Rancho Tarzanadu: "Miss Linda, the (Secret) Author of 'Overlord L'Orange: Observations of an Average Citizen'"

     Miss Linda was feeling nervous lately, like someone or something was watching her. It could be anyone or anything, really, at any time. But she would not be dissuaded from expressing her convictions! She appreciated a challenge. Maybe it was just her very strong marijuana gummies that were making her a little more jumpy and jittery than usual? Maybe she should switch to an Indica strain for a while? But, man! She was a productive stoner! F*ck “The Man”, if he was watching, with his (or her, or their) singular fixated eyeball. She had bigger fish to fry, without worrying about such nonsense. What would “The Man” do with her anyway, even if he were watching her every move? Capture her? Interrogate then dismember her like the Overlord L’Orange approved murder of Jamal Khashoggi, the Saudi Arabian journalist who sought exile in the United States and ended up dead instead? Miss Linda suddenly glanced over her shoulder, then went downstairs to mix a strong vodka-and-lemonade, or what she liked to call her “health tonic”. She (knock on wood) had not suffered from a cold or flu virus in years.

     She must move on to the task of interviewing boarders to keep Rancho Tarzanadu (her inherited family home) afloat, which was no small feat. Living with other people was tricky, at best. Especially for a natural introvert like Miss Linda. But having fun and enjoying her time in this plane of existence was important, too. She definitely knew what she didn’t want: first and foremost, NO REPULLICANS. No explanations or excuses. Her motto was: Don’t say it, do it. The prospective boarders must have jobs, of course, or an income from some source (she was not opposed to all things deemed “illegal” by “The Man”). She knew she did not want to live with someone boring, especially considering that most people wanted to drone on and on about what they do. So their profession would have to be something Miss Linda wanted to know more about, like Mysticism or Esoterica. Psychology was interesting. Maybe an Anthropologist? Or an Astronomer? An astronaut would be really fun and interesting to have around, especially for cocktail parties, which Miss Linda was really fond of. She also loved dressing up as an Astronaut’s Wife, although she had zero interest in being an actual wife, even of an astronaut. A magician or puppet master might be fun to live with. Although a personal chef would be the best thing. Maybe the closet underneath the stairwell could be cleared out and rented as a room? Oops! She forgot that room was to be occupied by Little Johnny, the Child Savant. It might be worth renting a personal chef an actual room in exchange for all meals prepared. She would have to contemplate that. If Manuel moved into the main house with her, she could rent out the guest house he’d been living in for double what she could get for a single room in the main house. A gardener would come in handy, also, especially since Manuel did absolutely nothing but wander aimlessly around in his satin maroon smoking jacket, with a beer in one hand, seemingly attempting to escape his inner demons in a perpetually meandering fashion. Always so much to do at Rancho Tarzanadu! Maybe she could find a husband and wife (or husband and husband, or wife and wife) team to garden and cook, and they could share a room? Brilliant! She had always wanted an organic vegetable garden, but so far hadn’t the time or inclination to get out there and make it happen herself. She would much prefer that someone else did that, and then she could just enjoy the delicious goodness of their gardening and culinary talents, and get on with her other important projects, which were more ethereal in nature.

     Before she did one more thing, however, she must sit her ass down and write another installment of “Overlord L’Orange: Observations of an Average Citizen”, her weekly political diatribe on the current ruler of this beautiful f*cked-up country of ours. Miss Linda was appalled by the state of her nation, and felt compelled to share her views and opinions with the world at large. Apparently though, not many had seen her posts, if her algorhythms on blogspot were accurate. But no matter! She would carry on. It would be her contribution to society, in lieu of tossing her jury summons notices in the trash bin, claiming she had never received them in the first place. This would be her way of giving back. For posterity’s sake. As one of her college English professors had said about his own work: “I’m writing for one hundred years from now, not for the people of my time in history; my work will live on, and in so doing, will make me immortal!” Miss Linda thought about a story she had just read, “The Last Question” by Isaac Asimov, which stated that “forever” probably didn’t exist. The entropy would eat everything in its path, gobbling it down its black, bottomless hole. So her work may not live on forever; she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. The new Chaos Magick group she just joined on the Discord app may have a solution to entropy and the lack of forever, anyway. She was wild-guessing they might.

     After running through all of the things she had to get done in her mind, she had forgotten all about “The Man” watching her (even though he was), and just got on with what she needed to get on about: interviewing boarders (income she did not report on her tax forms on April 15^th) and working on her political diatribe, come what may. Miss Linda was much more inclined to risk than to complacency. Little did she know that “The Man” (or “The Wo-man”) would be interviewing as a potential boarder soon, right in her own backyard while enjoying tea and finger sandwiches, having seen her public ad posted in her Facebook “Notes” section.

