‘I confess, I do not believe in the concept of time. The algorithm of the words that are spoken reveals an axiom of reality differs from the arbitrary life of those hearts which are tainted. Thus it is only natural that I remain in a state of paradoxical existence to ensure that I am always arriving in a constant departure.’
When I first met the man who was convinced that he could travel through Space & Time; I have to admit that I had a sense of skepticism during the interview – now I’m not so sure anymore. He was very persuasive in his words to the point in which I began to believe the possibility of escaping this singular timeline in this plane of reality that we all mundanely live our life on the slow hands of Time towards Death. Imagine being able to jump through the 11 dimensions of this universe to visit the past, the future, the hidden worlds, the alternate realities, the pocket universes and perhaps even wander freely in the Multi-verse Complex of existence and all that with a single cup of a specially brewed tea consisting multiple psychedelic plants. All you need to be able to jump through the parallel existences is a concoction of drugs, a room-filled of home-made machinery using recycled computers and an experienced guide preferably a shaman. A digital shaman that is what he is. A man who sells you an experience that will leave you baffled and questioning your world, he is not an ordinary drug dealer. In fact he has never sold any drugs, just an eternal dream. A Sleep Dealer as he calls his profession. His name was Neil Adams, but he rather be known as Mr. Nobody.
What you’re about to read below was supposed to be a small article in an ignored section of a magazine but to summarize that interview in less than 500 words would be impossible and quite an insult to such an interesting conversation but I did it nonetheless. This essay or paper or blog or whatever medium it can be found on – is just my way of trying to give the respect to such a madman living in our society. A crazy man but again this is a crazy city in a nut-case country in the loony world, this man is just the product of our human culture. My opinion on his story is still open to a serious conclusion, I don’t think I can ever truly believe his words neither can I fully disregard his ideas.
When I first handed this assignment by my supervisors, I thought I was being set up for a prank. That had always been the tradition in this company to make a fool out of the new employee. A planned mockery instrumented by my co-workers; the classic rite of passage. I’m a reasonably open-minded man but when my first job was to interview some junkie who delusionally claims that he’s able to time travel using mind altering substances, I foolishly thought that this was a joke. Nevertheless being a good sport and besides, indulging in such challenges is a great way to create a friendly bond with my new colleagues. I had low expectation on the outcome of the interview. I said to myself “Just show your face, listen to some nut-case mumbles about his psychotic stories and have a great laugh about it back at work”. Just do this joke and proceed to chasing a proper story like the Great War between the rebellious hackers safeguarding the freedom of the internet against the authoritarian laws.
The smokes slithers pass the grey buildings like a vaporous serpent devouring the city. Just another schedule fogging, another gloomy afternoon, the days of a clear sky is now but a forgotten dream. Whether it’s the pollutions of our forefathers or sanitization by our nanobots cloud, the sun only shines within a rare glimpse of interval between the smog. The luminescence of holographic projections flickers in the mist displaying their intrusive personalized advertisements as I made my way down the sideways and into a small dodgy alleyway. A small café/pub hides behind the sex shops and other unruly businesses. Not exactly the sort of place you expect to find a respectable Time Traveller, but definitely the right place to find a madman.
I waited in the smoke-filled establishment with only a few other fiends and social outcasts as company. Nearly half past two and yet the Time Traveller was nowhere to be seen. I began to suspect he will never show up. I would be pleased if he didn’t. The stench of this place was unbearable, the junkies at the corner was doping out on the latest home-made synthetic designer drugs, the old sorry folks at the other end reminiscing the days when they still had a job that wasn’t made obsolete by the advancement of machinery production and artificial intelligence. It’s sad hole in the concrete jungle but it’s just one of many in this shiny city. I took another sip of my artificially caffeinated coffee just as I was about to give up on my interview when the door of the café swung open letting in the daylight. A figure emerges from the light like those western movies full of charisma and confidence.
The man wore a black fit-cut jeans that was torn at the heels with a dark blue t-shirt which display the animated graphics of the words ‘Hypatia’ that hides beneath the unbutton black wash-out collared shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows; revealing multiple linguistic tattoos from ancient writings to fairytale languages. The man removes his dark sunglasses as his blood-shot red eyes scanned the café. He drags his blue torn skate’s shoes in my direction. This must be Mr. Nobody. My very first impression of him was that he was quite a normal looking man with perhaps a little eccentricity with simple clothing you would expect from a late 20s male who never really learn to grow up. A typical stoner. That was my first thought, just another marijuana-loving guy who has too much acid one night and has some funny stories to share about his experience of being high. Oh how I was wrong.
