The Book of Vapors
(Or, Why I Stopped Watching the News)
Phillip sees things. His visions are cursed. War weighs heavily on his mind, even though he's never experienced it. He seems pretty ordinary at first glance. He works just under 40 hours a week at McDonalds to pay for school. He wants to be a teacher despite his Dad thinking he should go to trade school. His Mom agrees with both of them. He eventually convinced them that his grades were good enough to do what he intended to do. As a compromise he promised his Dad he would pick up a trade as a back-up like every other good Midwesterner; or at least the ones that aren't selling real estate or dietary supplements to one another.
Despite a pretty normal life, Phillip has a problem. It can happen anywhere, at any time and it's always lingering in the corner of his mind. Today he wakes up and peers out of his bedroom window, taking in the quiet peace of Minnesota mornings… until he snaps.
What I mean by snapping is a break from the reality Phillip resides in. He is snapping into another reality, an alternate universe that may or may not be concurrent to the one we live in, or the one Phillip lives in. A few examples of his visions include fiery winds that scorch the his otherwise peaceful backyard, burning plants and its inhabitants alike. Sometimes he sees and hears drones, mindless things that kamikaze themselves into elementary schools and apartment buildings. He sees the invisible thread controlling them like marionette strings, weaving through the sky, connected to a giant flying beast, the puppet master, a porkish looking devil. Sometimes these nightmares are accompanied by some sort of medieval torture, his least favorite being the flaying. Phillip's mouth hangs open in horror, he screams, he cries, and his eyes roll back, freezing in place—he hears his Mother speak to him—and then he snaps.
On most nights, one can always find Phillip flipping cheeseburgers. He works the grave-yard shift at a 24 hour McDonalds, just off the interstate. There's a trucker lot attached to it, and he sees hookers waiting for their next gig to roll off the highway and into their pockets. Amphetamine-powered men roll in at any time of night with outrageous orders. Some of the more chivalrous truckers even order for their newly purchased lady-friends. Phillip doesn't necessarily like his job, but he does enjoy seeing the characters that roll in after dark.
Phillip usually clocks out around midnight. He rides his '86 Honda Nighthawk through downtown to get home. He likes to imagine himself as a single blood cell pumping through the body of a great serpent. He understands something fundamental; without us, the great serpent would die, and all that would remain is a carcass made of asphalt and broken Earth. Nature would reclaim it. He likes to imagine what that would look like, if the highways stopped pumping blood. That’s when he hears the plane engines roaring above his head. The lone car to his right receives a direct hit from a suicide drone. His bike wobbles from the impact; he panics. Gripping the handlebars, knuckles white, teeth bared, he watches the bridge in front of him collapse. One or two at a time, cars fall like confetti toward their concrete tombs. His bike lurches forward,—he snaps.
A nice doctor once told Phillip he has something called an “overactive imagination.” Apparently his diagnosis has many symptoms, including but not limited to: vivid hallucinations, an impending sense of doom, thoughts of suicide, extreme anxiety, depression, diarrhea, and in some cases, job loss. The doctor shuddered at that proposition. Phillip knew the doctor was only trying to be helpful, but that didn't matter to him. He couldn't focus. He was too busy staring at the smoking rubble of the clinic around him. Sometimes he wondered if he was going crazy.
The next day at school, Phillip learned about the Crusades. His teacher explained that the Crusades were something called Holy Wars used by the Pope to create a divine reason to kill other people instead of each other. He said the same thing happens today, albeit the God part isn’t as prominent as the looting and pillaging part. “People don’t change, just the circumstances. 1,000 years later and we’re still at war with Iran!” To prove his point he passed out copies of Pope Urban II’s speech to the Crusaders.
“The sad news has come from Jerusalem and Constantinople that the people of Persia, an accursed and foreign race, enemies of God, have invaded the lands of those Christians and devastated them with the sword, rapine, and fire. Some of the Christians they have carried away as slaves, others they have put to death. The churches they have either destroyed or turned into mosques. They desecrate and overthrow the altars. They circumcise the Christians and pour the blood from the circumcision on the altars or in the baptismal fonts. Some they kill in a horrible way by cutting open the abdomen, taking out a part of the entrails and tying them to a stake; they then beat them and compel them to walk until all their entrails are drawn out and they fall to the ground. Some they use as targets for their arrows…it is better to say nothing of their horrible treatment of women…Whose duty is it to avenge this and recover that land, if not yours? For to you more than to other nations the Lord has given the military spirit, courage, agile bodies, and the bravery to strike down those who resist you…You should be moved especially by the holy grave of our Lord and Saviour which is now held by unclean peoples, and by the holy places which are treated with dishonor and irreverently befouled with their uncleanness…"
“…Our land is shut in on all sides by the sea and mountains, and is too thickly populated. There is not much wealth here, and the soil scarcely yields enough to support you. On this account you kill and devour each other, and carry on war and mutually destroy each other. Let your hatred and quarrels cease, your civil wars come to an end, and all your dissensions stop. Set out on the road to the Holy Sepulchre, take the land from that wicked people, and make it your own. That land which, as the Scripture says, is flowing with milk and honey, God gave to the children of Israel. Jerusalem is the best of all lands…This royal city is now held captive by her enemies, and made pagan by those who know not God. She asks and longs to be liberated…Set out on this journey and you will obtain the remission of your sins and be sure of the incorruptible glory of the kingdom of heaven.”
