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SECRET ILLICIT NIGHT MOVEMENTS
BY CHRIS DIKEN

Finally it arrived, the illicit sex music his mother had warned him against, she said no way no how not possible will I ever not even in one million years or more give out my credit card number like that to a stranger especially for trash, I work for my money and Iím not going to use it to finance my own sonís corruption, CD in this and most cases she told him stood for Completely Dirty, which made him want it even more, so he had no choice, he went and did it on his own, got on the derelict pre-Pentium workstation after she went to bed, balled up Kleenex in his hand on which was written the code, written almost illegibly with a golf pencil he had hidden in his sock for that explicit purpose, that is, of recording the special secret discount savings numerals which flashed at the bottom of the screen and insured that he was one of the first hundred therefore qualifying him for up to three dollars off his purchase, three dollars he would put to absolutely solid use buying small plastic dinosaurs and a jawbreaker too big to fit into his mouth all at once, and he unballed the Kleenex which had been ripped by the extremely sharp golf pencilís point and switched the thing on and it made a zooming hyperspeed rocketblasting electronical geysering sound, although he had never heard a geyser he expected to see one in person someday while on vacation with his own wife and family, and it took either an epoch or an eon to boot, he wasnít sure which was longer, maybe both added together, then he typed extra quietly pausing like ten seconds between each keystroke, double-U, pause, double-U, and the rest, all of it, each more dangerous than the last, the risk increasing, he pressed down each key in four increments to prevent any percussive clicks which might lead to his discovery, the den seemed more shadowy than usual, he thought, but he placed his miniature ninja bodyguard on the desk facing behind him to watch for intruders, triple secret agents and hatchet-throwing robots, and the ninja bodyguard, although his sword was drawn, remained calm, all part of his lifelong Zen training in the mountaintop temple under the tutelage of his master, heavy with robe and mustache, make only second moves, wreak only vengeance, and be at peace with it, so when you demonstrate it by splitting the physical heads of men the purer it may reign in and destroy their souls, doing sustained breathholding exercises and concentrating simultaneously on several pertinent Zen koans, The Second Move, The Incredible Death, How the Tree Became Enlightened By Death, When the Monk Met the Assassin Along a Muddy Road, and others, the not breathing and extreme concentration something his Zen training taught him to be able to leave behind at any moment, if necessary he would mercilessly slash at the slightest hint of anything, not even the barest quiver of movement would go unslashed, and he felt the ninja bodyguardís peacefulness become peacefulness in him, it carried him through, and eventually after checking over his shoulder nineteen times he finished, he hit submit and had done it, he had ordered his Best of Keith Sweat album from a website entirely devoted to only hit music, which he loved.

[Forever after at http://eyeshot.net/illicitdiken.html

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