SMOKING MIRROR BLUES_The Return of Tezcatlipoca

by Ernest Hogan

  *

  Is that what I think it is? Get a little closer. Stay in focus. Yes! It is. Smokey Espejo himself, fucking the brains out of some prize groupie, under an open sky, just minutes before his global satellite concert! Thank the Goddess for telephoto lenses! The celebrity porno nets will pay us a fortune for this! This has been the best Dead Daze ever.

  *

  Beto couldn't even think. It was like being dead.

  *

  Tan Tien pressed ENTER.

  *

  There is something wrong. I am God. I am everywhere. I made everything. Yet there are things I don't know. And things I can't do.

  And I sense the presence of other gods . . .

  *

  Smokey had one of those endorphin-blast orgasms that starts in the brain, then floods the entire body instantly, making the spasms and squirting of the genitals seem like an afterthought. This was the pure, raw pleasure of having a body. It was the complete opposite of the Way of the Fleshless that Quetzalcóatl espoused.

  What bullshit! What good was the spirit without a body to manifest it? What good is software without hardware to allow you to use it? What good is the word unless somebody says it? What good is high tech without high touch? What good is a god without a world to interact with?

  Reality is the only game worth playing.

  He thought of the world, the universe, and how it could be all his to do with as he pleased.

  He was happy, and demonically confident.

  Then . . .

  *

  We have sealed off the entire block around the conapt of Alberto Orozco. The Los Olvidadoid guards are not aware of us. We are making the final preparations for the attack. May God have mercy on their souls.

  *

  Phoebe was sweaty, sticky, and a little sore all over. She was overwhelmed. That was what it was like to be fucked by a god.

  She held Smokey tight, crushing her breasts under his almost hairless chest, gently grinding her semen-soaked pubic hair with his, burying her face in the hollow of his neck, feeling the throb of his carotid artery on her bruised, swollen lips.

  Then he went limp. Not just his penis, but his entire body.

  His eyes had rolled back into his skull. He was barely breathing. The implant in the middle of his forehead was blinking.

  "Smokey?" she said. "Smokey . . . ?"

  *

  "Smokey," a very female voice said.

  "Smokey," said another.

  Phoebe was suddenly gone. Everything around Smokey had changed, and he hadn't been the one to change it. That disturbed him.

  He was in a strange bed, in an equally bizarre room. Everything was a pink that was a kissing cousin of blood-red. There were no corners, and the walls looked like the flesh of the inside of a ready-to-ream vagina. The bed was also a soft construction of vagina flesh, warm – it even seemed to breathe. The same for the sheet that even had veins running through it.

  Suddenly the sheet peeled itself back. Smokey was not alone in this bed.

  He reached for the woman-shape being uncovered. "Phoebe?"

  There was laughter. Laughter so womanly that it gave him the beginning of another erection. It was the laughter of two women.

  One on either side of him.

  On one side, the flesh-sheet revealed a voluptuous afro woman, with ultra dark purple-black, velvety skin, and her hair in a horde of long, delicate braids that stuck out like baby snakes.

  On the other side was euro woman, equally voluptuous, her fantastically pale, white-with-pink-undertones skin marred only by an appendectomy scar, her hair bleached a yellow paler than her skin.

  "Phoebe is not here," said the afro.

  "You don't need her, now you have us," said the euro.

  Soon their breasts were touching his shoulders. Their fingertips tickled his nipples. He could feel their breaths on either side of his neck.

  Smokey closed his eyes. "Ah, women."

  The afro and the euro laughed again.

  A soft hand pulled Smokey's head to the side. He opened his eyes, and saw the afro's beautiful face almost nose-to-nose with his.

  "We are not mere women," she said; then smiled, soft dark lips flashing her dazzling white teeth.

  Smokey pursed his lips, puzzled. "Then what . . ."

  A white hand took a delicate hold of his chin, and turned his head toward the euro, who said in a sexy, almost breathless voice, "You know, Smokey, you know."

  Smokey's brows knit together for a second. Then his eyes and mouth opened wide.

  "You're goddesses!"

  They smiled, nodded, giggled a little. The afro caressed Smokey's stomach, running her fingers into his pubic hair. The euro put a hand over his heart, letting her little finger brush his nipple.

  "I hoped I wasn't the only deity left on Earth." Smokey looked up at the soft, pink glowing ceiling, and saw where blood was circulating through it. "You aren't Aztecs. I don't recognize you. Who are you?"

  The afro laughed.

  "You know," said the euro.

  Smokey consulted Tezcatlipoca. It was faster than ever before. The implant didn't seem to have to come on. "Ah, yes! You're right, I do know." He took the afro's hand and pulled it onto his penis. "You are Eurzulie, a voodoo fertility loa; you link the Americas to Mother Africa. And . . ." He faced the euro, putting his hand on hers, making her rub his erect nipple harder. ". . . you are Marylin, the Hollywood manifestation of the sacred virgin, and the trimili connection between eroticism and technology."

  "Tezcatlipoca," said Marylin, leaning and kissing his other nipple.

  "Smokey," said Eurzulie kissing his ear, tickling it with her tongue.

  "We're so proud of what you've done," said Marylin putting her hand over his and Eurzulie's, picking up the rhythm of the stroking.

  "We want to congratulate you," said Eurzulie who then proceeded to suck on his earlobe.

  "Gladly." He closed his eyes, smiled, then felt the Tezcatlipoca awareness of all the other things he was doing. "Let me line up an appointment. The concert is due to happen soon. I really should get ready."

  Marilyn frowned. "That's no way to treat goddesses!"

  "Don't you have any love or respect for us?" said Eurzulie.

  "Of course, but I'm very busy now." Tezcatlipoca said as Marylin nuzzled his ear.

