Z-anon-sensei Speaks #90
“There are many people who have never in their lives experienced any *real* emotions.” Ouspensky
William Aaron Burr (known to his friend as ‘Ary’, wink, wink) was recruited into the secret Catholic order of ^OpissDux when he was merely a wee wee laddie of 12, an altar boy at Our Lady of Conventional Wisdom Church in the Upper West Side. The recruitment was a little rough, but nonetheless it proved irresistible to the young Willie. He returned to the confessional the very next day (much to his mother’s mistaken pleasure) because, as he told her, he “felt he had something important to learn.” But it wasn’t the lure of knowledge that drew him. Burr has never craved wisdom or the inspirational flash of ^deepsight. It was, instead, the very act of surrender, the giving up of the self, the release of all responsibility and guilt, the emptiness and the feeling of being nothing but the tool of a will greater than his own, that held such allure to him. The pain only signified the degree of his surrender, the absolute nature of his absolution.
The psychology of the victim includes volumes of discussion about the phenomenon known as disassociation. Burr’s initial recruitment experience caused him to disassociate from himself, for the first time in his life. In that moment of surrender, Burr found himself inhabited, like a city filled with voices and forces that gave him a feeling of destiny and purpose, and an irresistible, orgasmic release that quickly became his only true purpose in life. He saw himself as a vessel, a tool, a servant, and a willing sacrifice to his god from that moment on.
Burr has served ^OpissDux faithfully, acknowledging the order as his supreme master for 57 years now. Despite the wealth, the power he has been granted, and access to all the pain he could ever want, he’s somehow grown weary of the role. He’s old beyond his years and not very healthy. But he is far beyond any choice in the matter. He sighs deeply when he sees the incoming call from the WhoreHouse. It’s Thump, and he already knows what he wants. Ghoulie gave Burr the head’s up on this one yesterday. Burr hates the Ghoulie, and he thinks this is risky business, but O.D. brass has approved it. He’ll have to play dumb with Thump, though. Act surprised, a little resistant. Thump likes to think things are his own idea. Let him.
Z-anon-sensei says there seems to be a cycle to it. The fevers rise and then subside like the tides. Sleep washes over the body like nightfall, and waking comes like the sun. But the cycle is not synchronized with day and night, and so life shifts away from the ordinary rhythms of time. Instead, a new regimen is imposed, broken up into fits of coughing, fitful naps, aching hours of walking slowly from room to room, of pulling books idly from shelves and putting them back without opening them up. Of food that is poorly prepared, barely eaten, wasted and thrown away. Of lights that always seem too bright, and sleep filled with uneasy dreams. They say that in outer space, or in solitary confinement, or in certain experiments where a person lives underground for long periods of time, the human body enters a new circadian rhythm out of synch with the 24 hour cycle of the sun, as though a deeper evolutionary pull drags us back to a primitive world of constant darkness, without the benefit of language to describe it, or even of senses to fully experience it, a slow staggering life like an amoeba, a single-cellular existence without memory of any past or desire for any future, trapped in a moment-to-moment movement that leads nowhere and never seems to end.