Ain't no comparison. Paramount got more acceleration, more power, more — better handling, better looking, more legroom for your legs, more power...

The Last Man, 1996

Devita, from the story "Grisaille".


I Wanna Be Adored

Strip Club:
3 songs @ 2

3 songs @ 3

2 songs @ 4

3 songs @ 3

3 songs @ 2
= 70min

Renegade Club:
10+20 @ 25, 20


10+20 @ 25, 20


10+20 @ 25, 20


10+20 @ 25, 20
= 80 rows, 40 push, 80 ribbons



You ain't got nothing if you ain't got nothing to train for.



Devita left the hotel and walked down rue de Charonne toward La Bastille. It was raining again but softly today, and not having an umbrella he stayed along the buildings. The shops of Paris were shut at lunchtime and the streets were empty. Mooney was at a café waiting for him. It had been years since he had seen his friend.

Under a red awning, the only one sitting outside, Devita saw him, long-haired now and dressed heavily in a peacoat and scarf. He was at a table writing something in one of his notebooks.

“Hey there, Moon,” he said.

Mooney looked up. “Well, if it isn’t my old friend Devita.”

“I like the hair,” said Devita.

“One can’t afford to have it cut so regularly, my friend.” The Moon had a big grin on his face. The Moon looked the same as ever.

“What’re you drinking?” said the Moon.

“What are you having?”

“Bit of the ole rotgut, I’m afraid,” grinned Mooney. “Never too early.” He waved for the garçon. Mooney commanded in French for another whisky.

Je voudrais un café au lait, s’il vous plait,” Devita said carefully to the garçon. It was a phrase he used expertly. Mooney said something quickly in French as the waiter left the table. Speaking French was wonderful. Devita loved to speak it and to hear it.

“I think you’ll need to move along to a proper beverage,” Mooney advised. “My friend, it is officially the afternoon. Cheers.” Mooney pointed his whisky at him and finished it off.

He offered a cigarette to Devita. “No thanks, Moon.”

“Forever a man of few vices,” said Mooney, lighting it.

“So how is the great writer?” Devita asked.

“Not a writer,” scowled Mooney. “But I am good, very good.”

“If you’re not a writer, than what are you?”

“My friend, one is only as one does and I am trying to make life. So I am, I suppose, what you might call a god.”

Devita laughed. “Good old Moon. It’s good to see you again.”

The waiter approached their table with a tray overhead. Instead of Devita’s café au lait he had returned with a whisky for him and for Mooney.

“Do not protest, my friend. It is a celebration. It cannot be avoided. Without water or ice, as I drink it.”

“I’ll try it, Moon,” Devita said confidently. Devita didn’t quite know what whisky tasted like.

“What shall we drink to, my friend?” Mooney held out his glass.

“To the good old days,” Devita replied. It energized him to think of the past when he and Mooney were students. Those had been the great years of his life. With Mooney now he felt again their excitement.

“To the good old days and greater coming ones,” invoked the Moon.

Devita coughed on the whisky. “Strong stuff,” he winced.

“Delicious stuff,” Mooney smiled and drank again.

“So what else are you doing besides writing, Moon?”

“Nothing. There is nothing else besides writing.”

“I guess there isn’t.” Devita remembered he had tried to write something once. Back at the university Mooney had encouraged him to do it. He had been proud of it until Mooney had explained how it wasn’t any good.

“And how does it go in that country of ours?” asked Mooney.

“Business is good. Everyone needs furniture.”

“I am happy to hear it. An extraordinary business, I am sure.”

“The Paris life sure is great though, Moon. Maybe I’ll move here and try the writing life.”

“I most expect you to do that,” said Mooney.

“I’d live down the street from you with my French girlfriend and we could meet in cafés and talk about our writing.” Devita imagined how it would be. The thought of that life stretched out wonderfully before him.

“The definitive book on the furniture salesman has yet to be written,” said Mooney, downing his whisky.

Devita tried a bigger sip. The whisky stung at his lips and mouth. There was still a lot in his glass. The waiter had come by with another for Mooney.

“You sure drink those quickly, Moon.”

“Much can be said for a man not only for his choice of refreshment, but by his pace,” Mooney remarked. “And that is to say nothing of his stamina.”

The rain was coming down harder and the wind had picked up and begun to blow the rain onto them. The awning was no protection sitting outside. It was cold and miserable to sit outside.

“Let’s go in, Moon.” There was an open table right inside the window.

“As you wish, my friend.”

Inside the café was warm and noisy and cheerful. The French at lunchtime enjoyed themselves very much indeed.

