The Saga of Telekinesis Girl
So, existence is completely evil; or completely bereft of evil…I don’t remember. Moral capacity is irrelevant in any case. The psychologists have forsaken reality for ethics and logic for sympathy. They have created the new religion. No longer will humans fear the fantasy of a million minds combining telepathic radiation into a vague singularity of divine hallucination.
Now they can fear everything.
“How did the blender make you feel?”
“You say your pain was only temporary?”
“No. I said it was temporal. It blooms like a paranoid herpes virus.”
“You seem to be making excellent progress Bill. See you next Sunday.”
And thus: The therapeutic penance is achieved.
Logic and reality. Did you know that the rat who has an electrode implanted in the pleasure center of his brain will push the lever that stimulates that pleasure center and ignore the lever that will provide him food until he starves to death? This study is completely ethical and sympathetic. Therefore, it is necessary to repeat it as often as possible, synthesizing new altruism in humanity.
There were only a few people. My mental solace was quickly disturbed by a boy and a girl fighting behind the island bar in the middle of the kitchen. It sounded a lot like English, but I couldn’t understand any of it. All I could make of it came from the visual aspects of her waving around a large meat cleaver with each exclamation. You could tell he was just as angry and hurt as she was from the pursing of his lips as he carefully chose his gibberish. Not carefully enough, as was apparent from the fact that she began violently ripping off her own shirt. She pulled one of her small breasts out from under the cup of her bra, and lopped it off with the cleaver. I was getting quite embarrassed by this fairly graphic domestic dispute, so I nonchalantly crossed the room, opened the fridge, grabbed the cheapest brand of beer I could find, and proceeded to leave the kitchen. I took one last glance before exiting and noticed her yellowish mammary gland just barely held in place by the white fatty remains of her left breast. I hate waking up in the hospital.
“Where is she?”
“Where’s who, and why are you asking me? You’re supposed to be in charge here.”
“I don’t think I like your tone, Bill. Let’s do be civil about this; we’re both gentlemen and understand the consequences of less than cordial behavior.”
“I would be happy to help you, Dr. Anson, if only you would tell me who it is you wish to know about?”
“That’s better. I would like to know the whereabouts of Telekinesis Girl.”
“Hmmm…I believe she was moved out of this room by an orderly several days ago, but doctor, you know how my memory is of late.”
The doctor sits on the edge of a bed in the row of beds across from the one I am strapped to. He looks very unamused, fidgety, and slowly taps a police baton on his left hand with his right.
“You know Bill, I believe you. I believe you because you understand that there are consequences to your actions. She hadn’t grasped that concept yet. Poor girl, she had the capacity to move things with nothing more than a thought, but she had such an ego problem. She just never could trust in my special ability to help people, thereby ruining her own. But, you believe in me, don’t you Bill?”
May as well. Made as much sense as anything else.
Boredom. Humans are evolving beyond the survival instinct. Since you no longer risk your life to eat, or drink, or divine wealth, or fuck, you must risk your life to escape the fatigue. Sleeping pills in the drawer. Unconscious repose, good temporary relief–but now we add the potassium to the water.
Who did curiosity kill? Anyone I know? One sleeping pill with the mortar and pestle. Powder, add water, bring to a boil. Suck it up, this could be interesting. What? Oh, there’s some electrical wire. Suffocate that vein and make it grow legs. Stick and plunge. Just one cc. After all, I just want a good night’s sleep.
Hmmm…Something’s wrong. I must’ve missed the vein, at least I hope so because there is a liquid bubble under my skin. Massage it down, massage it down; my atrophied adrenals put out just enough potion to let me know I’m supposed to be scared.
Bubble fades, I don’t seem to die of an allergic reaction, and I even get a little sleepy. Not bad.
“No use struggling Bill, I had a boy in here once who could dislocate both his shoulders and he got about as far as the chiropractor’s office.”
“I wouldn’t think of it Doc. Mind telling me what I’m doing here?”
“Well Bill, you missed your appointment with Dr. Freelander this morning. You know that your out-patient status was dependent on making those sessions. So, we made you a house call to make sure you were doing alright.”
“Sorry about missing the 9:30. I overslept.”
“Heh, you certainly did Bill, you certainly did. Why do you think that was?”
“I don’t know, I guess I was tired.”
“Come on Bill, we found the syringe and the shot glass you dissolved the stuff in. Took us about three seconds to figure out what you’d tried to do.”
“I wasn’t really trying to hurt myself, I…”
“Bill, it’s all over now. Life is kinda like a baseball game sometimes, ya know–two strikes and you’re Baker Acted. Heh, well, you get my meaning, don’tcha Bill?”
