for our right to live
Only show the flaunting of privileged uselessness, isn’t that what we all want to see?
Take the cutouts of the hour, none of us chose to put them there
Incessantly presenting not a thing that we need
Always suppressing the voices of the logical
Well we’re tired of seeing the same old hollow world
We folx have been scheming from the underworld
And not for publicity
With every breath comes a threat
Folx are all screaming from their lonely hearts
And everyone’s restless
Well past biding their time
Take down the idols of the hour, bullying us into seeing their faces all the time
At the expense of liberation, what’s the going rate for battle?
Someone will pay it as the rest of us die
Isn’t it so amusing to pit us against each other?
Sit back and watch the vultures feed
How dare you profit from our frustration?
Well kids, they do it all the time
But folx have been scheming from the underworld
This protest is not for publicity
With every breath comes a threat
So don’t get comfortable
Shut out the growling stomach of the hungry
The cries of the innocent you put behind bars
Profit off your prisons, profit off your corruption
Profit off destruction and profit off the stars
Folx are all screaming from their lonely hearts
And everyone’s restless, we’re never falling in line
Blurring out the faces of everyone detesting the outward disregard for their right to live
Feature the flaunting of privileged uselessness, isn’t that what we all want to see?
Well we’re tired of them pushing the same old scag
We don’t want to buy it, we would rather riot
We’re tired of the same old hollowness
We threaten with color and beauty, and to live without fear
|
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13. |
Cryo for Freedom
04:35
|
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Years ago, I got on the waiting list early. I didn't want to die. More than
that, I did not want my family to die. I wanted to possess them, so they can
comfort me, forever. So, against his will, I optioned my father to a
cryogenics lab. The Alzheimer's hadn't quite kicked in. He signed the
document of his own free will. Just to get rid of me, I suppose. 'Cause he
figured the whole thing was pointless. I convinced him, in a way. He's
donating his body to science, my science. Years later, after a few
cryogenic breakthroughs, I felt it was safe to save up, get a loan, fork over
the dough to the cryogenics lab and bring my father back to life. Dad,
daddy, dad it's me! I've been waiting so long for this moment. Dad, look out
the window. Dad, check out the bubble top electric car. Check out my
silver suit with wings. Check out our glass house on the hill. Check out the
slums of new Rio down below. Check out everyone flying around on jet
packs, bouncing off each other's foam bicycle helmets. Dad melted. He
hatched and began to sob like a child. Not lifting his arms, not doing
anything. He began to cry. He began to scream. Maybe he was hungry.
Why couldn't he just tell us he was hungry? He began to shake and move
his limbs infuriously as his weak body would allow. I guess he wasn't
paralyzed. He rolled himself off the bed. Crawled across the floor. Behind
there was now a wet puddle on the mattress. "My god, did his dick fall off
him too?" The room began to stink a little bit in the direction from where he
crawled. Cryogenics had brought my father back to life, but his mind was
blank. A complete blank. He would have to be brought up and retrained
child to adult from scratch. Was it worth it? I asked myself. No. I said to the
doctor, take him away! Put him to sleep. Let him die like he wanted to in the
first place. He dabbled in Buddhist and Hindu ideologies. So maybe he
would rather live his next, reincarnated life in some other form, and I had
denied him that chance. Or maybe I had even wrenched his soul back from
that of an eagle, or a hawk, flying over the Rocky Mountains, free. Or a
mountain goat in the forest or on the rocks, or something... Soon, picket
lines began to form outside. Some of the same organizations and vigilante
hate groups who were so successful in arranging for the banning of all
abortions were picketing in front of the hospital. Saying that my father's
corpse brought back to life must never be allowed to die again. What have I
gotten myself into? What have I done to my father and gotten him into? I
only wanted to cling to a little familiar entertainment. Some link to the
womb. Some living, breathing embodiment of our rich family history, of
which all else I had forgotten. He would have been better off like my
mother, still sheltering in place at the Bate's Motel.
|
||||
14. |
Your Funeral
02:21
|
|||
You, you, you... want to be elected... for a day
You, you, and you want to be selected
Your rational paranoia’s bigger than Jesus Christ
Feeling like you’re independent - you’re not allowed to fight
1980 body blow - the perfect opportunity
Anti-trust just had to go, and leaders have immunity
Don’t worry, please hurry, it’ll be your funeral
If you don’t cooperate
(Please don’t worry, you must hurry, please cooperate)
Your attitude’s pretty brazen
You know when to make nice
Used to be so independent - you’re not allowed...
Can you do me a favor?
You’re disposable, so compassionate, goodbye
Do me a favor, you’re disposable
No, no, no, no... what are we gonna do with you?