“So, my friend, you’ve gotten yourself married.”

“Yes. Yes I have.” It surprised him that Mooney knew.

“Where is she?”

“At the hotel. She wasn’t feeling well.”


“It’s just in the mornings.”

“No kids though, right?”

“No, no,” Devita shook his head.

“At least you’ve avoided that trap, my friend.”

Devita didn’t say anything.

“Only with tremendous, lasting pain do you get out of that one.”

“I guess so.”

“I’ll have to meet her while you’re here.”

“I think you’d like her. She comes from a good family,” he added, but was quickly sorry to say it. It was something his mother said.

Mooney was smiling at him. “My liking her will depend upon only one thing, my friend. And I am hardly a difficult critic.”

Mooney continued to smile at him. “You are the Last Man, my good friend, the Last Man.”

Devita took a small sip of the whisky. “Why thank you, Moon.”

“Forever the Last Man,” Devita said, holding up his glass.

Mooney just laughed and finished his whisky.

“My friend, you are beginning to bore me,” he said suddenly. “You need to say something interesting or make something happen. As it goes now, I am bored.”

“We sure had good times as students, didn’t we Moon?” Devita tried.

Mooney just stared at him.

“You don’t miss the States at all?”

“Not at all.”

Devita did not know what to say.

“All there is to life is creation and you do not create. Sadly -- and sometimes I do regret it -- then happily too,” Mooney paused. “I just do not give a Fuck,” he said loudly. “Whoooo Waaahhhh! WhooooWaaaaahhhhhh!”

This man is a drunken fool, thought Devita. He could feel the eyes of the café upon them. Devita did not look up. They were all associating him with Mooney.

“And I believe the time has come for you to accept this tab for the impoverished artist that I am,” said Mooney, getting up from the table.

Devita did not quite believe it.

“Maybe you should publish something so you can buy your own drinks,” he said finally.

“In due time, my friend, in due time.” With a wave to their waiter Mooney left the café.

The waiter came to the table and handed Devita the check. Nine whiskies and he had only had one. He thought about a tip and thought against it. He had read somewhere that tips were unnecessary in Paris, and he was not a big tipper anyway. He left the money and went out into the rain.

Devita walked until the Place de la Bastille and stopped to watch the cars circling the monument. Then he realized the rain streaming down his face. His hair and jacket were soaked through. Devita started back toward the hotel. He thought of her in bed, laying there since the morning. Devita walked faster.


It is obvious that no young woman allows herself to be abducted
If she does not wish to be.



Aphorism From A Dream

Then the man-soul went out to his limits and he became stained, god-worn.



All these scars
The kitten made

I challenged her
To really hurt me

The most she did was
Scratch me all

She bit at my toes
Her paw upon my cheek
She flexed her nails
To wake me

Papa, she said,
I don’t care if there’s not any more than this.

Papa, she said,
We have it all don’t we,
Food and a room and each other,
And we will learn to want
What we already have,
And I will never really hurt you.


Death of Seneca

And Nero condemned him to kill himself. Due to his age and Stoic diet the blood was slow in flowing from his wrists. In frustration, Seneca demanded poison. But the poison also failed to kill him. Meanwhile, his wife showed her loyalty by slicing her own wrists to which Nero commanded that she be saved. Her wrists were bound and she no more tried to kill herself. Seneca dictated some additional words to a scribe and again said goodbye to his friends, before entering the baths. He wandered into a steam room and used the dense water vapors to suffocate himself.

Part 2

It was almost dark. From the window he watched the wind tossing the little jack pines, throwing the snow that weighed low the branches. The fire was raging now in the stove. Drinking beside the stove Jim was finally warm. There was the feeling of having fished and come in when the day was done. It was like it always felt, he told himself.

Jim finished the glass and pushed it across the table. It was time to go down and see his grandfather. Jim laced up his boots and put on his jacket and wool hat and went out onto the porch. It was fully dark. Jim switched on the porchlight.

In the tip-up bucket on the porch was the bass. Jim looked in at him, dark-green backed, white-bellied and frosted with snow. It had been exciting to catch him. Jim reached down and touched him, hard and frozen to the touch. They had caught and eaten many like this one. Maybe he would get another tomorrow and he and his grandfather would have a fish dinner tomorrow night.

Jim started down the road for his grandfather’s house. The road turned to follow a wall of towering red pines, evenly spaced, planted two-by-two along the road. They had been planted by his great-grandfather. Beyond the pine wall the farmland extended out to the mountain. The wind blew down across the snowy fields and the pines were no protection along the road and Jim walked quickly until out beyond the last pines he saw the cottage.

