Author: Elruade

Chapter 4



        Bond closed the door behind him quietly. From inside the room came a scream and then silence. He slung his arm over the guard and they walked out together.

        You first. No you first. Ladies are first not you! I am supposed to protect you right?

        James flipped and yelled at him and he fired him right there, on the sidewalk. The guard reminded him and began his drawn-out story.

        The guard has a name that is easy to pronounce. We’ll call him guard because no one can change the past. He was born from an egg atop a hill. It was just sunrise and if you were a caterpillar it would appear above the egg in a holy light just when it hatched. The poor thing screamed for its mother, but the mother had abandoned it because she was wounded and died shortly after.

        The baby boy had one day of freedom in which he screamed all day and tried walking. Then a large man found him and took him home.

        The man’s home was too small to live in but he couldn’t afford much more. He opened the door and it came off. He placed the baby in a basket with cloth and started to repair the door with a screwdriver. Then he made some porridge and fed it to the child. It stopped crying. The man went out and left the light on. Who knows where he went. But he came back. He always did. And he fed the baby porridge until it could walk like a man; then he kicked him out because he preferred to live by himself. Rent has decreased for the lot, by the way. It is now affordable to him so he put in an extra bathroom. Now it has one bedroom and two bathrooms and a small kitchen. Tell me what has changed? Anything dramatic?

        The boy was raised on porridge so his muscles were very weak while his fat percentage was enormous. He developed a belly early on, not least because of total mal-nourishment. He caught insects and ate them. For the rest he didn’t know much you’d know. Do you know that what you know is so obvious to an ape? And do you know that what you think you know actually is the ape’s prerogative?

        The boy joined a small cult of hooligans so he could get some love and some food. The cult lived on the city’s outskirts in tiny metal sheds. They also ate a lot of porridge. And if they weren’t weak in the arms they were weak in the head. Their slogan was ‘all is for the worst’ and they regretted having been born at all. They sulked in their sheds and only went out to find food or steal it. They were expert thieved at that, and they weren’t lacking some luxuries. There was a high-speed network connection in their sheds; almost everyone had their own computer. Some had to share one, including the guard-to-be. The network by then was so immense that it had supplanted the physical reality to about 50%. Meaning that so much could be done on the network itself. The cult had for a large part vanished into this network and spend entire days on it. Might I say in it? No-one should underestimate this, and it’s nothing very funny either.

        The boy spend about 4 years on the network, hardly moving, hardly eating. 99% of the time he was stroking his cock in the little shed. When there was someone else their he’d pretend he was doing something else. Despite what they said; don’t be shy about it. And he had to share a computer too. By the end of this period of his life his wrist had swollen and turned all red.

        If you ask some questions like:

        -Is that a life?

        You are not quite well informed enough, I am afraid that the introduction to the book wasn’t thorough at all.

        One day the network was cut because of some accident in the city. The cult remained in there sheds for a few days until they couldn’t take anymore, and they set out to see for themselves what had happened; with the ridiculous thought that they might be able to fix it.

       The group stayed very close together, trying to hide one behind the other. One might have thought of it as a single organism. These guys didn’t know eachother one bit; they had no social tendencies. They had lived together so thoroughly that they disappeared into the group itself. One member stood for less than nothing.

        The big city was an affront to their sense of isolation. Their motto ‘all is for the worst’ couldn’t appear more appropriate to them. A city is the culmination of man’s tendency for self-growth. A growth in front of the mirror that is the other. There are so many people that you cannot keep track of who is who. The other becomes a phantom, a concept. To it is attributed what one lacks, or what one is proud of in oneself. Either way the man’s sense of self only grows because of this. It doesn’t shrink as you might think. It’s not fair to say the salaryman had lost his identity. He has kept it well hidden. It grows out of sight. It grows in front of the mirror that he himself alone can look through.

        These boys had no self-worth or dignities, no morals or dilemmas. It was a pure and direct assault on their whole being. They were eaten alive! Needless to say that didn’t hang around very long. They retreated to their sheds and accepted the idea of living outside this network. Of course, this network is so much intertwined with the physical one that one can’t say where it starts and where it ends. They each lived a meager existence after that, socializing in the stupid underhanded fashion of today.

