Archive for the 'Eccentric Narrative' Category

Oct 18 2007

Indian Museum

Cyrano’s Journal Online and its semi-autonomous subsections (Thomas Paine’s Corner, The Greanville Journal, CJO Avenger, and VoxPop) would be delighted to periodically email you links to the most recent material and timeless classics available on our diverse and comprehensive site. If you would like to subscribe, type “CJO subscription” in the subject line and send your email to

indian

For Leonard Crow Dog, Archie Lame Deer and other “Viral Deviants” living and dead.

“We shall live again,” Patti Smith, “Ghost Dance”

By Adam Engel

10/18/07

“Welcome to Indian Museum, where villains, Viral Deviants (VDs) and Terrorists of the past are preserved for your enlightenment,” said our Guide.

The Guide, tall, serious, had silver hair; his gray eyes gleamed like sun-lit steel. He wore the deep blue uniform of Indian Museum, fashioned after the uniforms worn by soldiers of The Nation more than a century ago, when the West was won.

“The Indians were fierce, alright. Real tough customers. But what force can withstand the righteous anger of The Nation?” said The Guide. “The Indians were extinguished so that The Nation might thrive.”

The Guide explained how Indians could not adapt to the Destiny of The Nation and thus were eliminated for the benefit of all.

“But The City, and indeed The Nation, must preserve its history. The Indians are preserved for posterity in these exquisite glass cases, courtesy of Tree of Knowledge Incorporated (TKI) Technologies.”

Miniature glass coffins. Indians in suits and dresses like ordinary Citizens. Babes enfolded in their mothers’ arms. Indians like dolls, averaging a foot in length, preserved for posterity and beyond.

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Oct 14 2007

Midnight at the Apocalyptic Pancake

Cyrano’s Journal Online and its semi-autonomous subsections (Thomas Paine’s Corner, The Greanville Journal, CJO Avenger, and VoxPop) would be delighted to periodically email you links to the most recent material and timeless classics available on our diverse and comprehensive site. If you would like to subscribe, type “CJO subscription” in the subject line and send your email to

metal

by Adam Engel

10/14/07

Zarathustra’s Dragons stormed the stage like Cro-Magnon angels, a feral furry crew, too savage for Redemption, too innocent to Fall. Where their hair ended and their clothes began was painful to discern. The lead singer wore an ornamental bone through his nose. A necklace of human teeth, plucked sentimentally, the press releases claimed, from the jaws of one-night stands, hung to his navel. The band looked like they’d been used to scrub a large, industrial kitchen.

Midnight at the Apocalyptic Pancake with Buxtehude, proprietor of the Time Capsule Antique shop and amateur “poet” (though, to be fair, all poets of the Nation are amateurs). An old acquaintance from my college days, a lonely man, not of his time. Certainly not the kind I’d choose to waste a night with, but he invited me to drink, “for old time’s sake.” How could I refuse?

Impatient for a waitress, he reached for my drink. The sting of Brain Death, the house specialty, a heady maelstrom of herb juices and spirits, put the light back in his eyes. The Dragons tuned their instruments, creating noise like claws on flint.

“I’m lonely. My little lady’s left me,” whined the Antique Dealer. “My woman dances for another.”

“There, there,” I consoled as best I could. “Now, now. These things happen. Other fish in the sea and all that.”

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