“I’m sorry for my tardiness. I know what you’re thinking, an appointment with a Time Traveller who is late for his own interview. Not a good start for a convincing story is it; well forgive me for Linear Time often slips my present concentration. Time to me is an illusion,” said the man as he removes his colourful bohemian knitted sling bag that must have been made somewhere in the South America by the look of its patterns. “Lunch Time doubly so.”
“Neil Adams?” I stuttered in a bewildering manner trying to confirm the identity of this unique persona.
“Where you expecting somebody else?” said the man as he waves his hand to the bartender, that immediately understood his order.
“No. Just making sure,” I said as I began preparing my notes for the interview. “My name is John Cermark, I’m from the…”
“Yes, yes. I know exactly who you are and why I am here. I did agree to such a meeting, didn’t I? And yes, I also know this is your first ever story and you think that this is just a joke but you want to be professional about it,” said Neil Adams as the bar drone hovers over to our table and delivers the beverages. “I know this is your first proper job ever since college and that is the reason why you don’t want to fuck it up because you wish to move out of your parent’s house so you could bring over your girlfriend you met at Thailand and fuck her till she scratches your name on your back.”
“I? Urm..,” I was speechless. “How did you know that?”
“Simple. By your appearance. Your entire story is written in plain sight,” said the man as he sips on his yeast fermented malt.
“Care to explain?”
“Oh Tesla, the ignorance in your silly brain is nearly comical if not pathetic. You’re supposed to be the investigative journalist here. Why do you have eyes if you don’t use them,” said the Man. “Uh fine. You’re a male Caucasian in his mid-twenties, who has just recently went on a year off, back packing through South East Asia that where you got your sun tan. This is your first job since your graduation because the state of your notebook is too clean with only the first two pages written anything on it. A new notebook for a new job. The tattoo on your hand is in the native writings of Thai for the word ‘Moon’. Now this could either mean you’re sentimentalist towards the earth’s natural satellite or that you got the tattoo at Koh Phangan Full Moon Party where you meet a lovely woman who gave you that huge hickey at your neck. And the part about you living with your parents? That’s an easy one to guess, who the hell can afford their own house with this economy in this bloody city. I can’t, I doubt a newbie journalist could afford it either.”
“Wow, that was creepy,” I uttered in amazement before logic crawls back into my mind. “Maybe ten years ago, I would consider you as a Sherlock but in this day and age with our technologies, you could have easily just checked my Facebook profile before coming over here.”
“That’s better,” he grinned behind the veil of the vapours curtaining his face as he check the content of the silver teapot. “I hate it when the audience is too gullible; I like a little scepticism in my interviewer. Lovely pot of tea by the way, do you want some?” said the man as he pulls the teapot high up pouring perfectly into the tea cup creating a perfect foam of specifically brew drink.
“Sure I’ll have a cup,” I accepted his offer as my cup was nearly empty and I don’t really think is socially acceptable anymore to decline tea. If I’m not mistaken it was made illegal to reject a tea offering by the United Nation’s Law of Etiquettes 2017.
“Sugar, Honey, Lemon or Milk?” said the man who was enthusiastically preparing the Tea.
“Urm, just two cube of sugar. Thank You.”
“You will love this Tea. Special Leaves picked by the Monks of Bhutan before the China Invasion of 2018. The Leaves were cultivated on the soils in the small patch of open sunlight in the caves in the Himalayas Mountain Range. It was the same cave where the legend of Shangri-La came from. It was believed that the soils where touched by the divine spirits of the ancient gods, some believes dragons once dwell in those caves, some said it could be a strange form of Radiations emitted by the spaceships of aliens who visit earth during the early developments of our civilizations, some said its a portal through dimensions of the universes and perhaps they are all true. The tea itself is a special genus of the psychotropic plants that emits a new chemicals that was recently unknown to the scientists, and interacts with the neuroreceptors of our brain to relax the mind. It has a smooth flavour that is pleasurably unique. Some say its like kissing an angel or sucking on the tits of a goddess.”