You’re hopeless
You, you and you want to be elected for a single day
You, you and you want to be...
Don’t worry, please hurry, it’ll be your funeral
If you don’t cooperate
Don’t worry, please hurry, it’s going to be your funeral
If you don’t just go away
|
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15. |
Perish or Evolve
04:33
|
|||
Life follows you
No matter how fast you run
You can’t escape
Another breath you’ll take
No matter how still you lay
Don’t sleep to dream
Dream to live
Open up your mind
More than you thought you could
They keep a watchful eye
For you to step out of line
Send death as a blue sky
Send death as a blue sky
No kindness comes
From those up above
How the towers fall
They blame us all
It’s a conscious plague
Oh what a surprise
It’s all lies
So keep a watchful eye
Lest you become
The monster you despise
Connect your heart to your mind
There’s nowhere left to run
We must let go of our harmful ways
Look at all the suffering we create
It’s a heavy price to pay
For us to push it off another day
Perish or Evolve
Don’t sleep to dream
Dream to live another way
Outta this hell we made
We’ve got to take
A massive leap of faith
Do whatever it takes
To escape this perilous fate
|
||||
16. |
Question the First
02:10
|
|||
I’m the skinwalker in your gym locker
A dog walker in a shock collar, a shit-talking tommyknocker
A hobgoblin in the wrong coffin, top bottom
Stop talking, I pull jobs off but get caught often
Red-handed and reprimanded, exactly as I’d planned it
Form a committee to get me, it’s swiftly disbanded
Where do you go? So, what do you know, though?
You’re a no-show in slow-mo, frozen in a snow globe
Question the first, mention the second for the third or the fourth
Plead the fifth on the sixth day in court
Leverage the seventh, confiscate an eighth in the ninth circuit
By the tenth time, finally find it certain
Question the first, mention the second for the third or the fourth
Plead the fifth on the sixth day in court
Leverage the seventh, confiscate an eighth in the ninth circuit
By the tenth time, you hide behind your curtains
I’m a shapeshifter and a grave digger, say mister
Ever been awakened in your chamber by a shady figure?
Ever been taken out your game by a taste maker?
You’re playing way out your pay grade, take a break or
Make some mistakes and face the music, fake acoustic
Tunes are playing through blown speakers in a jade Buick
Compare stats as we tear ass to Fairfax
Pull your hair back, let’s test the airbags and share that
Question the first, mention the second for the third or the fourth
Plead the fifth on the sixth day in court
Leverage the seventh, confiscate an eighth in the ninth circuit
By the tenth time, finally find it certain
Question the first, mention the second for the third or the fourth
Plead the fifth on the sixth day in court
Leverage the seventh, confiscate an eighth in the ninth circuit
By the tenth time, you’re no longer a person
I’m a bloodsucker and a tongue-clucker
Another undercover runner, what? Have a little fun, fucker
Riches of a lore unfold in pictures of the story told
Secrets seen repeated via whispers through a gloryhole
Yeah, I got the doctor, and I locked her in a helicopter
Shot an awful monster with a rocket launcher, officer
Wanna swap sections? Drop the pressing, I’m not fessing
Stop the session, I get it, forget it, wait, what was the question?
|
||||
17. |
The Reunion
04:51
|
|||
Isn't it pathetic? We all know the type, who go through life thinking high
school was the best time of their entire life. Who can't wait to sit down with
you, and go through old yearbooks, and find you again at the reunion.
What fabulous parties, what wonderful friends, who never wrote back
when the next summer ends.
Twenty years later, it shows up in the mail. How the hell did they find me? I
moved so far away... Knock knock. Who's there? You are now summoned
to appear at your 20 year class reunion. Hell no, I won't go! What do I want
with them? What do they want with me? I stayed in touch with no one. And
now I'm nasty, I like what's extreme. Most of the people I knew back then
are strictly Kenny G. But I stayed in touch with no one, and that means not
one of them knows what I look like...
A lightbulb goes off in the corner of my eye. I'll give them something to
remember me by. I'll be there in force at the 20 year class reunion.
Get a devious friend, to pretend that he's me. Get a walker, or better yet a
wheelchair. Wrap myself in weird, antique medical devices that only
Marilyn Manson could love. Get the nastiest looking dominatrix Amazon
She Beast I know to play the riding crop wife who yells at me and beats me
everywhere I go.
Pretend to recognize everyone. Stagger and grab them, and puke on their
name tags. And just when it couldn't get any more uncomfortable, more of
my weird friends disguised as cops, storm the building to arrest me. "We
found this wanted serial killer at last! Are you sure your kids are still safe at
the motel?" While the real me stands idly by, unrecognized, video taping
the entire thing. You always wanted to be movie stars. You always wanted
to be on TV, didn't you?
