Saturday, June 25, 2011

Fukushima "Kiss Me, Deadly"

Dead Planet LXXXIV

Fukushima—Kiss Me, Deadly

I fixed another drink—and waited for him to wake up. These new Yakuza thug-droids were slow to kick-in—but it was meant to happen that way. He wasn’t human that’s for sure—I didn’t know what to expect from these new replicant boyz.

I’d heard some rumors in the strip-joint dives & local droid bars in the Kabukichō (歌舞伎町) District—that some of the new Snake punks were mean & ended-up offing their clientele. It wasn’t all paid Kabuki roughtrade thrills & chills anymore—but then there weren’t any cops around anymore to check up on these things. Like with everything—with freedom comes danger. Isn't that what us humans are good at? Testing the limits?

I had plenty of time to check-out the new kid—he was just outta the vats & I could still smell the baby-powder they used to cover-up the funky formaldehyde stink. He was breathing hard—trying to get used to the crummy polluted Tokyo air. The air conditioner came on & off—brown-outs & stoppages were normal these dayz. I sat in bed contemplating him—would he be a cute devil or a hustler angel? Did it make any difference anymore?


I could tell he was having nightmares—and then the gauche wetdreams began. The Snake-Trix© gigolo boyz told me all about it—it took time for the young male hormones to kick in & new droid blood to recirculate normally thru the kid’s virgin veins & arteries. It was a trip—watching him trying to push Eternity slowly back inch by inch. Making room for himself—with his sleek sidestepping unconscious disco movements. The kid had style even when doing the Lazurus Thing...

Like he was like dancing with Death—doing a strange Kabuki Tango to come back to life again just for me. He was tres helpless & vulnerable—so gangly & awkward sometimes. It made me wanna crawl in real close next to him—and just hold him tight to kinda reassure him. Yeah, I was still bemoaning the loss of my former loverboy K-Y—but really not very much tho… It was time for a change...and I didn't have much time anyway...

I spent all night wrestling between the damp sheets with him—the vibrator-heated water-bed the Yakuzza-Mafia had given me doing its soothing thing. Kissing his pouty lymphlips—his erect nipples, the butchy Japanese tattoos coming out all over him. All of it genetically a kimono-timebomb.

I ended up smothering him with loving kisses & sweet nothings in his ear. The usual routines to ease his way into my Nightmare World. It wasn’t pretty outside my rundown condo—Tokyo once so cosmo & busy now was just a sad Third World ghost-mall dump.

Poor kid—even his penis wasn’t his. It was K-Y’s legacy of cyborg-shame & android self-loathing. It still haunted me. Would he get a telepathic high having sex with me—would he get a sense of deja-vu nostalgia with that troublesome organ of his from a previous thug-master? When we'd make love & lose it—would he get an evil flashback of who he was & where he'd come from?

Jeeze, I hope not—for my own sake. At least I didn’t off K-Y completely—like some mafia hit. At least keeping his penis still alive. Yeah, I was chicken-shit of me. But knowing how nefarious the Kabukichō Killers were, I imagined they’d probably already would've recycled him—for their own much-feared, nefarious Assassin Hit Squad purposes. Plenty of rogue droids were roaming around Tokyo—settling old scores for their Yakuza bosses. Was I on the hit list...I'd probably find out.

Crummy politicians & former vice-squad detectives. They'd fled town & got outta Tokyo fast—those that stayed were eventually adroitly suicided. It wasn’t all suicides tho—the offing of many so-called rotten no-good Tokyo TPTB creeps & middlemen. It was just business tho. No big deal.

Some of them had headed for Singapore—they knew when the game was up. The bankers, politicians on the take, the TEMCO execs. I suppose K-Y was heading in that direction—working his way up in the Yakuza Mob hitman ladder & power hierarchy. The last I heard he was driving a limo for some mob heavy—one of the Underground Mafia bigshots. I shrugged—it was too bad but I still loved him anyway...... Kinda, sorta, I guess.

These new Fukushima droids tho—they'd been grown down deep in new mob subterranean vats beneath Tokyo & programmed differently than the usual simpering "Desperate Housewife" gigolo models. They were reverse-engineered with god knows what—whatever the Yakuza stole from the downtown intelligence files & Japanese DARPA weaponized secret labs. Japan had a long history of assassin bad as the West.

Why they got me this new loverboy droid so goddamn fast—that in itself was sort of a mystery to me. They knew all about me—a former NYTimes reporter gone bad. Sometimes I thought they were testing me—K-Y as a killer-thug droid-keptboy learning the NYC ropes with me. I wasn't much of a metro sugar-daddy tho.

