An address

[The obligatory image is the reverse of another obligatory image.]

To whom it may concern,

I’m an attorney holding all the keys. The law to me is a piece of real juicy meat with the blood and the fat. It is like a plastic plant that sways when you play music to it. Or like a car parked on a barge on the planet Mars: to get there, you need to walk through a great amount of empty space on a very long ramp. I am here with a microphone that plugs into your television: now I’m speaking to you out of your TV screen, instructing you to stay put: do not touch the dial or go to eat.

Consider how the values got determined, for all the things that are for sale: all the merchandise. The clothes, the toys, the hidden door panels, the lamps. Even people are purchasable again. (Were they truly ever not?)

Let us take a tour of the sales floor. You’ll be alright, sir. Come with me to the main stage; I’ll guide you safely into this barred cell. Now say the phrase that pays. Or better yet, write up an affidavit to prove that you shall make use of your newfound freedom, if the investors should grant that.

I am an American professional wrestler. I am a play-by-play commentator. I am a villainous booker. A super-heavyweight main-eventer. I am the voice of all oppressors. I am also a commentator. A backstage manager. And I portray the arch predator in promo shoots. I haunt the staging area just behind the entrance curtain at any event. Sheep-shearings, cow-milkings: whatever can be imagined.

You thought you killed me, but now I’m so alive that you’re beginning to feel envious of my overdone joie de vivre.

You admire the sound of my flying saucer. I’m heading over the Great Plains. I have no destination in mind.

The policeman following me in his aircraft took a nosedive. He had the bright idea of capturing me and arresting me for being of extraterrestrial ethnicity, but his future was too dim for that: he crash-landed. He set too high of goals. One must know one’s limits; especially when one is a flunky cop with a regular white airplane. Don’t go chasing rocket-ships.

Here, I’ll hover nearby and beam myself down, to give the man a second chance. This officer then tries to climb up a tree, to apprehend me: now we’re out on a limb. But my saucer comes hovering over with that attractive humming sound that it emits, and I grab onto the rope that it let down for me (my ship is on autopilot: it is programmed to rescue me if it detects that I am in trouble) and off I fly, leaving the cop on the branch that is ready to break. “So much for taking a long-shot chance and chasing after a clever alien,” I announce through my saucer’s vox box: “that’ll surely be the last mistake that you’ll ever make!” And the cop falls out of the tree and lands in a haybale.

Reflecting on that recent chase, I’m glad I’m not in prison. It would have been humiliating if my plan had backfired and the policeman somehow caught me and put the shackles on my hands.

But now I’m free to do as I like. So I think I’ll go buy a movie ticket. If you protest that there are no good films coming out nowadays, you are correct. However, remember, I’m a different species: your ceiling is my glass floor.

Meet me afterwards, we can spend the noontime spraying aerosolized paint cans.

With my deer on your roof, we travel through warp zones. I’m followed by a cloud of carrier pigeons; they let me send messages to anyone. “Who are you, boy?” “Are you kidding?” “I wanna see you after we’re done here.” “Let me let you in on a secret.” “Hey, my leader finds you attractive.” “Quick, run! The white plaster wall is being built!” – Those are some of the messages I send. Sometimes people answer back.