(yes they did, brother, yes they did)
And I was picked by those Lords as your messiah, your grand executioner, your grand lover, your Popcorn King. They gave me the lightning and the lightning gave me the powers, and these powers made me better than you, and that’s all there is to that tune.
(tell it like it is, Brother Corn)
But I come down off that roof a new man made of two, and I come in here and I saw these movies and I knew the truth, seen it was all a sign.
(come to you in a flash of light, this sign)
That’s right, it did. Say amen.
(AMEN)
Man but I feel good, sanitized and homogenized. Say it again, good brother.
(AMEN)
Oh, but I like the sound of that. One more time.
(AMEN)
All right, glory hallelujah, popcorn and corpses be praised.
(amen on that popcorn and dead folks)
You see, I saw these movies were the juice of the Lord’s brains, the very juice done squirted out of their heads and onto them big white things we call screens. There is the way to live, brethren. It’s a dog-eat-dog, folk- eat-folk world, and ain’t nothing matters but one thing. That you ain’t the one that gets et, if you know what I mean.
(that’s the truth, Brother Corn, ain’t no denying)
And I said aloud right off the top set of my lips (yes, you did)
– I have been sent down here from that roof a changed couple of individuals to make sure those little people out there who are not nearly as neat as I am have an example, someone to follow… someone with the corn. ‘Cause this place is full of corn, my friends. You too can eat again, and not your neighbor. I’ll eat your neighbors, just bring them to me when they go belly up… get tired of living, bring your own self, I’ll be glad to kill your ass dead.
(be thrilled to do it, yes, he will)
And now you say, but what is the point of all this? It is confusing, Brother Corn.
(was gonna ask that)
Sure you were. And the point is I do as I like when I like and you do what I like when I like. And there is just really very little that I want.
(ain’t asking much)
No I’m not. Just that meat I told you about, alive or dead. And another little thing. The most important thing. I want you to know the movies to be real.
(just as real as can be)
They are the reality and you are the non-reality. You cannot prove your reality by touching yourself. That means nothing.
(go on, touch yourself, don’t mean a thing)
It’s what you can’t touch that’s real.
(can’t touch reality, no matter how hard you try)
If you want to become as real as the lights on the screens, you have to give yourself to them, do as they do, live as they live. They are the scripture and I am their voice.
(talking for them just as plain as can be)
So come on over to the other side, Reality City. Embrace the truth of the flickering dream, hold on to reality and let the non-reality flow out of you like piss from a bladder. Take the first step toward gratification, toward becoming real. All you got to do to have this thing and the popcorn (bless that popcorn)
– is listen to me, dear hearts, the voice of the scripture. All you got to do is listen, and give me what I want.
(amen, Brother Corn, amen)
3
What the nutcase in the concession wanted was simple.
Power.
For the King, power was the end and the beginning-the snake biting its tail. There was nothing else. For in his brains were the distant and confused memories of Randy and Willard. Two people who had seen themselves as outsiders, felt like hitchhikers on the road of life, forever watching fast cars pass them by.
But now, they were the drivers, hands firm on the wheel. It was they who drove with the pedal to the metal, smiling, looking out at the pedestrians, passing them by, shooting them the finger, giving them a rude honk and a flicking wave.
And if you could have heard the King’s voice, that incredible voice massaging your brain like a cat kneading a pillow, you could understand a little how he suckered those folks in, gave them the religion of violence and greed to believe in.
And if Bob and I hadn’t had the jerky, the juice of it giving fuel to our thoughts, keeping our brains clearer than the masses (but not as clear as the Christians fueled on the higher octane of faith), we would have joined right up with old King, praised him on high, begged for the corn, worshiped the action on the screens and tried not to think about the time we would die.
And it must be said that the Popcorn King not only had the voice, he had presence. He’d stand out in front of the concession with smiles on both his faces, plastic bags of popcorn in all of his hands (both of Randy’s and one of Willard’s-the other being permanently full of. 357), and he’d close his eyes and flex his body, and the tattoos would quiver, and he’d open his eyes, and the popcorn would begin to pop in the bags, bursting them, and the King would toss the bags forward, beyond the blue glow, and it would snow corn onto the asphalt and fights would begin (the King would chuckle) as people tried to secure the puffs. But there was always plenty-least at this time I’m telling you about-and the fights were more ritualistic than desperate, like punk rockers slam-dancing.
Then would come the buckets of soft drinks carried by the King. Big buckets with paper cups floating in the liquid. People would form unruly lines, come forward one at a time, take a cup, dip from the buckets and drink the syrupy drinks, increasing, more than satisfying, their thirst. But that was the thing that bothered me most as Bob and I stood at the back of East Screen looking over the hood of an abandoned car, those people lifting those cups and seeing little drips of liquid running down their chins. All we had for liquid was the juice from the jerky, but it wasn’t water, and we were feeling the slow effect of dehydration. But still, we held out.
Then the weak and the dead would be brought to the King, laid before the blue glow like sacrifices, and the tiger tattoo would leap from the King’s stomach, finish off the living, then drag all the bodies inside, where later they would appear in the window, gradually losing flesh in strips.
These eaters and drinkers were not only from Lot A, but B as well. They would all come to eat the King’s corn and drink his soft drinks, and afterward go back to their cars and sit on the hoods or roofs and quote the lines in the movies. Quote them with the reverence of holy scripture.
And ole Popcorn King, from inside the concession, using the intercom, would talk to his congregation via the speakers, that hot-cool voice fogging their brains. He would quote the movie lines with them. He would turn the sound down, preach at them, rap at them.
This version of loaves and fishes continued for a time to the happy contentment of the followers, and then the popcorn stopped.
Zip.
Nada.
No corn.
The King did not appear in front of the concession, and his voice did not grace the speakers. There were just the movies rolling on and on, giving evidence to the fact that someone was changing them, keeping them in order, but the King did not make an appearance.