I was just your typical run-of-the-mill has-been ex-literati type...with a hangover & a cracked bathroom mirror I couldn't stand to look at anymore. I was just another Raymond Chandler-Mickey Spillane wiseass know-it-all private dick ...all dressed up & nobody to blow...

I'd been a total failure at being an e-journalist—I got more than jaded on the job. I fell in love with Tokyo & Japanese culture. I got sick of serving the Western media bosses & their hidden agendas. Backing up the usual scams, Beltway whores & media bubbleheads. Now all I did was hang around what was left of downtown Tokyo. I had a reputation around the Red Light District for being easy. The young hustlers liked me. They tolerated me...

I don't know, I didn't really care anymore. Those that did care got outta town or offed themselves to save face. I didn't have any face to save tho...shame & self-loathing I'd left behind several lifetimes ago. In one of the lowlife bars in the Red Light District... What was this latest hidden agenda that the yakuzza-mafia mob had with me lately? What nefarious plans were in the works...for a washed-up hack reporter like me?

Were they grooming me for some kind of next-generation Yakuza assassin kid—to see if I could survive living with another one? Well, I didn't care anymore. I got this phonecall about what a no-good slut that hustler K-Y was...and if I'd be interested in a nice change of venue? I said sure & hung up....

Then Snake-Trix shows up with this new kid outta thin air—they even did a penis-transplant on K-Y just for me. How generous of them. What could I do—other than just kinda try & flow with it? They knew I loved roughtrade types—thugs still made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I was that jaded by then...only violence & pain got me off anymore. Who was the real slut...the kid or the Red Light District SM queen like me? Huh?

Well, I kept getting these weird neo-noir old time American Gangster Thug vibes—cinematic flashbacks outta the past with those not so classy Raymond Chandler Fifties flicks back then like “The Big Sleep.” Or better yet—getting off on some skanky no-nonsense old Mickey Spillane “Kiss Me, Deadly” butchy detective flicks. Pulp fiction SM action. A funky kind of updated Yakuza-version tho—a Tokyo/Hollywood cynical shoot-em-up violent film noir gangster mind-fuck like Beat Takeshi Kitano's "Brother." Yeah, they had my number—and my number was up…


This new thug-kid though—well, he looked so goddamn innocent, virgin & unexperienced. On the outside anyway. Not enough time for a voight-kampff test like Deckard was good at, no time for any Blade Runner fun & games. No time for any Tyrell Nexus droid sexbot romance...or the usual SF Hollywood scams. This was post-Fukushima endtimes asshole-apocalypse Tokyo I'm talkin' about...without the fancy American cineplexes & now New Depression ghost-malls everywhere plus usual rundown ruins & Third World status.

I almost felt queerly, maybe even nostalgically guilty, about getting him off—or manhandling him the way I wanted to when he’d wake up. Even with K-Y’s cock to comfort & console me—I still felt fucking ashamed for some reason, lying there naked next to the kid in bed. Like he was either some kind of young innocent cute Adonis or some Chicken of the Sea Big Tuna never-before-ravished before.

A young nude Adam straight outta the Garden of Evil—before the nasty slutty Fall into my arms. He'd probably end up some raunchy Devil Boy from Mars tho...or some sneaky whorish Killer Teenager from Outer Space you know what I mean?

But WTF, the kid was just a Reptoid replicant that's all. They were dime a dozen now with the tanks down below & the skanky stemcell research out in the open & outta the greedy clutches of the aging TPTB. Now this kid outta the blue had my former lover's huge evil Serpentine endowment—professionally grafted, glued & transplanted down there between his long lanky legs.

Surely he was just another gigolo droid—for queer Desperate Housewives like me. Why get all guilty & bent outta shape over it—anaconda or python-genetically-modified spluge was still spluge regardless of whatever Reptoid Planet you lived on. I wasn't bashful or self-conscious...some of my best friends were snake-reptoids from Mars & the Moon. I was ready for Attack of the Giant Leeches ever since my Bijou balcony dayz back in LA...The Blob wasn't anything new to me, honey...

And besides, I didn’t have much time left anyway.

So when the new kid's slanted snake-eyes suddenly flicked open—I offered him some sake or maybe an Old Fashioned. A toke perhaps or a happy pill maybe? But he just started snarling at me a mean old junk-yard watchdog ready to bite my face off. So, well, that’s when I thought the game was up. It was just a set-up to get rid of me...I was just another crummy Anglo-American leech sucking the lifeblood outta Japan.