“Urm, okay. You don’t really believe all that do you?” I question him as I sip on the tea. I felt the sweet liquor wrapping around my tongue and hugging my body from the inside with an ecstasy of soothing warmth. “This is a great Tea.”
“I know,” he said as he let out a psychopathic smile behind the cup of tea. The kind of smile that makes you uncomfortable with his lack of experience is facial expression and left you wondering the stability of his mental condition. “And to say that I don’t believe the History of this Tea is to first acknowledge that one of the speculations is stronger than the others and thus limiting my imagination to a single view, and that is just boring.”
“Urm, okay,” I said as I was trying to figure out whether he is insane or just being diplomatic when it comes to serious matter such as Tea. The politically debates between the Issues of Tea has been one of the more sensitive and controversial scandal of our time. The man was silently drinking away his tea staring at me.
“Shall we begin the interview?” I asked the man who nodded in acknowledgement. I press the record button of my device. “Alright Mr Neil Adams, could you tell us a bit more about yourself.”
He smiled as he lights up a cigarette. “Neil Adams is not my name. It is one of the alias I use for it is one of the most common name in the universe but it’s not my favourite. I prefer Mr. Nobody if you don’t mind.”
“Ah yes. Mr Nobody. How did you come by with such a name?”
“Urm, well it was first given to me by some crew members on the Septuaginta Voyager back in 2066 when I broke into the ship but they just called me, nobody. The real term Mr. Nobody was stolen from this boy I met in 2012 who had it tattooed across his arm. He told me the main reason he had it ink was because he wished to become unattached to his human vessel and free himself from the construct of personalities to truly experience the Mind of the Universe as a whole. That’s what he told me but I think he might have stolen it from that Jared Leto movie. Nevertheless I like the idea so I stole it from him,” said the man as he combed his thick black hair with his fingers, long on his left side with a three knots of dreads and a short crew cut on the right side which was decorated with one of those new bio-tech implants that connects straight into your brain to enhances your cognitive capacity and access to the internet. Compared to many, this hairstyle of his is actually pretty descend.
“What? Wait, 2066? The year is just 2019, how the heck — Of course, Time Traveller. I’m sorry. I’ll get to that question later,” I said composing myself. “So what is your real name? And what other aliases have you gone by?”
“My real name? To be honest, I don’t really remember. When I was stuck in one universe, I had to keep track of it since it was the most dangerous question to my existence but ever since I learn to hop through the layers of dimensions and parallel universes, I didn’t really have much reason to keep a hold onto the old identity anymore. To some I’m a healer, a shaman, a doctor, a wizard, a miracle, a prophet but to others I’m the beast, the bringer of death, the anti-Christ himself. Pick your choice,” the man said while he flicks his cigarette ashes onto the metallic tray.
“A doctor huh? Any relation to the Doctor from Doctor Who?” I asked whimsically.
“Oh you guys have Doctor Who in this reality? Nice. I always find it dull when I get stuck in a universe without that show. And no I’m not related to a fictional character but you be surprise how much real events the show was actually based upon. I did however meet the man whom the legend was derived from,” he said.
“You’re saying the kid’s science fiction show is real?”
“Not all of it. Partially.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Well neither did the companions on the show.”
“Okay, let say you’re telling the truth. How exactly do you time travel? I mean the Doctor has his Tardis, where is your Time Machine?” I asked trying to course the interview back into the main topic.
“I’m sorry. Are you saying that your time machine is your Imagination? Are you saying you dreamt all of it up?”
“Oh no. Well yes but not in the sense that you’re talking about. I didn’t just make this up on the top of my head. I really do jump through time and space and dimensions of realities with my brain. Like one day I could be here talking to you in 2019, the next I could be back in 1969, dropping acid with some hippies in a van at Woodstock,” he said with a smirk on his face. “Which I did.”
“I’m sorry, you lost me there. How exactly does that work?”
“Do you know what this is?” he asked pointing to the implants at the side of his head.
“Yeah. Its one of those new brain implants. It supposed to tracks the symphony of the brainwaves, records it and alter its state as desired. It also enables the consciousness of the user to access into any computer networks or the Internet, created as an mind extension of the user to enhance their cognitive skills.”
