The old general sits in faded desert khakis against the blue cloudless sky of an endless afternoon on his patio where a brown boy brings whiskey and cigarettes on a silver tray. “Good boy too – I pick him up at the market shortly after I arrive here… never had a native so gentle and obedient…” the brown boy spits in the general’s drink and heaves the tray down onto the table before limping off into a darkened corridor. The general twists his old white moustache and fades out into blue memories like to begin the whole affair. My cover: I am pen and paper with the Daily News and I like to make the scene right before it happen – never know when a story might crop up, and I’ve got a good feeling about this one.
“Well first let me say that the whole thing is an awful affair right from the start – I was sitting in the club back London way when they call me into headquarters, home office, and explain the situation: ‘Brownthwaite’, they say, ‘we’ve got a special assignment for you…’ and next day I’m packing my bags for this godforsaken desert and the natives are no help at all – only thing is the white man, and there are far too few of those…”
A riot of sorts is erupting in the streets below – a small gang of boys in obsidian loincloths spiralling skyward have shanghaied a police officer and are putting the squeeze on him two at a time against the crumbling red brick wall of the town post office. The officer bleeds from nose and ears spitting blood on the ground at his feet. General Brownthwaite stands up cool and calm and fires a volley of shots from the patio in swift succession from an old revolver he keep on him for just such a purpose. The boys scatter to the winds with a raw egg smell of trailing semen and expensive pomades – the officer falls crumpled to the ground in a dead heap where the general puts him out of his misery swift and sharp like Wyatt Earp.
Camera cuts to the desert boys in howling sand fox silence – the desert of dreams: one boy emerges naked from the orgone accumulator and stands still in the breeze, hair flickering across blue eyes. He glows a faint mineral blue in the calm of the air and extends his cock out with a slight thrust of hips growing stiff and balls tightening. He spurts onto the desert floor with a stretch and flex of his muscles bearing down under the sun like so much alabaster blue flesh. “Eric,” he calls soft as silence carried on the wind amongst the boys squatting round their dusty tents, “the time has come…” a blue boy flashing silver eyes emerges from the rubble of a nearby adobe and drapes the first boy in a long flowing robe changes colour with the movements of light playing out all about him. The boy raises his hands and commands the attention of his troops – they howl and gibber in anticipation performing ritual sex acts on the dusty floor and grunting with an endless succession of half-words on the subliminal wavelength.
The projector flickers and fades out where the general stands blotting out the sun along a low curved wall where the images play. “And I tell you, this is only the half of it – the home office was right! Directly I came here (after finding a good darkie, mind you) I had these films made… theory is, we capture their image and we can use it back against them… don’t know how it works, very technical mind you – the boys in the pentagon sent me a man for that… very technical indeed…” enter Rubber Johnny moving slow and wearing a white gossamer coat glistening in the sunshine and a set of glasses refract the light and allow his eyes to look in all directions simultaneously (one eye roves right looking sweet and sour in turns, putting the hex on anything that crosses its path – second eye moves leftward with a scouring motion like to look for something half-forgotten – both eyes periodically fix simultaneous upon a single target and blaze out a blue fire that chills the bones and kills small birds and mammals where they stand). “The image of a boy in motion can be played back at half speed all across the flesh through use of projector and camera gun – slow the attack troops down and take them out before they even have a chance to get to us – alternatively, there is the possibility of playing loops backwards and cutting in with death image of Nagasaki and rape and murder – have them retreat of their own accord and very likely disintegrate down into radioactive dust or perhaps even take their own lives in one brief flash…” snaps his fingers meaningfully.
He makes a brief display of his apparatuses laid out upon the table on a silver cloth glowing like fish eggs under a luminous eye. Dead street sounds wail below, cold vulture circling and a small cavalcade of vehicles surrounds the apartment complex as a group of natives bear down upon our position. They come bearing sticks and stones and metal implements pried from security bars across windows and the fronts of cars – rusty tyre jacks and cobblestones, old tin cans sharpened to a fine point, makeshift blow guns with rusty carpentry nails for darts, the list goes on – a warm welcome indeed…
“A small matter of disagreement between the townsfolk and the military presence we have presently established here…” Brownthwaite toys with his moustache and fires off a few rounds from the ivory handled revolver adjusting his pith helmet as it bucks with the recoil, “a levee on all extra rations – these greedy beggars seem to think we have it too easy, but we’ll show them a thing or two…” a tall negro falls to the ground bleeding from a loose eye socket writhing around in spasms of pain, a pregnant woman miscarries in a scream of abuse hurled at the MPs lining the street and preventing ingress to the building. Rubber Johnny waves the general back with a gentle hand and begins assembling a device on the table amongst the whiskey glasses and old cigar butts. A long telescopic tube emanating silver bubbles where a film cannister buzzes and whirs and a pale blue light shoots out down into the crowd. Sex sounds of a riotous orgy: “touch me here, Henrique… oh yes, just like that – this is my first time you know…” the natives stop their attack and begin rubbing themselves in pneumatic motion, slow circles around groin and nipples growing erect and dripping a soft viscous fluid with raw egg smell. Cut in sounds of rape and pillage – screams of an undefended child succumbing to the Mongol hordes – a tall metallic male produces a makeshift knife from beneath his loincloth and rushes on his neighbour with a horrid slicing sound, his erection pulsating wildly and spurting long arcs of jism onto the dusty ground and slick flesh wet with fresh blood. A young girl tears off her clothes and spreads her legs, ass and labia opening and closing like a gasping fish mouth, and she slashes with sharpened fingernails into the eyes and genitals of all the lecherous old fucks come take a piece of her in the hazy afternoon miasma. In short: total sexual chaos – blue movie like I never see – Rubber Johnny is grinning a light smile and fiddling with the dials and knobs on his machine whirring and buzzing back and forth like some sort of crazed 1920s projectionist.