She came floating through the room in the arms of……..Ken.  My dear friend Ken, was heroicly transporting her to fresh air.  Her dress was barely holding on or covering anything, and she was wearing no underwear, which was a detail that almost certainly did NOT escape anyone.

Of course, the damsel in distress, rescued by Kenny, was of considerable interest to throngs of men…and already a mob of homeless men was surrounding her, with long threads of drool and tongues dangling to the tarmac.  If this had been Beverly Hills, a slew of cameras would have been flashing at us, but this was the last night at the Speak Easy, in the back alley by the dumpster, 3 am.   A herd of bison was also drawn to the scene somehow.

She was sitting now, on the curb outside, head down below her knees, in perfect rag doll composition. In fact, maybe it was just a giant rag doll, with strings running off into the alley.  Would some ragdoll operator suddenly pull the strings?   Maybe IT  would jump to gangly life and start dancing and singing??  Or was she on hard drugs, with her life now seriously in danger? Should we call an ambulance?

I tried to make her drink some water, but lifting her head turned out to be very awkward and a little disturbing even.

She mumbled at me, and I knew she was alive.  Her pulse was faint and she was barely breathing.  If her life was somehow in jeopardy now, I knew, I was the one that must save her!   No one else would do.  None of the other men pawing at her with comforting hands, would be able to do this.  None of them had the experience that I have.  None of them KNEW, how easily people can die.  An ambulance might kill her!

Some of the bison were becoming restless.  One of them had a fat blade of grass dangling from his chin, and a huge dirt clod attached to the end .  He nibbled at a potted ficus by the door, and his stomach gurgled.

This one was NOT going to die!   Not on my watch.  How could she, or anyone else know, how experienced I was, and how certain I was that I could save her better than anyone else, even a doctor.  How could they know, the stories I’d heard.  Friends who expired, left alone on couches.  This time, I was not going to let that happen.  I checked her for track marks.  I asked her if she had been doing heroin.  A star burst to life somewhere in her bowels, and a “no” was minimally but clearly pronounced.  It wasn’t a clearly pronounced “no”, but a “no” that rose up from her core, and somehow rumbled up her spine.   It was hardly what you’d call a “word” but I knew she had said it.  She managed to teleport that word in from Zeta Reticuli, luckily I DO speak in that tongue.  She could not speak, and only I could understand her silent tongue.

Still…who knows what drugs she MAY have done.  I hoped that she was just very drunk, and I felt like an ambulance would not help or be necessary.  I knew I could get her though this, and she WANTED me to stay with her.  She could answer me yes or no, in her way.  The two word wonder, this one.  With a vocabulary this size, who knows what she might say or do, and where she’s been.  She may have escaped from the circus, the Amazing Two Word Wonder Girl!!  Maybe nobody has bothered to teach her any other words, and I am to be her language instructor.  Maybe she washed ashore with a shipment of dolls that had spilled off a cargo ship in a rough storm, and now here she was, in the back alley, by the dumpster, with a 2 word vocabulary, and completely out cold 99 percent of the time.

A homeless guy leaped out of a nearby bush, cut a hole in the fence with some giant wire cutters, crawled across an expanse of barbed wire… and handed me a condom with a giddy smile, which was probably in poor taste, but  well intentioned.  I thanked him, and said “well, uh, you never know right?”

As the club owners were leaving, we all decided to load her into a nice man’s car, and take her to Kenny’s and put her on one of the many old used couches there.  Loading her in the car was difficult.  I suddenly felt like I was transporting a cadavre,because she was really behaving very much like one.  BAD cadavre. BAD!  Later, I learned she was a performance artist, and I wondered if the whole thing had been an act, and a jest.  Her ultimate performance art piece.  Adventures of a cadavre downtown.   Note to self: Next time, go along with the ambulance idea, and see if she suddenly wakes up and feels much better.  Fake the call actually.  “Uh, hello? Yea we need an ambulance at…”  She might have suddenly woke up, I should have done the fake phone call trick as a test first.   I’m really not sure if she was faking all along, but I’d love to find out one day, its on my list of unanswered questions in life.

Later, as we were dragging her limp unconscious body through the revolving doors of the hotel, one of her rag doll legs got stuck.  The concierge raised an eyebrow,and turned his head slightly.