“Exactly. CFMN. Consciousness Frequency Mediation Networks. Thank you, Doctor Jackman. Enhancements of your mental capacities using archaic methods of mathematical algorithms designs with organic nano-bot technology. A beautiful masterpiece,” he added.
“Organic? I thought they just recently perfected Nano Tech. Organic is still a year way or so,” I sceptically remarked.
“Yes for the public maybe. For the creators and me, not so much. You see from where I came from, this is all nothing but child’s play.”
“And where do you think you came from?”
“Beyond the veil of energies that lies in your brain synapses, Beyond the choreograph dances of chaotic improbabilities of quantum quarks, In Between the Planck of Time, Through the Doors of the 13 Dimensions, Elevators up to the Level 23.5 on the Consciousness Frequency Channels and across the floors the Sigma Clusters of Multiversity, the room in the middle of the Department of Random Imagination and the Void of Nothingness, there is where I live with the Chorus of The Eternal Existence Symphony playing loudly in my house,” he answered.
“What? Look, you may be able to tamper and hack your way around this new technology but all this advance machinery does not prove that you can bend the law of physics with your mind. Hell you’re might be just having a difficulties separating reality with the projections you’re created on cyberspaces in your head.”
“Sure. A sceptic always find the more reasonable conclusion rather than the outrageous answers but in this Universe, chaos have a way of making the impossible a mundane occurrence. Human Imagination is nothing but a small paragraph on the big book of existence.”
“Ah, yes. But there is a clear distinction between this and that. You’re claiming to be doing something scientist are still debating its possibilities. You do understand why I’m having a tough time believing you.”
“I understand. But there are plenty that belief me. My business is still profitable even if you think its hocus pocus.”
“Right. Sleep Dealer. What exactly do you offer? My boss claimed that you gave him the greatest experience of his life. Is it drugs? A new type specially crafted for CFMN users?”
“Oh no. Many of my clients don’t like these body augmentations and some never even touched drugs a day in their life. They have a more pure approach to mind alterations. Let me tell you my normal day at work, and you decide what exactly it is that I do :
A man has dreams and desires. Reality doesn’t fulfil these requirements. He seeks help from medical psychiatry, they fail to answer him. He seeks help from religious scriptures, they fail to enlighten him. He seeks alternative treatments and even travel to the furtherest region on the map for some all knowing wise man to guide him. He finds the Wise Hermit, who told him of my trade and instruct him to return home and wait for destiny to knock on his door. I check on his credentials and have a talk with him. Slip a truth serum to strain honesty out of his lies. Promise him a door to his fantasy and warned him on the consequences to opening the door. He would like a taste of this. I tell him, there is only one permanent travel. No trials. After he passes the door, he cant return. He agrees. I make the appointment. He pays the fee. He shows up to the site. I give him the lubricant to ease his struggle. I hook him up on an old modified MRI machine. He rest and I play the music. He sleeps and awake in the new reality that he has purchased, with no traces of my existence.”
“No offence but that sounds a lot like a scam. You drugged a man and change his perspective on life and you take his money. All the other electronic gimmicks are just mind games.”
“Ah, here the catch though. Before he sleeps, he was a wealthy businesses man with no family or whatsoever. After he awake, he was a baker on a small town with a lovely family. I maybe able to con him to think he was a baker, but I am cant force a whole family into existences. Actors? To do a lifetime role? I would not profit from such a deal.”
“Well, we all know there is parallel realities aligned in a singled universe. I can travel through this with ease, but you folks have a tougher time of flexibility. I just took his consciousness from one reality and transfer it to the one desired. The technicalities are a little boring.”
“But what happen to the original body of that man?”
“Well, I check whether that man from the desired reality wishes to transfer with the original. Some refuse, some accepts. If they accept, I just switch. If they refuse, then I have to check with all the other parallels; mostly I have to completely moves every single one of the consciousness to another realities of their preferences. Which is a logistical nightmare. Or worse come to worse, I trap the uncooperative consciousness and released it in the least desired realities, until they either learn to work or they break. Hate to say this but plenty of the crazy people you guys lock up in the psychiatric wards are my doing. They are really telling the truth about who they think they are. That’s the dark side of this job.”
“So you just go around messing with peoples mind? What give you the right?”