Surely I was meant to be his first victim—a stupid American guinea pig for his first gruesome android assassination? I tried to get outta bed as quickly as I could even tho I was drunk—and then I'd run for my fucking no-good life. But then the kid grabbed me & started pawing me—saying “Oh man, do I need to really like get off now after going thru what I been thru!!! You won't believe where I've been, man......”

I looked at him. It was amazing. K-Y’s snake was still alive & well. It had slithered back into this new skanky existence—just like I thought it probably would. Snakes don't die that easy...the reptilian brain isn't a loser. It's been around since the Jurassic...maybe even longer. Like from outter space, the moon, Mars after the asteroid Cosmic Wars?

But whatever, I told myself it was sure gonna be bumpy ride anyway—probably just another crummy rerun of the same old usual adolescent, selfish, narcissistic, self-fellatio jive & jizzy hustler action. Snake boys were in love with themselves...but what else was fucking new?

The whole male Naked Ape species was in love with itself right..yawn, I suppose it had a certain charm when it was young & chicken. But later on it got to be kinda old & saggy like Thanksgiving turkey giblets & grizzled gizzards, all hangy-down, wrinkly & ugly-looking... Oh well, Bad Seed I suppose—it was better than nothing, I guess. That’s what I asked for, baby—and that’s what I got…...... I had to live with it, that's all.

Yes, I couldn’t help myself—tracing his svelte curves & exquisite new Venus torso with my needy, greedy, hesitant tongue-tip. His damp armpits & snotty runny nose—I was in a definite snake-charmer mood. The smell of his naked ape animality overwhelmed me again & again—getting my twisty corkscrew tongue up into every forbidden nook & crevice & rectal hotspot the kid had. Lots of obscene orifices... Talk about dingy deja-vu denoument and the devil's devilsh detours...

When he French-kissed me the first time—it was truly like Mickey Spillane's skanky “Kiss Me, Deadly.” I knew without the shadow of a doubt, he was a young Kabuki Killer that's for sure then—and that the Mob had sent him to finally rub me out. He got me by my puce flamingo kimono sash tight around my neck—and strangled me half to death. It was just business for him—he didn’t even look at my face. He just kept smoking his Japanese cigarette smoke at the ceiling—not looking into my disbelieving glazed eyes. _____________________________

The next thing I knew—I woke up way down deep in the secret Tokyo underground in some top secret Yakuza bunker-headquarters of the new Kabukichō Mob. The young punk teenage Mobster Gangleaders—they were all standing around me , smirking, telling dirty jokes, laughing it up. dishing stupid American queer asshole types like me. It was a mean bunch & they meant business. I was doomed, but so what?

I was strapped down in a sleek chrome leatherette executive chair—still in my bedraggled puce & pink flamingo kimono with the yellow sash still dangling around my stupid neck. My thug keptboy was smoking an expensive Cuban cigar this time toward the back—proud of his first successful Mafia assignment. What a sucker I'd been. But then what else was new? What did they want with me anyway? Why was I still alive?

Apparently the Yakuzza Elite had plans for me—there was some kind of Reverse Operation Dandelion in the works. They seemed to have all read & actually believed in The Man in the High Castle...some pulp fiction two-bit novel by a has-been speed freak hack Berkeley writer named Philip K. Dick. Your typical hippie paranoid SF alt.history jive routine...ranting about what if the Japanese & Nazis won WWII.

And, of course, they did I suppose...but nobody was supposed to know that. Except Evita Peron & the Generalisimo down in Argentina & the bought-off Babylon Bankers in postwar Germany & New York City. Supposedly this NWO Nazi Elite had been exposed by this minor fiction writer & PDK had come out with a paperback Ace SF double-novel...about the whole sordid doppelganger affair. The Grasshopper Is Heavy as a kind of I Ching soap-opera come true with each coin-toss consultation...and Operation Dandelion as a Cold War attack on Japan by its former Nazi allies had been revealed.

Quite a SF fantasy really...but stranger things have happened tho. Most people don't realize or won't believe it but like...I had DARPA connections from my boyhood dayz back in New Mexico during the '60s & '70s. Rumsfeld & his Beltway gang—they'd got into the time-travel business. They used black budget tech to teleport young guyz back into the Yakuzza mob had their hands on the stuff. And they wanted to pull off the same thing...

They weren't into the POTUS racket like Rumsfeld...or playing the God Routine with history like the Beltway Mafia. Not too much anyway...but yeah, they were into it too. Seeing into the future...playing exopolitical games with it. This new underground Yakuzza gang had their own hidden agenda now...and it wasn't pretty.