“Is the patient ready, doctor?”
“Yes, Nurse Caldwell, just a moment. Bill, I don’t want you to feel like you’re being punished or deprived of your freedom here, because we just want you to get the help that you so desperately need. Don’t worry Bill, we’ll work through this and you’ll be outta here in no time! Alright Nurse Caldwell, you may proceed with the injection.”
“Nothing to be concerned about, just something to help you sleep.”
Son of a bitch.
“…alright you little cunt. You’ve not got much time left, you know. Another day, maybe two. Something to think about, my sweet little bit of telekinesis flesh.”
More groaning, “This is turning out to be a really shitty day.”
“Don’t worry sweetie, it’s night now.”
“Great. Doesn’t seem like the Doc likes you too much.”
“Doctors don’t like anybody they can’t find something wrong with.”
“By the way, I thought I heard him call you something strange before he left.”
“Yeah, he calls me Telekinesis girl. It’s sort of a private joke.”
“Wanna let me in on it?”
“Sure. He calls me that because I move things with my mind.”
Hmph…Took a good minute to reply to that.
“If you can move things with your mind, what are you still doing here?”
“Well, it’s not as simple as just unlashing myself from the bed, undoing the locks and walking out the front door. For one thing, there are guards and monitors on the doors. Also, if I escape I’ll be a fugitive. I’d much rather get out through legitimate means, you know.”
“I can see that. You think you could show me what you can do? Maybe show me a demonstration?”
“You want me to move something?”
“If you wouldn’t mind.”
“I don’t know…”
“How about your testicle?”
“Actually, I think I’d rather you tried something else.”
“Come on, it’ll be fun, just relax…”
“Um, no, that’s o.k. I guess I don’t really need to see you do it after all.”
My only connection with reality seems to be this horrible revulsion, contact stomach pain…
In the beginning, we believed that the brain was the source of all cognitive neural activity, and that this activity defined the individual in terms of cognitive ability as well as exhibited behavior. As the years passed, we discovered the connections throughout the body that allowed our brains to make us speak, and grab, and sit down, and give dirty looks, and drive german cars. We saw all these processes of electrical communication throughout our bodies, and we said that they were good.
The egotistical contentment in the neurological community spread far and wide, scientists often having after-dinner drinks and smoking fine cigars, laughing with merriment at the laymen who could not possibly have the Johne confidence of knowledge. Brains were often inspected and displayed in classrooms as if professors wished to gloat over their accomplishments for humanity.
Oh, for the everlasting honeymoon! The dissidence came slow, creeping through spinal fluid, activated by rogue, shabbily-dressed geniuses. The initial study involved the pineal gland in back of the brain. Looking at its development, it was obvious that this mini-organ was cross-dressing and lying low. Here it is: the gland is actually formed from optical rudiment–it is a vestigial eye.
The question was glaring and forced underground by the scientific community at large. How many organ rudiments are hiding in our bodies with undefined functions?
As it turns out, enough. A very intriguing bit of tissue, in fact, was found at the dorsal portion of the human rectum.
The research on this tissue has been deemed unethical and therefore illegal by national neurological research boards. Since no formal research could be performed, seekers of truth found themselves resorting to unusual techniques to find test subjects. The problem was that they needed a socially acceptable method to insert electric probes into someone’s anus. The solution was–become proctologists.
An office was created with all of the constituents in on the gig. And finally the day came when they were asked to perform their first rectal examination. Anyone else may have thought the scene humorous, even disgusting. But to these doctors, the ass that lay on the examination table was a door to an undiscovered existence.
Jerry was the leader. He was the organizer, the decision maker, and the true creator amongst the group. This moment was his and his preparation had been immaculate. The plan was to implant the anesthetized patient with a device that would electrically stimulate the tissue by connecting the tissue to electrical impulses from the spinal cord.
“…ake up, come on now. That’s it. The examination went fine. How do you feel?”
“I…feel strange…something’s not…right…”
Jerry began to rub her shoulder, reassuring the patient, “Just relax, just…”
It was just a thought. She just didn’t want him touching her shoulder. That’s all. Dr. Jerry Litchin lies on the floor gasping for air. Confusion…panic–and with the dying whimper of scientific achievement, Telekinesis girl was born.
The rest of the night’s a little hazy, mostly because I was engrossed in thought, trying to sort out perception from imagination. We ended up in my truck at some point and had to wait a couple hours for Julie to sober up enough to drive us home. During that time, though, we did get to see some silly Mexicans roll joints on the car behind us, thinking they were being sneaky, when they were probably witnessed by more than ten passersby. Everybody’s lucky some of the time.