        So the boy grew up. When he was about 20 he had developed for himself some image of who he was; this he could present to others and gain some authority. He continued much as a thief and stole his food and necessities. But he wasn’t very ambitious or greedy. He still hadn’t erased from his mind the though that a woman is pure image; something to wank off to. He couldn’t bring himself to approach one for his life. If he had such a desire he would do it himself silently. And besides, he always told himself, it’s all the same. Why should I bother with someone else? I have my own body, one is as good as the next.

        Of course he had heard of James Bond. He wasn’t exactly his idol but he admired—perhaps even envied—the man slickness even in the thick of it. An error-free man. One day it was all in the news that Bond himself would be coming to the city to do a shooting for a new film. It happened quickly enough for summary. Bond happened to turn up at the bar he frequents and they started talking ( but don’t ask how) and he became his personal guard. James explained that he needed one because the last one was a total asshole without respect for his ‘privacy’. This guard would sneak up on him in the restroom and touch his prick while he was peeing. Bond didn’t mind too much at first, as long as he kept it just touching. The guard only went further. One day when James was sleeping he krept into his bed and started fondling his prick under the covers. James woke up with a white streak across his face; and that blew it.

        James Bond said of the boy, although you don’t look tough, you look fresh. You look as though you have no experience at all. Why should I look for this in a guard? Never mind a guard. I miss the simplicity of my former years, man. ‘I don’t care if you can fight. Just hang around and we’ll do whatever.’

        The guard had told his life story before to Bond, and after he was done he forgot why he told it to him again. He awkwardly hopped on one leg. James looked him over and shrugged. Whatever, come along. I don’t pay you after all.





Entry 1; August 12, 2056.


Dostoevsky rang me up and I put in a quarter for long distance, says he just wants to say how round I appear from a balcony.


Entry 2;August 17, 2056.


A combination of a telephone and a hammer. A photograph to put in a frame; I am so proud of this composition. What it could use some salt, however. I can’t get any salt with this leg. Salt bends and breaks when it gets the chance. It has  a similar structure to that of morphine. Inside a box outside I found a brick with a flag wrapped around it. I sat beside it and imitated Hercules. People ask me how the bra fits. I say it’s a little tight but it makes me wet.


Entry 3;August 18, 2056.


I met him at the museum and I said, sorry about the salt. He was in black and white and pixilated so I couldn’t see his emotions. We got a tour for free by a mule. I asked if I could ride on his back. An officer made a salutation to Nixon.


Entry 4; August 20, 1956


My new gadget is this. I put little sticks out in front of people so they trip and fall over it. I had collected a hundred sticks of varying size and put it in a bag. I think this would work in New York. People here just jump over it. It is fun all the same, especially if it’s a girl with a skirt. I drank some milk. I shall call my father and tell how much I’d love to be a father too.



        Then the day after it rained again, and I’d forgotten to take down the laundry outside. The colors were all over the floor. I threw it in the dryer by the handful.

        I made me a coffee, Indian style. You grind some pepper into it and a bit of mint. This aroma it releases simultaneously both in your nose and your mouth; it is incredible. I read in the newspaper that is delivered to ‘my door’ each morning I think around 6 that they found the body of James Cagney in a dumpster.

        I had played with him once in an eastern-inspired flick. It was all action and no rest. We wrestled on the set every single day. His body would sparkle in the sun. But in truth the way he acted made me feel totally uncomfortable. The best scenes in that movie, when I look back, are the ones were we argue without acting.

        My manager had called me and said I should meet him at the museum. Why a museum of all places; I don’t know. Perhaps because it is such a nice building, after all. It is very recent and they have yet to fill it out with relics of the past. Right now there is a section devoted to ancient urinals. I went there with a friend to go check it. The oldest one was 3000 years old. They had only found these urinals about a month before, and they were shipped in secret to the museum to be on display. You can imagine the surprise of everyone; not least the archeological society. And you mustn’t forget that there is so much kept secret about it. There were reports on the news about it, but they just said, nothing is known about these urinals. There is one bizarre rumor about that says they were found all on one spot. A urinal trashsite. They found the 3000 year-old urinal next to a 100 year old one. That is what I heard, anyway.

