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The sad thing was I saw it coming, this gave me the time to savour some pre-humiliation humiliation. The Prime Ministers had either given this some serious thought or had accidently stumbled on a way to make random street violence all the more psychologically damaging. There was a group of them heading straight for me, Thatcher's I could handle, I think everyone my age could envisage getting a thorough kicking from the Iron Lady, even Blair's I could put up with because he had that messianic gleam and a race on with the Iron Lady to see who could reach the highest bodycount during their term of office. But these where Majors. Somehow a mild kicking from them would be even worse than being beaten half to death by Ted Heath. But oh no I was going to get it from Majors, the greyest of the grey faces. I blame Churchill myself.
They stopped in front of me casually fanning out into a semi circle. There was six of them, four boys and a girl. For some reason I found girls surgically transformed to look like Major infinitly more disturbing than boys. Perhaps it was a transgender prejudice I'd need to get exorcised on what was left of the NHS (mostly faith healers) or even worse some residual sexism.
"What do you believe?" the smallest and seediest of them asked. I didn't bother trying to work out what I thought would make him happy, I couldn't begin to imagine, too stupid I guess, so I answered honestly.
"Everything, I find it saves time."
"Cop out." He spat at me and it started. I did the only unarmed combat move I knew and hit the ground and curled up in a ball. I hit the liquid illusion of the pavement and fell through it about six inches until I struck the real pavement, tried to keep my mouth above the fourth dimensional liquid seepage as boots with some real effort behind them rained down on me. Reality (in this case mine, I don't care who enlightened you are a boot to the head still fucking hurts) was however frustrating them by not proving to be as visceral as media forms and although had they asked, I could have assured them they where doing a grand job it was appearance they where more concerned with. Eventually enough of my blood mixed with the already heavily polluted dimensional fluid that was masquerading as the pavement and they wandered off to find someone else to discuss belief structures with. I sat up, my body feeling like something very soft full of very sharp painful things and sobbed a bit partially from the humiliation (now I was over the pre-humiliation) of being beaten up by John Major (yes I know they where actually a group of very dangerous youth types who where heavily committed to street violence but appearances are so important) but mostly through pain.
I reached into my coat searching for my ciggarettes they where soaked with the fluid and I had fun and games trying to light a fluid simulacrum before I found a real one. This fluid and the other interesting facets of transdimensional leaks where begining to piss me off. Oh it had all been fun and games to begin with, some punk a couple of years back merging his fevered ramblings with reality, pointing out the boundaries of what was real and what lay beyond. Encouraging people to look for themselves. Don't get me wrong I'm all for broadening the mind but soon every Tom, Dick and shaman was having a look and not just a look a tinker as well, not to mention the effect that some of the more creativly insane amongst us had on our consensual boundaries. Anyway the inevitable happened, our marvelous fifth dimensional fluid infoscape sprung leaks and again this was all fun and games for awhile but eventually permanently wet socks get dull and trenchfoot is trenchfoot regardless of how exotic the liquid that caused it is. Though more to the point (so I'm told though I think wet socks are pretty bad) it dilluted both realities (or illusions depending on which ...ism or ...ist you are this week). Still it was good news if you had stock in companies that manufactured waders. Which of course I didn't. I inhaled deeply, which hurt and leaned against the fluid wall of a house until I could feel the real wall sending ripples all over it. I managed to clamber to my feet and painfully began to make my way splashing through the fluid towards the Job Centre. |
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