Jim stamped the snow from his boots and went in through the side door into the kitchen. Inside it was dark, the lights were off, and it smelled pleasantly of wood smoke.

In the family room his grandfather was snoring loudly in his armchair beside the fireplace. The fire had burned down to the coals. Jim switched on the light. On the table beside his grandfather was what remained of his vodka tonic. A crossword puzzle was spread across his lap.

“Grandpa,” Jim said gently.


Jim touched his shoulder.


The old man started and opened his eyes and smiled seeing his grandson.


He pulled himself up from the chair and hugged Jim tightly.

“Jimmy it’s so good to see you. It’s so good to have you up here again.”

“It’s great to be up here again, Grandpa,” said Jim.

“I thought maybe you might be coming down after fishing,” his grandfather said. “Let’s go in the kitchen and get us something to drink.”


“You know, I almost forgot. I’ve got something special for us. You wait right here, Jimmy.”

The old man shuffled across the room and out the door into the night. He did not take his jacket and Jim had a pretty good idea what he was going for.

Jim knelt down at the fireplace and laid in some pieces of kindling over the coals. He put a birch log on the grate and ignited the paper under the kindling, watching the paper flare up and the kindling crackle and catch.

The door opened, cold rushing in from the outside, and his grandfather had returned with the green bottle.

“Jimmy, I’ve got something real special to celebrate your being back up here. Come on in the kitchen.”

“I figured it was that Grandpa.” They were both smiling.

Grandpa Olof looked in the cupboard for the special glasses. The bottle of aquavit was new and unopened and there was a layer of frozen moisture on it. Jim screwed off the cap. This was going to be a great pleasure.

“I’ve had that bottle out in the snow since this afternoon,” his grandfather said. “I figured what you needed was a little of the ‘water of life’ after a cold one like today.”

Jim poured the aquavit, thick and syrupy from the cold, up to the lip of the special glasses.

“Skoal,” his grandfather said.

“Skoal,” said Jim.

They touched glasses and drank off, the anis and caraway flavors trailing as they looked at each other, not showing any effect from the aquavit.

“You remembered how to do it!”

“That’s one thing I couldn’t forget Grandpa. After you drink you don’t show it and you look the other guy in the eye.”

“I love you so much Jimmy.”

Jim was pouring them up again. His grandfather was a very serious aquavit drinker. He had taught Jim to drink aquavit the way they drank it in Sweden.

“How about another,” Jim said.

“Sure, sure, Jimmy.”



They drank off and set the empty glasses on the counter.

“You think I’m ready for Sweden now, Grandpa?”

“Well, Jimmy, I think you’re ready to drink aquavit there.”

Jim and his grandfather laughed.

“But tell me something Jimmy,” he moved his lips and tightened his face the way he did when he was going to speak importantly. “Now tell me Jimmy. When are you going to get married?”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Jim.

“Now your brother is married. Why don’t you find a French girl like he did? And what about that Sarah we met onetime? She had some Swedish in her, didn’t she?”

“I still talk to her,” Jim offered.

“Do you love her?”

“I don’t really know.” He had never talked this way before with his grandfather. “It’s the hardest thing. I don’t know, I guess.”

“It’s okay, Jimmy,” his grandfather said. “I shouldn’t be asking you that,” he said. “It’s not really any of my business anyway.”

Jim poured another round and they skoal-ed and drank.

“Now when were you up here last, Jimmy?”

“It’s been a few years,” Jim answered.

“I remember when you used to come up here every winter,” said his grandfather.

Jim was quiet.

“You used to catch so many we were still eating pike and bass after you left.”

“Your Grandma and I used to like it so much having everyone up here together. I guess it wasn’t so long ago, was it.”

Jim was looking at the empty glasses. His grandfather felt of his arm.

“I want you to know how proud of you I am, Jimmy. I love you so much. I’m so happy how you’re turning out and hearing about all the interesting things you do and the places you go.”

“When I was your age there was only one thing I wanted to do and that was to farm chickens. I had a little chicken farm outside Wautoma. I had just failed out of college and had an operation for an ulcer all because my father wanted me to be a doctor and I didn’t want to be. After a couple of years I lost that chicken farm. Then I met your Grandma and we were married. Even when I had the land to try chicken farming again I didn’t do it.”

Jim listened. His grandfather had told him the story before.

“It doesn’t matter what anyone says, you’ve got to try everything you want to when you’re young.”

It was true, he thought. It was what he had believed, he still believed it. Carefully, he poured up both glasses.