They needed somebody like me...I'd been there & done it. My next quantum jump had already been mapped & planned out—they had this Rube Goldberg black market hologram-time-machine all ready to go. I looked at the cheap wreck they planned to use...and just shook my head. It wasn't gonna fly...but then who cared if I ever came back anyway. I was doomed in post-Fukushima Tokyo...I might as well be doomed in the goddamn Future too.

“This is gonna be your Mission Impossible, whiteman..." they said. "As if you had any choice to say "No" anyway. You don’t get to come back, bub—you'll be persona non grata that's for sure. You better succeed in our little nefarious time-travel scenario...if you know what's good for you. Got it, kimosabe?"

I asked for a drink...make it a double, I said. I'd been propositioned before by worse guyz than these...but one can't say no to the Yakuzza mob any more than one could say boo to Rumsfeld's gradioise child idiot game-plans from hell. You don't wanna know how stupid things get...Back in the Future. When Repug born-again dummies... start seriously playing God.

So anyway, to make a long skanky soap opera story brief...the Yakuzza intelligentsia had this Plan to get even for Operation Dandelion. They called it Operation Royal Thistle. Time lines shift & PDK had it down pretty good...he got a Hugo Award for The Man in the High Castle. But these new Japanese sequels, well...they sounded kinda squirrely & Machiavellian to me.

But then who needs aliens, UFO's or weird Exopolitical treaties...with Greys or Reptoids or whoever out there? Out there in Outer Space...or on the dark side of the Moon or the weird Face or strange Pyramids of Mars? When the real Aliens & Reptoids...are really us Naked Ape Earth thugs, baby. We be the real evil Voodoo Snakes...that's for sure.

After all, they don't call the Earth...The "Prison Planet" for nothing, dontchaknow. We be the real Bad Seed Species...the real "Born to Die" Bikers from the Dark Side of the Moon. It's Intergalactic "Bad Biology" Bingo,'s "Brain Damage" Fun & Games time, fools. Dig it...funky Naked Monkey Moonshines & Snaky Space-Snake Soap Operas dead ahead....

Anyway, the Head Yakuzza Tokyo Boss comes into the conference room...and sits down beside me. He's fucking around. They all shut-up for The Man...waiting for him to give the Orders. Yeah, they're outta-this-world Marvel Comix Books orders too...but what more could I expect from this Manga Mob?

"We’re gonna teleport you back to NWO Central in London," the Boss said. "We’re gonna Play God like the Illuminati Ilk & change a few British Royal Family protocol affairs. You're gonna go back in time & help us make young Prince Harry the next Queen of England, got it whiteman?"

I nodded...knowing when to be a no-nonsense Yes-man.

"This next British Empire's gonna be Prince Harry, got it? so instead of their Machiavellian long-planned-out Game Plan with their supposed Heir Apparent Darling Prince William...their new Snake bloodline Lord & Master of the Universe is gonna be the Red-Haired Bastard. You’re gonna be Prince Harry's Right-Hand Man so to speak—if you know what I mean & I know you do."

The Yakuzza Mafia Lord & Master...smirked knowingly at me. So did K-Y my Thug Killer Lover... lurking & skulking back in the wings. He'd come with me...we were on a Mission for the New Rising Sun.

"There's gonna be this little Royal Putsch so to speak"...the Japanese Mob Boss said to me. "A kind of British Royal..."Night of the Long Knives" Operation. Like they pulled with Operation the TEMPCO Fukushima plant. Only it's gonna be our turn this time."

"But then, of course, you'll be taking orders directly from us. K-Y will be your make sure your Mission Impossible is successfu. Like when we say jump—you're gonna jump, mister. All the way to the Fucking Moon...if you have to. And for starters, my friend...your code name will be "Lord Alfred Douglas." Sound familiar, my dear? Got it straight, Kimosabe?”

I sat there in my flimsy kimono...looking around at the Yakuzza boyz & contemplating my sad "The Spy Who Came In From the Cold" existence. I was now so far down & out after hearing all that shit...that everything else in the world, well, looked kinda "Up." If you know what I mean...

Something told me to say "Yes"... and I did, of course. My so-called "The Man in the High Castle" plush lifestyle lately in was gonna change radically fast for me. And I was gonna end up way down there in the "The Man Who Knew Too Much"....

I looked around the room. "Jeeze Lueez," I said, glancing down at my crummy kimono rags. "Like don't I get a new tuxedo or something, hmmm?"

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