Phillip imagined the Crusaders cheering as the fat little pope waddled out of the pulpit. “Even the new Pope says war is back in vogue!” His teacher emphatically spoke, “All wars are Holy Wars, just in different dresses. Oil is one thing, control is another. And never forget, religion has always been an effective method of control. Islam, Christianity, Judaism, all have a God of War and a God of Peace, and those who believe in one or the other. It seems that we are at another junction in history. I want you all to answer these questions for your homework: why did the Pope order a Crusade, how did he justify killing in the context of Christianity, and how does Settler Colonialism solve domestic issues for the Europeans of Crusader times? Feel free to draw parallels.” Phillip thought it was interesting, but he was thinking about something else.
An important part of Phillip’s life was losing his virginity to his first girlfriend. She ended up moving away. The first time they had sex, he had one of his visions, which was unpleasant for both parties. He tried to pretend like nothing was happening, and did his best to enjoy the moment. That was pretty hard to do, considering every time he looked up he saw bloated corpses in full suits of armor strewn about the field with intestines spilling out of their abdomens, limbs missing, all with crosses on their chests. Crusaders in American uniforms were dragging body bags towards a Giant Orange Beast, and throwing them down his gullet like some sort of demonic gluttonous pelican. He must have looked terrified. She wondered if he was even enjoying it.
Sometimes, when Phillip’s at work, he stares too much into the french fry grease and starts to cry. His coworkers thought it was weird. He hadn’t had any visions in awhile, and figured that his medication may be helping. He thought he could hear the sound of plane engines in the distance. Explosions accompanied their march. Here we go again! He thought, but to his surprise, Phillip's coworkers could hear them too. He thought he was mistaken, maybe he's dreaming! No, when he heard the wailing sirens, he could see the fear clouding up his coworkers' eyes. That's when he knew. A strange sense of relief and anguish washed over Phillip, because now everybody else saw the drones, heard the explosions, and smelled the sulfur too. The screaming and panic of his coworkers overwhelmed his senses; they scattered for cover, but he remained deathly still.
He stared into the hot grease; he watched the fries burn.
He snaps.
What I mean by snapping is a break from the reality Phillip resides in. He is snapping into another reality, an alternate universe that may or may not be concurrent to the one we live in, or the one Phillip lives in. A few examples of his visions include fiery winds that scorch the his otherwise peaceful backyard, burning plants and its inhabitants alike. Sometimes he sees and hears drones, mindless things that kamikaze themselves into elementary schools and apartment buildings. He sees the invisible thread controlling them like marionette strings, weaving through the sky, connected to a giant flying beast, the puppet master, a porkish looking devil. Sometimes these nightmares are accompanied by some sort of medieval torture, his least favorite being the flaying. Phillip's mouth hangs open in horror, he screams, he cries, and his eyes roll back, freezing in place—he hears his Mother speak to him—and then he snaps.
On most nights, one can always find Phillip flipping cheeseburgers. He works the grave-yard shift at a 24 hour McDonalds, just off the interstate. There's a trucker lot attached to it, and he sees hookers waiting for their next gig to roll off the highway and into their pockets. Amphetamine-powered men roll in at any time of night with outrageous orders. Some of the more chivalrous truckers even order for their newly purchased lady-friends. Phillip doesn't necessarily like his job, but he does enjoy seeing the characters that roll in after dark.
Phillip usually clocks out around midnight. He rides his '86 Honda Nighthawk through downtown to get home. He likes to imagine himself as a single blood cell pumping through the body of a great serpent. He understands something fundamental; without us, the great serpent would die, and all that would remain is a carcass made of asphalt and broken Earth. Nature would reclaim it. He likes to imagine what that would look like, if the highways stopped pumping blood. That’s when he hears the plane engines roaring above his head. The lone car to his right receives a direct hit from a suicide drone. His bike wobbles from the impact; he panics. Gripping the handlebars, knuckles white, teeth bared, he watches the bridge in front of him collapse. One or two at a time, cars fall like confetti toward their concrete tombs. His bike lurches forward,—he snaps.