“Skoal, Grandpa,” Jim said, lifting his glass.

“Skoal, Jimmy,” said his grandfather.

They looked each other in the eye and drank.

“It sure is great drinking aquavit together,” said Jim.

“It sure is,” his grandfather said. “You know,” said his grandfather, “I forgot to ask you how the fishing went today.”

“I only got a bass,” said Jim, remembering the fishing. “I only had one tip-up.”

“The fishing was good, it was the catching that wasn’t so good then,” said Grandpa Olof, using the old fisherman’s line. “I’m sure you’ll have better luck tomorrow. It’s supposed to be warmer tomorrow.”

“Grandpa, why don’t you come out on the ice with me,” Jim said suddenly. “You could jig for panfish while I fish the tip-ups. I could go into Sully’s in the morning and pick up some wax worms for you.”

“Well, I think I’d like that very much,” said his grandfather.

“How about another and I’ll head back,” said Jim. “I’ll let you rest up for tomorrow.” He had surprised himself with the idea.

He poured out the aquavit and they drank as before according to Swedish custom. At the door Jim put on his boots and coat.

“So you come by when you want to in the morning, Jimmy,” his grandfather said.

“I’ll come by after I get back from town,” said Jim.

His grandfather hugged him tightly. He seemed smaller than Jim remembered.

“I’m so proud of you Jimmy. It’s so great having you up here. I want you to know you can come up here and stay anytime you want to. You can stay as long as you want to, Jimmy.”

“Okay, Grandpa, I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Okay, Jimmy. You have a good night.” He watched Jim walk out towards the pines and shut the door.

Outside the wind had dropped. The clouds had broken and the moon lighted the snow and outlined the high trees against the night. Jim went up the road along the pines, the snow crunching under his boots. Everything was clear and quiet without the wind. He came around the turn and ahead was the cabin, dark inside, smoke still coming from the chimney. Jim stopped on the porch listening to the stillness. Tomorrow they were going fishing together. He smiled. From the porch, down through the trees, he could see the ice stretching out bright in the moonlight. He felt certain they were going to catch a lot together.


Aphorisms: Progress

39. Individual progress -- meaning expansion of physical and intellectual power -- is only possible through pain. Pain is the result of going against one’s natural instinct.

40. Instincts exist as those basic responses which historically have kept men alive, to procreate and continue, and as such are strong in all living men.

43. Man’s instincts are his history, the history of how he was able to survive.

48. But consciousness and language allow man to meditate upon those instincts, challenge them, and refine them. This man has not done well enough, or stopped doing. His instincts, which do much to keep him alive when danger is greatest, are also what keeps him from evolving forward, becoming something greater, overcoming what is most dangerous and painful.

58. Man is stuck. Man continues to shape the world around him to evolve it through his technologies, but regarding his own development, pushing beyond the limits imposed by his instincts, he shies away. Pain and uncertainty frighten him. His instinctual reflex against pain and difficulty reinforce his decision to keep away from those challenges. He uses his technologies to keep those challenges distant from him.

71. Man’s dominance of the world means his instincts are now rarely called upon to save him. Dangers are rare and fleeting. His instincts are out of practice. His threshold for pain, for danger, for difficulty, is lowered. The slightest discomfort turns him away from a task. More than ever man chooses to avoid pain, and through his far-reaching and distant control of the world he is able to do it.

72. When his instinctual history is called upon in even the slightest way his reflex is to quickly flee from the difficult and painful. Man has forgotten, or maybe never learned, the difference between a pain that most certainly kills and a pain that only comes close to killing. Hence man turns away from all pain. He does not try to think through his instinctual response and evaluate the pain, in order to conquer it. And as such, man misses the progress possible by passing through the pain that is almost deadly, which when overcome produces a higher form of life.

83. Man now lives with the false promise of a painless life, filled with laughter and happiness; a constant vacation without ever a day of labor; only the sweetest of foods and moments; never-ending pleasures; a beauty that cannot fail; and the distraction of things, things, things, always in abundance. Man’s encounter with even the most minor difficulty and pain produces an extreme reaction. His instincts are out of practice.

98. What is animal in man is now mostly obscured. Man’s instincts are his outer bonds, and they remain unexplored. Man does not progress.

The Fuckwit Sees Purpose In Everything


Freedom Fighter

Sewell Avery, president of Montgomery, Ward & Co., being forcibly removed from his corporate offices by the United States Army on the order of President Franklin D Roosevelt, 1944. Montgomery Ward remained under Army occupation from December 1944 to October 1945.

Torn Curtain

Copyright © Moraline Free