        I waited at the entrance for him. It was raining softly, very finely, and it reminded me of the letter G. I often visualize things like that. Driving over a road is also letter G, but when the pavement is rough it will be a hard G. Not everyone pronounces G correctly anyway, so I often get criticized for this analogy.

        He arrived in a stage coach. He paid the coach in cash and waved at him in an overly intimate fashion. I asked him after we said hello; why take the coach?

        -Bond, you are not with the times.

        -I’m not? Riding a coach is so stupid!

        -It ads so much to my image as a man about town. I worry about it, perhaps too much.

        -Keep your image to yourself, no-one will notice.

        -What are saying? If you have no image, what do you have?

        -I walk about in a suit and I ignore what I see most of the time. What is worth looking at doesn’t avert my gaze!

        -Do you mean like stationary objects?

        -Yes, and puddles and things that move. Sometimes I look at a person and my heart misses a beat.

        -Well, maybe you weren’t made like I was.

        Bond opened his mouth and inside was a kernel of pepper. Together they did one round of the museum and stopped at a huge urinal that was apparently made for giants. Bond took a picture and uploaded it to his server. It was commented upon by a billion people by the end of that same day. Here are a few of them.

        -That thing is tall!

        -What’s the date? Is it 500bc?

        -You should have gotten closer.

        -The lavatories today are dismal compared to that.

        The question is why all those people bothered commenting on it. It is so strange I want to flip out and go to bed.

        Inside the museum there was a convenient little bar where you can wait and order a drink or a snack. Not that they prepare anything fancy. You can order a martini, though. That’s what Bond did. And they ordered a pomegranate to share. You cut it down the middle when there is two of you. There are special forks you can use especially made for the pomegranate. The martini was as dry as a desert, and Bond was in his own world.

        But the matter of business comes around sure enough.

        -Bond, I can’t get you a Ferrari.

        -That’s that out of the way.

        Bond threw away his little plastic fork and looked the other way.

        -Don’t get all taut. That’s just the bad news. The good news is numerous and might well be done in installments.

        Bond rolled his eyes.

        -We will do it in Paris.

        -Why Paris? Why not here?

        -Here? Bond, Nanking is a shithole.

        -This is your opinion, then?

        -It is universally seen as a shithole I think. I’m not the only one. No no, Paris it is. In the summer. It’ll be a great time for you and all the crew. We can sit on the terasses when we’re not shooting and we’ll have the whole city to ourselves. I got a great deal. 3 billion for a whole day.

        -How will they get all the people out?

        -It’s the same as a nuclear threat. They sound the alarm and tell everyone to evacuate. For the following day they will play a jingle to invite people back into the city. I had the honor of being the first one to hear it. It is really inviting!

        James was silent and inside a Martini.

        -No way they can evacuate everyone.

        -It will go well. Do you know the nuclear threat is more palpable these days? How alarmed are people when a pebble hits their knee? When an alarm goes off, what effect does it have? How about you? Don’t you have a little alarm beside your bed to wake you up?

        -No, I listen for the cock to crow. I wake up a few minutes before he does it, every day. I sit beside the window and my eyes adjust to a hard world of vision. But it’s one of the better parts of a day. He is on the corner between my place and the next. He’s in a cage, anyway…

        -Yeah Paris will be fine. The plot is almost finished. There is a plot twist  I cannot keep from you a secret; you will die in the film.

        Bond had finished his Martini but he still choked on his own saliva.

        -Don’t worry, it won’t be the end. You will be artificially kept alive in a hospital. The technology isn’t so farfetched as you might think! In reality they are close to achieving it. It will be so exciting for the viewer to see this as the future; Bond kept alive even in death.

        -Do I die and do they resuscitate me?

        -You will die artificially and stay alive artificially.


        -The plot is thick with intrigue; it’s about a 1000 pages in length. I couldn’t take it along. Besides it’s not finished yet. The ending still needs to be wrapped up. But you will die and be thrown in the Seine.


        -Calm down! It’ll turn out alright.

        -I can’t drive a Ferrari but I am going to die?

        - The river will turn a ghastly purple for the occasion. There is a simple chemical they will spill out into it. It’s symbolic for the passing of a legend.

        After that they sat in silence for a while. The manager had ordered another pomegranate; Bond couldn’t take another bite.


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