Overlord L'Orange: Observations of an Average Citizen, Installment #107; "Silkies"

       

     Overlord L’Orange has a secret.

     Well, several various and sundry secrets, really, but this is one of them: it’s not his real hair.

     The Overlord is actually wearing a Guinea Pig (otherwise known as a “Silkie”) on his head. Being extremely vain, through trial and error the Overlord discovered that the Silkies make the best possible hairpieces, even though complicated in procedure, as they need to eat, drink, and relieve themselves periodically. The Overlord solved these issues by keeping his current Silkies addicted to opioids, making them perfectly happy to just hang out all day (or night) on the top of his head. He owns a few in the same color family at any given time, and can interchange them on days spent longer in the public eye.

     He has been doing this for so long now that the Silkies have left little divots on his scalp, one for each tiny paw, and fit snugly into place with the help of a little Velcro closure. With their heads curled to one side, near his forehead or sometimes the nape of his neck, their long silky locks can be blow-dried and styled by a certain few celebrity stylists (who have to sign non-disclosure agreements, just like all his wives). The right amount of opioids keeps the Silkies curled up in place indefinitely, warm and cozy on top of the Overlord’s head.

     Potty time was tricky, until the Overlord commissioned small catheters made by his own physician, that can be neatly tucked behind one of his ears, and then run into a small bag underneath his shirt collar, held in place by a little duct tape. The Overlord likes to joke to anyone who will listen that the entire world is held together by duct tape. More than likely, his world is.

     Feedings for the Silkies are done twice daily, at morning and night, and at night they are laid to rest in small gold satin beds within a large cage, to ensure their own social time as Guinea Pigs, and also for breeding purposes, as one of the Overlord’s greatest fears is running out of Silkies, as you might imagine.

     The Silkies have adapted to this routine over time, and have assimilated over generations, knowing no other way of life as better or worse. Contrary to popular belief, they are not abused (except for being force-fed the opiates) and oddly enough are actually cherished by the Overlord, and not just-for-wearing purposes.

     Overlord L’Orange got a lot of flack for not having a dog or cat when he moved into the White House, but he could not publicly reveal his love for Silkies, for obvious reasons. At bedtime, after they’ve been removed from his head, and had a little time to “come down”, the Overlord brushes them with a golden brush and sings them a special song that he made up himself. It goes:

Silkie, Silkie, Silkie-smooth,

Smoothly Silkie, Smoothly-smooth.

Silkie, Silkie, Silkie-smooth,

Smoothly Silkie, Smoothly-smooth.

     As his wife sleeps in a separate bedroom, or separate house, this does not create a problem, or cause a rift of jealousy, as the Overlord is much more dedicated and respectful to his Silkies than his wife (or even his mistresses) any day of the week.

     The Overlord does not like to admit his fondness for the Silkies, as this might make him appear weak to other foreign despots, such as Putin, Kim Jong-un, or Nicholas Maduro.

     “I love you, my sweet Silkies!” the Overlord coos, as he turns off his bedside light. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you!”

     The Silkies huddle together inside their golden cage, hoping they won’t be chosen as the next living hairpiece, but also being addicted to the opioids, they look forward to it.

Rancho Tarzanadu: "Miss Linda Discovers the Green Vortex"

     Miss Linda was washing dishes (one of her least favorite things to do) when she noticed the Green Vortex in her neighbor’s backyard. She squinted her eyes and locked her gaze on it...it was shimmering and glimmering and spinning in the Southwest corner of their backyard. She had never seen a Vortex in person before, but knew immediately that that was one. She compared it to falling in love; you don’t exactly know what it’s all about, but when it happens, you know it — there’s no denying it, you feel it with every fiber of your being and every nuanced aspect of your spirit...it beckons you and casts a spell. Well, that is what the Green Vortex did to Miss Linda. It beckoned her. And cast a spell.

     It was an inverted undulating round window leading to a deeper tunnel, all sparkling gold and green in the late afternoon sunlight. It was like a psychedelic kaleidoscope of intricate leaf patterns containing the secret to the constellations...it struck Miss Linda that it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen in her life.

     Her neighbors were not at home. Yet.

     She would have to act fast.

     Miss Linda knew of a way into their backyard. The brick wall separating their properties got lower and lower in height toward the outer edges of their backyards, and ended with a four-foot wall that she could easily scale, even while wearing a dress. Of course she wouldn’t normally do this, but she had never before seen a spinning Green Vortex in their backyard before, either. She had probably just enough time to examine it more closely before they came home from work. 