“I don’t normally do that. Most of my work have been a success. Just plenty that have been backfired. What give me the rights? Urm, no one. The only authority that can stop me is well; – lets not get to that. The thing is, I hardly fail. After all, that is just parallel reality travel. Time Travelling is much more fun. It helps me ensure I keep everything as planned as possible. All that is tiny compared to travelling to other universes and finding pockets of realities that not supposed to exist. Which is my favourite adventures.”
“Okay, let me just have a suspension of disbelief for a second. Parallel Realities swapping is one thing using the CFMN, sounds plausible enough but Travelling Time with the same device is just ludicrous. And Multi-verse is way to complex for any advancements in that tiny gadget.”
“You’re right. It takes more than just CFMN for the other travels. For Time Travel, I need an Al-Cubierre Drive, which I steal from NASA or rebuilt myself. Just the engine though, not the entire ship. Which thank god is small enough to put in my bag, plug it onto my skateboard and off we go.”
“Wait. You’re fucking with me right. Time Travelling Skateboard?” I remark. This is just starting to sound way to comical to be true.
“Or a surfboard if you’re stuck in the water.”
“And how do you travel through Universes? Using a bicycle?” sarcastically said I.
“No. That’s ridiculous. I use my pencil,” said the Man as he takes the silver mechanical pencil from his jeans. I was beginning to feel like he is mocking my intelligence. I stay quite and allow him to explain this insanity. “I just draw and write the proper equations on a door or any openings and I can create a wormhole to any universe, dimensions, realities or time.”
“So why don’t you just use this on every travel then?” I played along.
“Don’t be silly. It has to recharge and the power source is rare to find with complications.”
“Right, right. What’s the power source? Kryptonian’s tears?”
“Nah, I don’t want Supes crying for me. I rather not say it for you might get the wrong impression of me.”
“Oh you don’t have to worry about that.”
“You’re being mean. Its okay. I understand that all this is tough for you to take in,” he said.
“Sorry, that wasn’t really professional.”
“No, I’m sorry. Its easier to show than to tell. Maybe then you will understand.”
“Right, maybe some other time,” I said while trying to gather myself. I look through the notes and asks, “So who are you really?”
“Have you ever watch the rain? Watch the dark clouds rolling over the field bringing a moist cooling breeze of the western winds, as the sun sneaking into the horizons filtered by the gloomy hue of an evening lightnings. Listen to the thunder drumming the pathway of flashing charge of heated ions in the wet air as the drops of clouds water washes into the heavy tempo of a cleansing rain. The echoes of the vibrations as the rain hits the poorly arrange tin roofs of the pavilion and the poorly concrete assembly square. Do you remember the wind wheezing through the horizontal jalousie windows, shaking the glass panel in its loose frame and flipping the pages of your textbooks?” ask Neil.
“Do you remember the smell of the rain, John? Do you remember how the voice of the teacher drowns behind the symphony of that evening rain? Do you remember how your mind was seduced by the awe of the moment which made your consciousness surrenders to the immensity of that wonder? Do you still remember what you wrote in your notebook on that day? Do you still remember that doodle that you made? Do you remember humming along with your mate on no specific tune of whatsoever but yet found a perfect synchronization with him and your surrounding’s orchestra? Do you remember what the teacher told us when she confronted to our impromptu gig in the classroom on that fateful Friday evening of 3rd February 2006?”
“Oh Johnny boy, you have a rotten memory. Its me, blurface. You’re mate, Neil from high school of class 09. Your best friend who was always at your side when we was zoning out during those brain washing years.”
“Neil the Tiger was my best friends. Don’t lie to me. He died. I went to his funeral. Don’t you start getting things personal mate.”
“Oh yeah. Sorry about that. I forgot, new body. Did you see my body on my funeral?”
“No, it was a mock funeral. Neil the Tiger disappeared. No one knows where he went, his family even had the police do a body search out with no luck. The officials declared him dead in late 2012 after two years of no signs of virtual footprints and no match on any surveillance networks. He was never found but it save to assume that if he is still out there alive, he must be really off the radar in the most remote area of human civilization,” I said in a sentimental overtone with the memory of lost best friend flashing in my mind.
