This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end
Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
Riffster: Two years later, and I'm still stuck in this
hell hole. The NEFGA high command promised me they'd send an
extraction team once I completed my mission to sanction Paint
Fiction, but like most politicians, there words didn't match their
deeds. (sigh...)
Several months ago, tired of waiting for the white robed goons
of the NEFGA Hegemony to keep their promises, I decided to paddle
my way upriver, in the hopes that there may be some semblance of
civilization at the headwaters. The only thing I found on my
journey was a bunch of nuerotic kids and a whacked out photographer
by the name of Joe Merchant. Our conversations were, well, let's
just say they were interesting, to say the least....
Joe Merchant: "Sound the siren... There's film cans
over there, there's hide-a-keys over there, and watch out those
dang alligators bite, I'll tell ya. Eh, that's a pretty one. Move
in right in towards me... I´m an American ! Yeah, American
civilian. Hi yank... American, american civilian. It's all right.
And you got the cigarettes, that's what I've been dreaming
of."
Riffster: "Who are you ?"
Joe Merchant: "Who are you ... ? I'm a
photojournalist. I've covered the micro cache war since 01. I've
been in Palatka, Osceola, Ocala... I´ll tell you one thing,
this kayak is a mess, man."
Riffster: "Who are all these kids?"
Joe Merchant: "Yeah, well... They think you have come
to take him away. I hope that isn't true."
Riffster: "Take who away ?"
Joe Merchant: "Him. Serial Finder. These are all his
children, as far as you can see."
Riffster: "Could I, uh, talk to Serial
Finder?"
Joe Merchant: "Hey, man, you don't talk to the Finder.
You listen to him. The man's enlarged my mind. He's a poet-warrior
in the classic sense. I mean sometimes he'll, uh, well, you'll say
hello to him, right? And he'll just walk right by you, and he won't
even notice you. And suddenly he'll grab you, and he'll throw you
in a corner, and he'll say do you know that 'if' is the middle word
in life? If you can keep your head when all about you are losing
theirs and blaming it on you, if you can trust yourself when all
men doubt you -- I mean I'm no, I can't -- I'm a little man, I'm a
little man, he's, he's a great man. I should have been a pair of
ragged claws scuttling across floors of silent seas -- I mean
--"
Riffster: {mutters)"This guy is looney
toons..."
Joe Merchant: "Hey, uh, don't go -- don't go without
me, OK? I want to get a picture. He can be terrible, he can be
mean, he can be right. He's fighting the micro war. He's a great
man. I mean... I wish I had words. I can tell you the other day he
wanted to kill me."
Riffster: "Why did he want to kill you ?"
Joe Merchant: "Because I took his picture. He said if
I take his picture again 'I'm gonna kill you'. And he meant it ! So
you just lay it cool, lay back, dig it... He gets friendly again,
really does. But you don't judge him like an ordinary man. OK, now
watch it. Can you feel the vibe of this place? Let me take a
picture. Hey, hello... hello. Would you hold it for a
minute."
Riffster: As I look around, I notice that the whole area
is infested with film cans. Joe must've noticed the scowl which
came across my face.
Joe Merchant: "The film cans. You're looking at the
film cans. I, uh -- sometimes he goes too far, you know -- he's the
first one to admit it!"
Riffster: "He's gone crazy!"
Joe Merchant: "Wrong! Wrong! If you could have heard
the man, just two days ago, if you could have heard the man! You
going to call him crazy?"
Riffster: "I just want to talk to him."
Joe Merchant: "Well man, he's gone away. He's gone
away. He disappeared into the jungle with his people..."
Riffster: "I'll wait..."
Joe Merchant: "... he feels comfortable with his
people. He forgets him with his people. He forgets himself...Why?
Why would a nice guy like you wanna mess with a genius? You know
that the man really likes you. He likes you, he really likes you.
He's got something in mind for you. Aren't you curious about that?
I'm curious, I'm very curious. You curious? There's something
happening out there, man. You know something, man, I know something
that you don't know. That's right, jack. The man is clear in his
mind, but his soul is mad . Oh yeah. He's fading, I think. He hates
all this, he hates it! But ... the man's ... uh ... he reads poetry
out loud, alright? ... And a voice! A voice. ... He likes you
because you're still alive. He's got plans for you. Nah, nah, I'm
not going to help you, you're going to help him, man. You're going
to help him. I mean, what are they going to say, man, when he's no
longer hiding film cans, huh? Because he fades, when it fades, man,
when it fades, he fades. What are they going to say about him?
What, are they going to say, he was a kind man, he was a wise man,
he had plans, he had wisdom? Bullcrap, man! Am I going to be the
one, that's going to set them straight? Look at me: wrong!
...You!"
Riffster: "Seriously. I just want to talk to the guy.
Nothing more."
Joe Merchant: "Do you know what the man is saying? Do
you? This is dialectics. It's very simple dialectics. One through
nine, no maybes, no supposes, no fractions -- you can't travel in
space, you can't go out into space, you know, without, like, you
know, with fractions -- what are you going to land on, one quarter,
three-eighths -- what are you going to do when you go from here to
Venus or something -- that's dialectic physics, OK? Dialectic logic
is there's only love and hate, you either love somebody or you hate
them. This is the way the caching world ends! Look at this mess
we're in, man! Not with a bang, with a whimper. And with a whimper,
I'm splitting, jack!"
Riffster: That was the last I saw of Joe Merchant. As he
wandered off into the jungle, the children followed, leaving me
alone, once again, with just the jungle to keep me company. The
smell of soggy logs and rusty hide-a-keys permeates the air like
flies over a bloated corpse. How the hell am I supposed to find my
way out of here? Or a better question; Do I want to find my way out
of here? Out there is the world of NEFGA and the Hedgemony. Those
bastards who sent me out here. In here, in the jungle, there's just
me...
And this ammo can...
This is the end
Beautiful friend
This is the end
My only friend, the end
It hurts to set you free
But you'll never follow me
The end of laughter and soft lies
The end of nights we tried to die
This is the end.
(On a side note: Whoever wrote that song must've been really,
really stoned.
Not judgin'... just sayin')
FTF prize is a silver 1962 English Two Pence coin.
Good luck!