     She was not on the best of terms with them, as they were very loud. They had three screaming children who never appeared to grow up or get any older, and they threw loud, raucous parties blasting bad European dance music (Miss Linda’s least favorite kind of music, except for maybe Country and Western music...it was a toss up). Miss Linda had complained to them several times about their loud disturbing ways. They were from somewhere in the Middle East, and Miss Linda could not for the life of her pin down their dialect. At this point she couldn’t ask them where they were from, even though she was dying of curiosity, because of all her noise complaints. She did not want them to think she was prejudiced against them because of their country of origin; she was merely prejudiced against them for their loudness. 

     Her neighbors on the other side of her house were Republicans, and had helped vote Overlord L’Orange into office. She was definitely prejudiced against them, even though they were almost always quiet.

     Anyway, Miss Linda decided to go for it.

     She scaled the low wall, covered in thick ivy growth. She had scaled this wall as a child many times...it felt natural to her. Not like trespassing at all. 

     She straddled the wall, listened carefully for any sounds or movement (her neighbors didn’t have a dog), then jumped down onto their property. 

     The coast appeared clear.

     The Green Vortex was still silently spinning at the other end of their backyard. As she gazed at it she was drawn toward it slowly and steadily. It emanated such beauty, and what she could only term Universal Love. It was golden-green, filled with speckles of pure sunlight. It quenched her spirit the way an ice-cold glass of spearmint lemonade would quench her thirst on a hot Summer day. 

     She started to feel magnetically pulled towards it, like she was being sucked into the ocean with each ebb and flow of the tides.

     Miss Linda felt like she was vibrating. She started to involuntarily levitate off the ground a few inches (not like when she actively practiced her levitation skills). She felt supported by a current, or force, and felt almost like she was floating on salt water and being buoyantly carried toward the Green Vortex. She did not want to resist. She remained hovering a few inches off the ground, and was carried silently towards the shining green orb. Her vision relaxed and blurred, and she felt limp like a rag doll, embraced by this power.

     As she got closer to the Vortex, she heard several loud noises in her neighbor’s driveway — car doors slamming! The children’s shrill voices to each other, followed by their father’s booming voice as he attempted to usher them into the house. 

     Miss Linda fell out of her Green Vortex trance, and literally fell onto the ground, flat on her ass. Fortunately her ass was endowed with some voluptuous padding, and she fell onto the soft grass.

     She was somewhat stunned and confused, as you might imagine, but she got up quickly. The Green Vortex had disappeared completely. The loud family was now inside the house and making their way to the backyard — their favorite place for being extra loud, usually right under Miss Linda’s bedroom window when she was trying to meditate.

     Miss Linda high-tailed it over the low ivy wall, and safely back into her own backyard before the children spilled into their own yard onto the grass, shouting and yelling at each other, oblivious to Green Vortexes or Miss Lindas. 

Glittering Bird of Prey

You hover

above everything:

a self-described mythical creature,

glittering hot pink, extended claws and 

sharp, wet teeth, ready for the next unsuspecting human to trip into your clutches, bedazzled

by the outward show you painstakingly cultivate, with greasepaint, costumes, posturing, claiming to be the best at everything, always.

Gnarled from so much pain in your past, it eviscerates your present,

while innocent bystanders (the ones not desired for consumption) are tossed down your dark hole that some call a soul.

You have grown numb to everything but your own desires,

singular, fixated, adorned,

touting others “un-evolved” as you pillage indiscriminately,

swooping in tighter and tighter circles, cawing:

“Look at me! Look at me! Look at me!”

But not too closely.

Because that’s when things become distorted, ugly;

Nature is harsh. It’s kill or be killed,

every woman for herself.

Free and glittering birds of prey can’t afford empathy...it cramps their style.

“Fuck them!” you caw. “Fuck you!”

“Fuck me...fuck me...fuck me...

I will give you everything,

until I have bitten and licked and sucked your carcass dry.

I am a glittering, hot-pink, mythical 

creature. 

Human bonds are irrelevant to me, unless they are serving my needs, filling a cavernous hole

that is never filled –

I am a bottomless pit that I circle 

around myself, outside of myself, 

but the echoes leave me haunted and wrecked,

starving,

empty.”

Your talons clutch at the broken branches you land on,

your eyes dart and follow,

here comes another one — sucker!

Bat your eyelashes, rehearse your speech,

and do what you do best:

placating the void inside you for one more day, stirring up Drama

with one more piece of meat.

You advocate for freedom above all else,

but you will collect the bones

alone.