Coming soon to an underground cinema near you...
The Reunion.
|
||||
18. |
Still & Again
02:24
|
|||
Those lingering echoes of sorrow
If you listen they’re ringing loud
But you can bet you’ll fall tomorrow
As your hiding behind your shroud
And now your Sturm und Drang
Your filthy fun harangue
Putting some kinks
In your straight laces
Through your paces
Still and again
You use them up
Tie them up
String them up
Discard them
Mad method with a shelf life
Your pretty face is rotting on your skull
But for the moment you’re slipping time’s knife
And now your storm and stress
A portrait of duress
Putting some cracks in your
Porcelain facade
Your victims applaud
As you use them up
Tie them up
String them up
Discard them
|
||||
19. |
Turdus Merula
03:34
|
|||
(Instrumental)
|
||||
20. |
COVID-13
02:55
|
|||
Drag endangered pangolins
Away from their homes
Cram ‘em in cages
They just sit and cry, destroyed
Wuhan markets and bats
Or was it Chinese science labs?
Or did WE cause it by shutting down
The CDC lab there in town?
COVID-13! - Pandemic of stupidity
COVID-13! - Excuse for violent bigotry
COVID-13! - Ban all mandates to wear a mask
COVID-13! - Don’t tell your friends you’re vaxxed
Hey wait a minute,
Don’t we have a right to life?
To not catch it from you, and die!
All I see is germs
Those tufty, poxy germs
Sure look like cute kitty cat toys
Or those spiny floating mines
That blew so many holes
In so many World War II ships
So many people died
They’re still being sneezed and spewed
By selfish germ bombs with attitude
Lockdown over months ago
If we weren’t as dumb as Florida
Our kids can’t breathe with masks on their faces
Storm the schools with AR-15’s
Our biggest National Security threat?
You’re lookin’ at it right there!
COVID-13!
COVID-13!
COVID-13!
Get dewormed on your own time!
|
||||
21. |
It's Done
03:02
|
|||
You say we’re finished
I say we’re done
You say it’s over
I say it’s done
We’re not so innocent
We know what has begun
I don’t like your story
Great minds think alike, crazy things
But mine were a call for help, you see?
Yours a death sentence more likely
You say we’re finished
I say we’re done
You say it’s over
I say it’s done
Do not diminish
What was once a bit of fun
None so blind as those who don’t see
Words can be painful
But mine were a call for help, get it?
Yours a death sentence more likely
It’s not done, you’re done
|
||||
22. |
Going to the Movies
04:38
|
|||
Going to the Movies
(Or the oft-cited “Laws of Physics” Part 2)
I want to go to the movies,
But it’s like it costs more every day
‘Cause it costs more to make a movie
‘Cause some of the people who make the movie
Get more to make a movie
Than the movies can pay, anymore
My friends, for instance, don’t go to the movies anymore
They can’t afford it
But I can afford to go to the movies
I’m in the printing business, you see
And printing’s costing more
‘Cause it’s costing more to print
It cost more for blank media,
For ink and toner and tint
But my friends can’t afford to go to the movies
So I’ll pay their way and buy them a bag of corn and a pop
And if that’s how it’s going to be,
The cost of printing will have to increase, I’m sorry
So printing’s costing more
So I can go to the movies with my friends
With those deadbeat suckers I call friends
I did some printing for a guy from the movies
They were wedding invitations
They were laminated and embossed
The movie guy ordered his wedding invitations
With no concern about the cost
But there’s not enough people like my friends, who know a fella like me
With those deep, deep pockets full of printing business money
That they can make the movies
So they can make movies
That me and my friends wanna see
I want to go to the movies
But there’s no movies I want to see
My friends and me
I remember the movies
The printing business has been very good to me
I remember the movies
|
||||
23. |
Mr. Cantilever
09:08
|
|||
Sleep Descends
Sleep descends. The Unspeakable Men jeer. Eyes and tongues and greasy, probing fingers. Sleep descends. The Unspeakable Men rage. Fists and blood and chaos. Hoodie monitors the Incel sites. Radicalizing misfits, egging the losers on. Befriending them. Empathizing with them. For many, he is their first friend, their only friend. The first who cares. The first who really listens. Slowly and patiently, Hoodie plants ideas.
Slowly, very slowly, he shows them the light. He pretends they thought of it first. He agrees with their brilliance. Step by step, he pushes them further. From ideas to words to action.
Most are too stupid and weak to act. No, that's not true. Most are too smart to ever act. It's precisely the weak and stupid that are easiest to push into action. The shooters all start the same. First with bad words on hidden sites. Then vicious slanders against perceived enemies - women, blacks, Jews.