We managed to get her leg in, and her other leg popped out while her dress caught on the hand rail and her slipper wedged in the hinge mechanism somehow.  In short, her limp body was working against us at the revolving door stage of the trip, and I considered giving up, and just relaxing with her there in pretzel form, in the revolving door, stuck, people pounding on the glass to get through.  The concierge lit a cigarette and watched us like we were a movie, he may have had some popcorn and some jujubees.

Seemed like we struggled with those revolving doors for about an hour.  Although she was apparently unconscious, she seemed to do everything imaginable to prevent us from progressing.  Slipper wedges in mechanism.  Toe pokes in  ear.  Dress snags on handrail.  Arm covers EYES, and I have to shake my head to get it off.

Leg whips around my neck somehow.  I almost yelled “HELP!” but the concierge wasn’t about to help, lazy bastard,  it would interrupt his entertainment for the evening. We were the prime time show, we were his America’s Top Models.  He grinned disturbingly.

It took 4 of us to finally finesse her gently through.

I dragged her, clenched in my arms, down the slippery polished hallway, her legs dragging like seaweed one minute, then like stiff difficult protruding sticks the next minute.  People commented on how strong I was.   We put her on the couch.  I was determined to make sure she was ok before I left her.  I couldn’t leave her on the couch.  I knew she wanted me there with her.  I knew by the way she would squeeze my hand, and by the way she was communicating with me somehow.  Some gutteral communication seemed to rise up from the ocean depths, and escape like sea foam periodically.  No one else could hear, only I could hear.  Me and the seagulls.

Her eyes would sometimes open and glitter for a few seconds.  But wait, did she kinda WINK at me with her eyes just now!!!

Wait…wait a COTTON PICKIN minute here…did she just GRIN, just now, holy SHIT…

Later, I learned she was a homeless but world famous performance artist, and I began wondering if this had been her greatest performance art piece that I had stumbled into unwittingly, ensnared like a bug in a rug…or if I had saved her life and honor,  but I may never know for sure.  Yet ANOTHER question to ponder from my life, that will probably NEVER be answered.  Its a long list folks.

Never mind the genie and his WISHES…I wish I could have ALL QUESTIONS answered from my life!!! That’s my first wish. Genie, answer ALL my questions with definite answers…. and I will be most happy.

What tales the Genie might tell…so sad that everyone is so self centered and won’t ask the genie a few questions about genielife, say…Like how are YOU most kind genie?? Can I get YOU something oh most generous genie??   Do you workout?  Exercise really helps me alot I find, and only takes a short bit of your day, the important thing I find is to do it almost every day, and not just walking around the genie bottle a few times…  Living for so long confined in that little bottle,  do genies know how to swim?  Trust me, Its different than just sitting there on your magic carpet swoooping around riding the wind.  Can genies cook in there?  Order take-out?  Do cell phones work in there?   Do you have adequate ventilation in that bottle?  Is there a Mrs. Genie?  Do you both fit in there?  Does the bottle float or can you sink to the bottom of the sea at-will when thrown in the ocean?  Does the bottle maneuvre underwater like a submarine? How long have you spent on the bottom of the ocean and what was THAT like?  Do you have a periscope?  LOVE the outfit!!!  Who designs your clothes????

I was becoming exhausted with nursing her and being silent, so I went to take a leak and speak to myself for a moment.  Nothing is waking THIS one, I was tired, I kissed her once on the neck maybe that will do it, I’ll be right back rag doll.  I was tired.   In actual FACT, I had worked hard all that night keeping her dress ON actually, the crowd probably hated that, there might have even been some BOOING in fact because of this….Thing is, fellas, its not actually arousing to deal with a rag doll to be quite honest, cute yes, babylike, yes, artistic somehow, yes, arousing, no.

When she wakes up, ALL will be revealed, all my questions in life will be answered…If she wakes up at all…..holy shit…why do I care? And why did I just kiss her on the neck?  Holy shit.  If that doesn’t wake her up NOTHING will right?  Maybe she is sleeping beauty? and she has been sleeping for years, bonking around into walls, and getting stuck in revolving doors, waiting for the love, of another human being, waiting for that ONE tender peck.  Maybe dolls need to be loved just like people.