“And the most remote of the human world; I did went. You be surprise how easy it is to escape the radar of the all seeing eye once you learn to overcome the addictions of their sweet tantalizing mind numbing drugs of a safe construct human habitat. Such pleasures fills the desire of an individual but to trade in freedom for such temporary plastic bliss is unhealthy for one’s soul. Our souls crave the ecstatic moments of human experiences and people like you and me, we crave for the orgasmic surge of creative and intellectual sparks of ideas that makes life so meaningful. I ran away from society for awhile John , that does not mean I’m dead.”
“But you look so different.”
“Well you ain’t the zit face shy boy I last saw as well are you now?”
“Yeah, but you don’t even talk like him.”
“Jah, my dear John. I travel across the planet in the last 10 years by just walking plus I was jumping through the imaginary time and cross over to other dimensions and visits countless of parallel universes and realities. If I don’t pick up a slang or two, I’ll be damned. ”
“You cannot be the same Neil.”
“I have the beard now and these dreads to hide my beautiful manly structures of my handsome face, maybe harder for you to recognize the might of me,” said Neil in a jesting manner of a top model.
“I don’t believe you’re the same Neil. Sure, you have the same name but like you said yourself. This is just aliases you use. And new body? What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Smart Johnny Boy. I always knew you were a smart ass. Yes, names are just clothes to me but some shirts fits better than others. New body because, the old one got eaten by a Tiger while I was meditating in Borneo. I guess that nickname was an ominous prediction of that body’s fate. I was lucky enough to transfer myself to another vessel travelling nearby. That’s why I look Asian a bit.”
“Right. Look man. You’re crazy. Thinking you travel time, sure I’ll go with it but thinking you’re my dead best friend; that’s crossing the line,” I said as I packed my stuff and prepare to leave.
“Wait, wait. Hear me out. I will prove to you, I am who I said I am. The memory of the classroom is an intimate moment only the two of you had, there is plenty more memories of just us two. Memories that I or you had never told any other soul in our lives. Memories of smoking the joints on the roof before heading to watch The Hobbit. Memories of drinking too much alcohol in the club and almost getting into a fight cause you were hitting on some fuck’s girl. Memories of us comparing penis size. Do you still have that mole there. Or how bout that memory of you vomiting on that girl’s pussy cause she stank like a rotten fish. I’m sure she hasn’t told anyone, and you just told me cause I was outside the door waiting for you. And did you really…”
“Okay, Okay. That’s enough. Neil would never tell anyone those things.”
“Yupe. Neither did she,” the man laughs, I tried to look into his eyes to find my friend. Maybe just maybe he is.
“Damn, is it really? But seriously dude, do you really think you can do as what you claim. Cause that is the edge of Insanity,” I asked worried about my long lost best friend even though still doubting Neil’s identity.
“Why? What if I really could. Would you want to try to have a trip?”
“No, I was just curious. I mean….,” my words lingers in mid air as I stare into the eye on Neil’s forehead. The Blinking of the Eye.
A swarm of red swan feathers of warmth blankets my naked skin as The Eye blinks. I feels the cold air rushing back to lift the warm swan feathers and releasing me to a more vibrant and colourful world. I rub my eyes to return back to my original environment.
“What the fuck?” I whispered under my breath.
“You felt a blanket of red swan feathers?”
“Yeah, its the breed of the rarest female in the Phoenix species.”
“Yeah, a mythical magical bird that burst into flames to be reborn. Harry Potter man?”
“You’re saying that sensation just now was real? That this mythical creature just appeared and wrapped me in its feathers and disappeared?”
“No. That’s not likely. Just that the flavour of this Tea. They call it Phoenix Orgasms. They took the Tea from the Monks and pickled it in a Female Red Swan Pheonix ejaculations for a century before soaking that pickled tea in the bird’s Blood and drying it with the fire of its regeneration. Add some of the ashes and sprinkle cherry pixies dust for some sweet after taste. A perfect brew of the best Tea ever existed on earth,” said Neil expertly.
“What the fuck are you talking about? Is that tea spiked?” I said in shocked and a slight terror.
“No additional stimulants needed. This tea alone will mind rape a hardcore mescaline addict mind. This Tea makes LSD look like candy for little boys and girls.”
“You fucking drugged me?” raising my voice in anger.