A nice doctor once told Phillip he has something called an “overactive imagination.” Apparently his diagnosis has many symptoms, including but not limited to: vivid hallucinations, an impending sense of doom, thoughts of suicide, extreme anxiety, depression, diarrhea, and in some cases, job loss. The doctor shuddered at that proposition. Phillip knew the doctor was only trying to be helpful, but that didn't matter to him. He couldn't focus. He was too busy staring at the smoking rubble of the clinic around him. Sometimes he wondered if he was going crazy.
The next day at school, Phillip learned about the Crusades. His teacher explained that the Crusades were something called Holy Wars used by the Pope to create a divine reason to kill other people instead of each other. He said the same thing happens today, albeit the God part isn’t as prominent as the looting and pillaging part. “People don’t change, just the circumstances. 1,000 years later and we’re still at war with Iran!” To prove his point he passed out copies of Pope Urban II’s speech to the Crusaders.
POPE URBAN II
Speech at the Council of Clermont (1095)
FOR CLASS USE ONLY
“The sad news has come from Jerusalem and Constantinople that the people of Persia, an accursed and foreign race, enemies of God, have invaded the lands of those Christians and devastated them with the sword, rapine, and fire. Some of the Christians they have carried away as slaves, others they have put to death. The churches they have either destroyed or turned into mosques. They desecrate and overthrow the altars. They circumcise the Christians and pour the blood from the circumcision on the altars or in the baptismal fonts. Some they kill in a horrible way by cutting open the abdomen, taking out a part of the entrails and tying them to a stake; they then beat them and compel them to walk until all their entrails are drawn out and they fall to the ground. Some they use as targets for their arrows…it is better to say nothing of their horrible treatment of women…Whose duty is it to avenge this and recover that land, if not yours? For to you more than to other nations the Lord has given the military spirit, courage, agile bodies, and the bravery to strike down those who resist you…You should be moved especially by the holy grave of our Lord and Saviour which is now held by unclean peoples, and by the holy places which are treated with dishonor and irreverently befouled with their uncleanness…"
“…Our land is shut in on all sides by the sea and mountains, and is too thickly populated. There is not much wealth here, and the soil scarcely yields enough to support you. On this account you kill and devour each other, and carry on war and mutually destroy each other. Let your hatred and quarrels cease, your civil wars come to an end, and all your dissensions stop. Set out on the road to the Holy Sepulchre, take the land from that wicked people, and make it your own. That land which, as the Scripture says, is flowing with milk and honey, God gave to the children of Israel. Jerusalem is the best of all lands…This royal city is now held captive by her enemies, and made pagan by those who know not God. She asks and longs to be liberated…Set out on this journey and you will obtain the remission of your sins and be sure of the incorruptible glory of the kingdom of heaven.”
Phillip imagined the Crusaders cheering as the fat little pope waddled out of the pulpit. “Even the new Pope says war is back in vogue!” His teacher emphatically spoke, “All wars are Holy Wars, just in different dresses. Oil is one thing, control is another. And never forget, religion has always been an effective method of control. Islam, Christianity, Judaism, all have a God of War and a God of Peace, and those who believe in one or the other. It seems that we are at another junction in history. I want you all to answer these questions for your homework: why did the Pope order a Crusade, how did he justify killing in the context of Christianity, and how does Settler Colonialism solve domestic issues for the Europeans of Crusader times? Feel free to draw parallels.” Phillip thought it was interesting, but he was thinking about something else.
An important part of Phillip’s life was losing his virginity to his first girlfriend. She ended up moving away. The first time they had sex, he had one of his visions, which was unpleasant for both parties. He tried to pretend like nothing was happening, and did his best to enjoy the moment. That was pretty hard to do, considering every time he looked up he saw bloated corpses in full suits of armor strewn about the field with intestines spilling out of their abdomens, limbs missing, all with crosses on their chests. Crusaders in American uniforms were dragging body bags towards a Giant Orange Beast, and throwing them down his gullet like some sort of demonic gluttonous pelican. He must have looked terrified. She wondered if he was even enjoying it.
Sometimes, when Phillip’s at work, he stares too much into the french fry grease and starts to cry. His coworkers thought it was weird. He hadn’t had any visions in awhile, and figured that his medication may be helping. He thought he could hear the sound of plane engines in the distance. Explosions accompanied their march. Here we go again! He thought, but to his surprise, Phillip's coworkers could hear them too. He thought he was mistaken, maybe he's dreaming! No, when he heard the wailing sirens, he could see the fear clouding up his coworkers' eyes. That's when he knew. A strange sense of relief and anguish washed over Phillip, because now everybody else saw the drones, heard the explosions, and smelled the sulfur too. The screaming and panic of his coworkers overwhelmed his senses; they scattered for cover, but he remained deathly still.
He stared into the hot grease; he watched the fries burn.
He snaps.