Sure enough!  When I came back, sleeping beauty was awake, and gathering herself.  IT WORKED!  She tried to walk, and nearly fell into the glass table, but I caught her about a half inch from impact.  She seemed pensive now, and not entirely thankful or talkative.  In fact, she didn’t say a word, but instead began drilling a hole in my skull with her big ragdoll probably psychopathic eyes.  The drill bit turned slowly but persistently, until I looked away, feeling a little uncomfortable suddenly.  Her eyes filled with questions and accusations and ultimately silent rag doll thoughts, or the eyes of a psychopath awakening in a strange environment filled with old couches and a neck kissing man.

The abyss of possible narcotic reaction with alcohol, or the vortex of a daring performance artist in a trance.  Journey into silence.  Mute as a rag doll in the attic.  The Silence of the Rag Doll.

She gathered herself together, and went to the front door, so I said “are you ready?  Are you ready for the street?” I asked.  A seagull perched on a shelf next to some books answered “yes.”

This time we were able to negotiate the revolving door much more effectively, since she was no longer unconscious,but it was rapidly apparent that I was going to have to carry a good portion of her weight to get her home, and that she actually only knew 2 words, yes and no.  Which I thought was kinda fresh actually, to be quite honest.  The concierge winked at me, and twisted a smile together on half his face knowingly.  I wonder if he will ever know the joys of spending an evening with a woman, with a 2 word vocabulary.  Few will ever know the beauty in that, I have to give her credit there.    There was definitely something refreshing, like the wind, to that.  A binary girl, a pure binary organism.  Yes and no.  On or off.  Yin and Yang.  Should I teach her the word “maybe” or would that spoil her purity?  Would that degrade her pure and virginal aura.

See how the world changes and revolves around us simply, and uncomplicated.  All other words should be ILLEGAL…Only the CHOSEN poets shall wield the OTHER words, that’s what I say…I command thee YES or NO?

A flock of geese suddenly lifted off in flight outside in the park.

I wrapped her rag doll arm around my neck, like a wounded soldier, and we marched through skid row, me in my army jacket and combat boots.  She grabbed my hand and squeezed it very tight.  If I had a bullet, she would have sunk her teeth into it.  It was a long walk, carrying the extra weight, and I prepared myself to fend off the inevitable mongrel hordes.  She could tell me yes or no, with her hand squeezing. How nice.  I may have trained her, one squeeze yes, 2 squeezes, no, like a lover in a hospital bed unable to speak. Soldiers stumbling across a battlefield now.  Gun fire down the street. Pop Pop Pop Pop.

As we headed down one particularly dark alley, I heard loud stomping footsteps running up behind us.  Exaggerated footsteps  intended to frighten, but I had no fear.  I was carrying a wounded soldier through a combat zone, and NOTHING was going to stop us!  This was a combat zone now, little did he know, little did stomping man suspect.  He ran up right behind us, stomping really loud, and stopped suddenly.   When he got closer he must have thought to himself  “DAMN…look at THESE two…is he carrying a CADAVRE or a RAG DOLL?”

Regardless of him, we marched on.  At one point, I was dragging her by one leg down the sidewalk and people definitely stared.  NO, just kidding, that was earlier down the corridor of the old hotel.  I wonder if she left forensic evidence, like a clump of hair in the revolving door mechanism.  I imagine police dogs chasing us! Hurry, this way! Quick!

A manhole cover suddenly popped up ten feet in the air, and a homeless man crawled out to hand me a condom again, same guy I think.  Again in very poor taste, but well intentioned.

A very large herd of bison filled the alley, out of nowhere, and the homeless man disappeared in their midst.

“This way?”

One squeeze.

“AH, ok, you live in this street?”
One squeeze.
“That building?”
Two Squeezes.
“Ok, no. Not that one, keep going, I guess this way…”
Down a twisted alley, through a tunnel, wait, wrong tunnel, the other tunnel?…fuck…Wait, was the one squeeze? or 2?

2 squeezes.

Damn long tunnel.  My army jacket drenched.
Finally, out of the blue amidst a flock of parrots, a huge hand squeeze.  She’s staring with one eye squinting up at this old run down hotel.
Yep, this is it.
At the door, I give her my card.
“OK! Same time next week?”

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