“Now technically this is a tea and not a drug. It has never been classified by any authorities as a substance of an illegal state of mind to be in under its influence for they never knew it existed,” said Neil trying to calm me down.
“Of course its not illegal. There are no such departments in the narcotics that deals with people torturing mythical creatures for a fix,” I remark sarcastically.
“Well, they do actually but lets not talk about those literal pigs in uniforms.”
“You mother fucking idiot,” I furiously grabs Neil’s jacket from across the table. “One more fucking fairytale coming out of your mouth and I’ll punch it so hard that your sci-fi shit gadgets wont even able to recognized your ugly fucking face.”
“Well technically, Its more of a mythic folklore then of a fairytale but I guess you could classify phoenixes as a fairytale, but…” Neil was stop half way through his sentence when my fist crashes into his face.
“WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DRUGGED ME WITH!” I throw another punch to Neil’s face that made him falls off his chair.
Neil spits the blood out of his teeth and he gather himself back to the table. “Wow, Johnny boy calm down. I never knew you had a violent side. A shy boy who goes hulk when tripping out. Interesting.”
“Fuck you, Neil. Its been 10 years, a lot have come to pass since then. I don’t even know who the fuck you are to me anymore, mate. Heck, I don’t even know if its even the real Neil.”
“I understand man. Look I told you the truth about that tea. Whether you believe it or not, it not important anymore. The effects will be the same regardless. I don’t believe wine gets me drunk and it never has – though people claim it does. Okay, this Tea is just like any other mind stimulants like coffee. It is a tool, this tea will only amplify what you are feeling deep inside. You can use it to intensify your paranoia or relax and have a good time.”
“Fuck you, Neil. I got drug test in a few days and do you know how intrusive the Drug Test are getting nowadays? They don’t just take samples anymore but have MRI scanners to check whether there is traces of brain activities that are effected by some external stimuli. If such stimulus is deemed inappropriate for society it will be classified as illegal.”
“Urm..So they basically controlling which human experience you are allowed to feel and which state of consciousness you are not permitted to even curiously experiment on?”
“Oh you fucking asshole. You knew that already didn’t you? You comeback here after 10 years of disappearance, call my office to force me to come down here for some fucked up joke of a confession of a Time Traveller and fucking drugged me with a fucking tea. And you called yourself my best friend? Why cant you just call me and ask me out for a fucking drink instead of all this shit.”
“Johnny boy, that whole interview was not a joke. I sold a ‘Sleep’ to your Editor in Chief and he wanted to help me promote my business to a wider range of customers. The fact you were there was a lucky coincidence that I took advantage of.”
“Yeah right, how long does this drug last? What are the effects? Please tell me there is some sort of way to clean it out or suppress the high?”
“Well this Tea is one of the best so it might last awhile but since you only had one cup, I think shouldn’t be more than twenty four,” said Neil.
“24 days. 23; if you’re lucky.”
“What the fuck!”
“Don’t worry, there are ways of reducing and controlling the effect to it’s minimal. And if you really want there is an antidote that can wash the whole thing out of your system clean and leaves you sober again.”
“There’s a cure?” I asked as my heads starts to feel light and a slight spin.
“Yeah of course. I’m not that stupid.”
“Where is it give it to me. Now!”
“Urm…” said Neil as he checks his pockets and inside his bags. “I’m afraid I might have left it back at my place.”
“You son of a bitch!” I jumps onto Neil and starts to throw another few punches.
“Look, I can get you to my place safely,” said Neil underneath my fist.
“Where do you stay?” I asked as I punch him again.
“The other side of the Island,” he answered and I punched him one last time.
“Fine, but I didnt drive here and if you’re really Neil, I bet you still haven’t got your driver’s license,” I said while gathering my stuff.
“Hmm, Yupe,” he said while whipping the blood from his chin and standing back up.
“You’re a Fucker, you know that. An useless drugged out junkie who has gone mentally delusional with your stories,” I said as he packed his stuff, trying to maintain a clear head.
“That’s debatable but I’ll still lose the debate since I’m also a lazy asshole,” he said smilingly as he head to the bartender to pay the bills.
My head. My hands. What on god’s earth is going on. What the fuck is going to happen to me now. It was supposed to be an easy job. Now I’m stuck with a man who said he is my dead best friend, who can travel through time, space and other planes of existence with some sort of fantasy mind altering stimulants stuck in my veins. And to top it all, I’m travelling with this fucker to the other side of the fucking island. God, this is not going to be a good night. Its going to be a fucking long fucking night.