Hoodie finds them, notices them, makes them feel important. They will martyr themselves for their brothers. They will martyr themselves for Hoodie. The Unspeakable Men laugh.
The Pygmalion
The Pygmalion jiggles on its haunches. Its face is stretched in a vicious leer. It whispers obscenities that rip your belly open and leave you scrambling to hold in your intestines. Massacres, trench warfare, the rape of cities by invading armies. Here is where the Pygmalion thrives. You'd be surprised at how many disembodiments occur. War is rife with them. But they are rarely discussed. They are obscenity. They are Pygmalion.
A cornered president threatens the press. He berates them. Mocks them. Calls them the enemy of the people. Pygmalion smiles. It smells the bloodbath that is coming. The idiot coward stirs the shit and ripens the field. His halfwit followers froth at the mouth. War is coming. It will be massacre after massacre after massacre. An orgy of blood. Men and women raped, slaughtered, and gutted. The idiot prince rants and raves and spews venom. Pygmalion awaits.
Mr. Cantilever and the Missing
"I've become one of the Missing," says the Demon. The Demon and Chet sat at a table on the outdoor patio of the Stanhope Hotel. Both were drinking coffee. No one could see them. Chet had been visiting the Demon nightly. He liked the Demon. And he thought of the Demon as a 'him'. The Demon referred to himself as a 'him'. It called itself Mr. Cantilever. Chet uses the name as well.
"Is it possible to become one of the Missing?" said Chet. "I thought you were born Angel or Demon and that the Missing were accidental hybrids."
The Demon shakes his head. "Angels and Demons are without gender. We cannot mate, and would not mate with the other if we could. The Missing have gender as I do now. I am Mr. Cantilever."
"Why that name?" asked Chet.
"I discovered it. I have been remembering more and more. There is a language beyond the first tongue. The Missing use it."
"Does it cause pain?" Chet drank his coffee and studied the Demon's expressions.
"No." said the Demon. "The language is outside the worlds. It creates the worlds. It cannot be erased."
"How is it that you remember?" said Chet.
The Demon smiles. "This is my Nexus. Or, at the very least, I am somehow attached to the Nexus here. I am becoming myself, here."
"It should be impossible. I thought there may be something wrong with my perception," said Chet.
"You thought you were going mad?" asked the Demon.
"Yes," replied Chet simply.
"I had the same thoughts." said the Demon. "Alone in this world, unable to shift, invisible to all. Then you came. Thank you. I know I have told you several times, but thank you for not forsaking me."
"Cantilever is an architectural term. Why are you using it?"
"I remembered it. It's my name. The name is ancient. Most of our names are from architecture or engineering." said the Demon.
"Are you changing?"
"Yes."
"Do you have gender?"
"Not biologically. But yes, I have gender."
"How?" asked Chet.
"I don't know. I need to reach the Nexus. I have the beginnings of a plan. Will you help me?"
"It would be my pleasure," said Chet. He drank more coffee from the thermos as Mr. Cantilever told him his plan.
Jacob's Father
Jacob White emailed his resignation. He left the office at midnight, got in his Jeep, and drove. He had accepted a job in Chicago. He told no one and said goodbye to no one. He drove through the night mindlessly listening to the radio. The Demon feasted on his neck. Feasted on his rage. The mindless, thoughtless rage. Jacob White thought of his father. A memory oozed into his thoughts. He was 8 years old. He was with his Dad in Manhattan. It was a beautiful, bright blue day. Jacob was thrilled just to be near him.
This man he rarely saw and who filled his mother with fear. They ate at a diner on Canal Street. His father smoked and drank coffee and read the paper as Jacob ate fries and a cheeseburger with a chocolate milkshake. It was the most delicious meal he had ever eaten. Later they walked through Chinatown. Ducks hung from windows. Small doorways filled with handbags and watches and jewelry and gadgets. Thousands of people rushing in every direction. His father held his hand and pulled him through the crowds. It was thrilling.
They entered a smokey room filled with jittery men holding papers and looking up at screens. OTB blared the sign. Off Track Betting. His father shoved money into the window and looked up with the other men. He lost. And lost. And lost. And each time he lost, his rage increased. He didn't show it. But Jacob felt it. Something was wrong. Lost.
Without speaking they sped back to the car. His father did not hold his hand and Jacob had to fight through the crowds to keep up. He was terrified of being left behind. He reached out to grab his father's hand but was slapped away. They reached the car and drove home. Silent. His father would not even look at him. Jacob was afraid to speak, afraid to make a noise.
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