Ep. 004

Ep. 004: Alexander Donobhan

"We are all workmen: prentice, journeyman,

or master, building you--you towering nave.

And sometimes there will come to us a grave

wayfarer, who like a radiance thrills

the souls of all our hundred artisans,

as trembling he shows us a new skill."

-Rainer Maria Rilke

Alexander Donobhan. Our mortal player. Watching the world about em with the eyes of a lover. looking for a story . what you see is what you get. follow an image. Alex left Limerick, Ireland for the states. Ireland having fallen once again, in her tragic 2,000 year cycle of Imperialism vs Revolution vs Nationalism, to the colonial terrorism of the UK, Alex comes to the states to join The Gatekeepers of Democratic Equality, the liberal state which split off from the God Given States of America in 2043.

Butterhead Rex. Material. building material. Butterhead Rex is the holder of the prime vision of the Terra Machine, which comes from the mispronunciation of terror machine. The name came about in the first years of The Machine's existence, when it induced mass-consciousness night-terrors which killed 50 per day. The victims would first scream and seize for hours in their beds, unable to be woken up, screaming " GOD OH MY GOD OH PLEASE OH MY GOD". Then they would start running with eyes opened so wide they bled, running and tripping and smashing their heads. Then they'd either be dead or in jail. New jails were made with padded cells, huge complexes filled with horrified souls, many of whom went by choice. Butterhead Rex spoke of these prisons as a great new progression of society, a safe place for those not strong or willed enough to find their rightous place among law abiding citizens. The world believes Butterhead Rex to be the humanoid android who is the president of the God Given States of America, the conservative nation which split off from the Gatekeepers of Democratic Equality in '35. In fact, Butterhead Rex's body is the entirety of the Terra Machine.

We find our dear Alexander, only 20 years old, housless and exhausted and walking the huge park in the enourmous, unending metropolis of San Judas. He has been walking for five days through the city. The first two found him immersed in biblical rains, the second of three hurricanes that summer. On the third day the glorious sun, that masochistic superconsciousness made of white hot blood, was revealed to Alexander and San Judas, bringing about a day of exhultation and revelation.

Alexander heard somebody whistle, he had to listen. stolen birdtunes. Alex thought, 'ow much more romantik an exiztence to be a burd or bug what zing to each'udder all night and knowing not they be living in a sooper consciousnezz o' dee opera o' dee country night! Deh same night which i sink intah, whadda impossibly dense grey stone i am, magneticcaly pulling the world into ME so all i is is all i SEE.

'Ee found his strength, that sound lad, and exercised in the park in his underpants, doing sets of pushups and pullups from the tree branches. The next day the exhultaion subsided and once again Alexander was left with an aching desire for home, or simply for a nice cloth couch to lay about upon.
On this fifth day of walking he went uphill all day. Having found a a friendly cafe wherefore to charge his headpiece, Alex listened to pounding jungle rythyms which brought the effect of a militant march to his step. Boldly upward Alex went. He passed a graveyard and felt that he was close. By 8 pm, he found The Shady Side Lounge.

Johnny Motormouth was real lanky, a real stray dog, and every saturday night he came on at 12. he wore an embroidered rhinestone shirt which said: "Johnny and the Late Nighters", and he would drink and play pool and not listen to the openers and wear sunglasses and the 40-something ladies fucked him with their eyes, then he would come on and not handle his liquor, playing the songs wrong and knocking over equipment and we all liked it. A hero of the the people because he couldnt really play the instruments. In the middle of his set he'd get up and leave, his manager(his mom?) furious, coming back in 5 minutes later he'd flick his cig butt in an empty beer. That kid Motormouth really made us feel like we'd been somewhere.
He played that piano in a ragtime tinkerbell Daniel Johnston sorta way. The keys bouncing around the old room like silver bullets.