“You ready?” Neil said as he returns from the Bartender who was smiling. His smile is disproportionately large. Like a Joker from Batman but an old fat ginger Joker. Fuck you and your fucking Tea.
“Yeah, I’m ready but I have an idea. Since you can Time Travel and all. Why don’t you fucking send me back there and so I can stop me from drinking that fucking Tea.”
“Urm, I can’t do that. I can easily handle paradoxical existences but you on the other hand, might just explode or the universe might implode. Very Risky.”
“Then take me to a parallel reality where I dont drink it.”
“You’re not a very good journalist are you. I’ve told you that you need to get way more fucked up than this to do that.”
“Then take me to a fucking space where I can get the fucking anti-dote!”
“Well, that’s the problem. Space Travel for me is still Traditional,” he said. I stare at him in a confused anger. “Walking.”
“Great! You’ve gotta be one of the Worst Time Traveller, I’ve ever heard,” I exclaimed as we walk toward the door.
“Yeah but you’ve heard of me,” Neil said doing an impression of Jack Sparrow. Sorry, Captain Jack Sparrow from Pirates of Caribbean.
“Fuck you Neil,” I said as I pass through the door and head back outside. It was twenty minutes pass four in the evening. The sun was still up but faded underneath the white smog. The city……The fuck! He’s lighting up a joint! “What the fuck you think you’re doing?”
“Dude, it’s 4.20,” Neil said while exhaling the marijuana smokes.
“Yeah, so? Look I don’t need you getting any more fucked up. I need you to get me the antidote and then you can fucking get high all you want,” I demand as I tries to catch the joint from his hand.
“Look, man. I’m a practicing Dudeism. Sure its not really a ritual to smoke on 4.20 but its a cultural thing and I’m trying to get back in the mainstream besides what’s the big problem. They legalized it already,” he said as he evades my catches.
“Fine, whatever. Let’s just get a cab and head to your place,” I said ignoring the fact I am physically slower and less agile than him.
I was walking back to the main road. Along the dirty narrow alleyway. Passing by the trashes and graffiti. A black cat. Sleek body of acrobatic performance and the soft fur that reminds me of the amazing shampoo commercial girl’s black and shine hair of black and shine. It has a long furry tail that is almost fox-like and a yellowish green eyes that pierces through anyone’s soul. It has a dash of white spot on its collar and lower abdomen. This cat also has a friendly cuddly personality that craves for companion and compassion but unfortunately its a stray. It is wild and cannot be tamed. Yet it craved the touch of humans. I stopped on my track and pet the poor thing. It lays on its back as I scratches it’s belly. It purrs and the greatest smile shines from its dirty face.
“John. Are you alright?” asked Neil who was standing behind me with his joint almost finished.
“Huh? What? What am I doing?”
“Well, you were playing with that pussy for quite awhile now. You’re not going to throw up on it now will you? You know since it does smell of fish,” he joked.
“How long was I playing with her?” I asked as I stood back up from sitting on the dirty cold road on my bottom.
“Urm, since 4.20 when you asked me to stop smoking weed.”
“And what time is it now?”
“It’s Five. This is my third joint,” he said as he steps on the roach.
“Fuck. You better make sure I get home safely. I don’t know whether you’re the real Neil but since you want to be so much, then take on his responsibilities. Be my Bro, man.”
“Alright, 90210. Come on let’s get out of here. I don’t trust that pussy,” he said putting his hand around my shoulder and guiding me to the main road. “Did you know that all these worshipping of Cats on the Internet? Their psychic vibrations of affection towards these felines are creating a superior Cat God. The mummified souls of the ancient Egyptian Cats have been merged into one on the After Life and now using all these prayers and chantings on the internet of their cuteness to bring back the Great Purr. They said he will be a 200 feet tall kitten with a meow of hurricane and a pounce of earthquakes. His main mission is to create a whole new species of cats that is ever more softer and fluffier than ever before. There will be nyanothing we can do about it since we’ll be too busy petting it.”
More to come.
For Further Reading on Hallucinogenic Tea Time, Read NY Times :