TW: sexual assault

“In order to truly live, you must die to yourself. AND you must become like a child. If these things feel in opposition to each other, that’s because they are... But are they? What we as humans need to understand is this distinction in reality between contradiction and dialectics. To live purely is to become as a child. To live purely is to die to oneself. But children are the opposite of dead to themselves. They are preoccupied with self interest almost exclusively, right? Granted, this is by no fault of their own. But it takes maturity and discipline to deny oneself what pleasures and vice the world has to offer. Here exists a line, not between these two things, but through them. The line is you, and you are passing through this shedding of the old, and the birthing of the new. You must then equally die to yourself as you must become anew. Shed the old dry skin and don thusly the new wet skin. Upon Christ-like inspection, these two ideas are inextricably tied. So do not assume that one thing can most certainly never be another. Examine your reality with a fresh, wet, child-like gaze. Be like Christ. Let your mind die so that HE may restore it.”

- Dr. Effective1

Imagine yourself emotionally depleted. Like, totally empty of yourself. Then out of the darkness you are presented with an opportunity to become the face of the largest religion-fueled marketing campaign in recorded history. But before you hit the green room, before you know who your stylist is, who does your makeup, or any one name of the many inevitable suitors — before all this — there is a road trip. A 23 hour road trip before stops. And to kick off your critical success — your ascent to Heaven, you must share these 23 hours with a man whom you despise.

We had to drive, as opposed to fly, because I need cocaine in order to stay awake when I’m driving, and obviously that doesn’t work if I’m in a plane. Taking key bumps of Dr. Effective’s bag. He needs it even more than I do. He’s the one driving anyway. In fact, I’m not convinced he has any intention of letting me fly- I mean, drive the car.

Plus, you can drink as much as you want in a car. Dr. Effective was disconcertingly cool about my intake of Miller Lites. The man is a grifter. His “Handbook to Pure Lifestyle” is bullshit. He doesn’t believe any of it. This upsets me, because I was just starting to believe in some of it.

“Parts of it.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Parts of it, I do believe in.”

“Which parts?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just name one part.”

“Why?”

“Name one part!”

“Okay! Uh. For one, all the bits where I talk about Jesus being Lord. That, for example, is something I stand by unwaveringly.”

“Why are you presenting a false ideology to people then?”

Dr. Effective. Stupid half-grin. “That’s my job.”

“Oh yeah.”

“Do you genuinely think my name is just Dr. Effective?”

“Huh?”

“Like, no first name? No nothing? Like, nobody knows Dr. Effective’s name. You never get to see it. Never anywhere. That never seemed odd to you?”

“Sure, man. I guess maybe I’ve just seen some crazier shit than that.”

“Jim, I’m not a real doctor. I’m a secret agent.”

I spit out my beer.

“You’re the missing link, Jim. To unite Israel and America and bring together all nations in preparation for the The Great Feast.”

“Okay. Okay. Yeah. I get it. Antichrist bullshit whatever. Sorry. Continue.”

“The world isn’t actually ending, Jim. At least, it isn’t ending right now at this very moment at which we are speaking. And it is not necessarily um, knowable when exactly it will be uh- ending. Nobody can know the day or the hour, right?”

“Sure? Wait, so what the hell is going on then?”

“World peace, Jim. World peace.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. That’s why we’re driving across the country to get your blood drawn instead of somewhere closer. See?”

“Yeah. So Israel will own my body?”

“Not directly.”

“Okay.”

“You see, Jim, my contacts gave me minimal information, but I intend to brief you fully once you officially check all the physical and mental boxes.”

“What are those?”

“Not much different than military requirements.”

“Am I allowed to tell them I want to kill myself?”

Dr. Effective stares dead-eyed at me. “No.”

“Okay. My bad.”

The mini-briefing was off-record. According to the doctor, who apparently does have a first name (who could have imagined?), I am to play a small part in a global jihadist coup sort of thing. Trump just went to war with Iran and Israel is incidentally taking it in the ass right now as a result. Not that I give a shit if they level Tel Aviv, but hey, money. So, I’m like a mascot. In more contractual terms, “The Prophet.” The one to predict accurately and precisely the movements of massive geopolitical proportions in real time. So, like, to get to a point where my voice as The Prophet can be considered credible and widely heard, these guys put me in a position, a miracle occurs, and somehow it was me who performed it. Boom.

Like, “No, no, no! I’m not Jesus. I would never say that! I’m just a prophet, see. Just a prophet. I speak the truth of God, but I am not God.” That’s what I would say during my interview on Fox News for example.

But that would be the trick, see? Really, I’m not even a prophet. Just a bitch with an earpiece getting paid.

The Organization, as Dr. Effective calls it, is a kind of super-cluster-fuck of upper crust seniors hand plucked from respective CIA, KGB, Mossad and MI6 backgrounds. Most of which are legally declared dead.

“Am I going to get shot at?”

“What the hell kind of question is that?”

“Well, like—”

“Probably! You will probably live through some assassination attempts, most of which will be staged.”

“Holy cow.”

“Yeah. Look, Jim, you are going to be the most famous person in the world. That’s your job, okay?”

“Okay. Cool.”

My stomach is filled with light. For the first time in my life, something feels normal and right. And good. The Big Blank White Nothing subsides. Vitality — shaking off the flecks of a balding 23 year old head. I’m finally getting my fucking mojo back. At least, that’s how this feels. Like there’s rhythm in my legs again.

Dr. Effective takes a hard right off-road. The sun has set. We’ve been driving for 15 hours. Desert rock and dust flicks up behind the SUV wheels.

“I thought you said it was in LA?”

“Oh. Yeah. Uh.”

Dr. Effective stops the SUV in the middle of a massive, open night. Dust settles. I’m scared.

He opens the driver door. Sighs. He grabs my neck with one firm hand and somehow pulls me over the console, over the driver’s seat and onto the ground. It’s colder outside than I would have guessed. Dr. Effective pulls his piece out.

“Hey, woah. Dude. What are you—”

The doctor pistol whips me in the face. Ears ringing. He hits me again. I can’t open my right eye. I try standing up, but he kicks me down. The whiplash causes my head to strike a rock. More bleeding. More pain. He kicks me in the ribs. Shocking hot blue fire pain.

Maybe I’m not the chosen one. Maybe Dr. Effective brought me out here to beat me and rape me and leave me for dead; all because I wouldn’t stop drinking alcohol. Classic coke-head behavior. Oh, and of course he’s setting up a tripod. One of the cheap tripods that break after a single use. He mounts his phone and hits record.

Punches me in the gut. Kicks me in the groin. Punches me in the nose. Punches me in the mouth. Again and again.

Dr. Effective strips my clothes off. By now I can’t tell what part of my body is experiencing what. But on my belly I’m jostled against the cold gravel scraping my chest. The doctor heaves in and out of me. He’s grunting or laughing or moaning or all. It’s like the Big Blank White Nothing and shit. I can’t get out from under him. It just has to happen. Everything turns blank and suddenly I can’t feel anything at all.

The sun is directly over my eyes. My entire body is cut and bruised. My penis is gone. Severed. I can hardly breathe. Blood all but clogs my throat. I spit out a shit ton of blood. I can’t move my head. I can’t move any part of my body. Little stinging pricks of fly probosces and legs stepping into my open wounds and drinking. Stinging, burning fire. I scream. I scream as loud as I can for as long as I can. I scream until it becomes a completely dry, imperceptible hamster squeak. Then, many little footsteps.

Sniffing. Panting. Dog sounds. Getting closer and closer to my head.