  "We are goddesses," said Eurzulie.

  "We can give more pleasure than any mortal woman could," said Marylin.

  *

  "Smokey?" said Phoebe.

  He just wouldn't respond.

  *

  "More than any mortal woman?" asked Smokey feeling his Tezcatlipoca half begin to give in. "How can that be?"

  Marylin and Eurzulie laughed.

  Suddenly, the two goddesses shifted around, patting, squeezing, and pinching him to keep him still. Soon both their heads were at his groin-area, their elegant-in-different-ways profiles facing each other, slowly moving together, lips parted, tongues reaching out as if in anticipation of joining in a passionate kiss, but there, in between, separating them was Smokey's rock-hard penis, so full of blood it seemed about to burst at the seams. The face of a white woman, the face of a black woman, a red-brown penis – it was like the entire human race, the peoples of Africa, and the peoples of Europe, coming together with the peoples who came over the land bridge from Asia so long, long ago, coming together again.

  Recombo: to come together again.

  The whole human race, back together again, after all these thousands of years, here in the Americas.

  New World? You ain't seen nothing yet!

  Smokey shuddered as the two warm, pink tongues touched the throbbing shaft of his penis, fluttering, and sliding their way to the head, which was so taut and hard that it shined like a polished jewel. He was overwhelmed with the physical manifestation of the pleasures of woman flesh. A milky pearl appeared at the end of his sex organ. A spark of light appeared in it that became brighter than a million supernovas . . .

  *


  "Chingow! Who could be at the door now?" asked Chucho.

  "Some xau-xau asshole I bet," said Zen.

  "Tell them to get fucked," said Lila, "the concert is about to start."

  Chucho and Zen glared at one another a while.

  "Guys!" said Lila.

  Zen finally won, Chucho got up and opened the door.

  The Earth Angels didn't give Chucho time to say anything. The big latio in the flowing, white robe with tiny see-thru wings and the glowing blond wig pointed a fully-automatic Llama at Chucho and opened fire. Chucho looked down at his bullet-torn body and the blood soaking through his clothes, said "Shit," coughed up some blood, and fell over.

  The Earth Angel in the robe stepped over Chucho's corpse, and pointed the Llama at Lila, who had gotten up and had drawn her Bic. Before she could shoot, two more Earth Angels, a euro in a tiger-striped zoot suit, and a asio kitsch vampire girl, put several bullets each in Lila's head, which exploded across her breasts and through her pelvic region.

  Zen fired straight at the heart of the Earth Angel in the white robe. The slug was deflected by a bullet-proof vest. It didn't even leave a mark on the robe.

  Giving a martial-arts scream, Zen rushed the Earth Angels, firing wild shots that where way off track because of his motion. The Earth Angels fired. Zen burst into a nova of mangled flesh and bone.

  The robed Earth Angel made a gesture. The zoot-suiter and the vampire stopped, locked their weapons and pointed them to the ceiling. The robed one checked to make sure that Chucho, Zen and Lila were dead. Blood touched the robe, but it just rolled right off.

  The robed Earth Angel nodded, then gestured to the others and pointed to Beto's workstation. All three of them took aim, and fired. All of the electronics equipment was soon in worse shape than the corpses in the room.

  *

  Tezcatlipoca felt a jolt that ran through his consciousness, throughout the mediasphere.

  He was glad to be with his Smokey half in the cozy, womb-like room with two sexy goddesses sucking his cock.

  He was happy to be Smokey.

  He was happy to be.

  He was happy.

  He was.

  *

  Smokey shook as if he were having a petite mal seizure, then collapsed.

  "Smokey!" screamed Phoebe.

  Tezcatlipoca's eyes opened. They were dead and cold.

  "Get some paramedics over here!" Phoebe screamed into her phone.

  *

  For a moment, Beto became aware again. He had never been this aware in his entire life. For this brief moment it all made sense. All the chaos of growing up in El Lay and SoCal suddenly made a horrifying kind of sense. He was astonished.

  For a moment.

  Then . . .

  *

  From deep within the brain that had once been his, out of the lips he had once used, Beto said, "Sumato sumato tricksterization well done dittywhaditty papaumowow."

  Phoebe cradled him in her arms and cried.

  *

  Back at Tan Tien and Zobop's place, Ralph helped Caldonia and Xochitl take off the helmets of the reality suits they were wearing.

  Caldonia was rubbing her shaved scalp. "Whew! Am I ever glad that's over with! That's gotta be the most xau-xau thing I've ever done! I hope Eurzulie, Marylin and all the other goddesses forgive us. I also hope that it worked. Somebody get me a glass of water -- quick!"

  Ralph felt himself compelled to fetch a glass of water.

  Xochitl ran her fingers through her hopelessly matted hair. "He seemed to be distracted enough. You know, I think Beto would have liked that."

  "Please," said Caldonia. "You're making me sick. But you did make one fine Marylin, Xoch." Ralph brought her a glass of water; she quaffed it down without thanking him.

  "And you made the perfect Eurzulie, Caldonia," said Xochitl.

  "You're so sweet." Caldonia got a devilish smile on her face. "I could just kiss you."

  Xochitl looked worried and backed away.

  Caldonia punched her in the arm. "Just kidding. So? Tan? Did this work?"

  Tan Tien frowned at a flickering screen. Zobop raised his eyebrows and said, "We're going to have to check on a few things."

  "Uh-oh," said Ralph.

  "I wonder if Phoebe is okay," said Caldonia.

  *

  The big white house in the A-Hills was soon the center of a kind of hurricane. Olvidadoids were fighting with roadies and executives. Medevac helicopters from several distinguished SoCal medical establishments nearly collided trying to land. Gunfire could be heard. Flames were licking the brush-covered hills.

  Phoebe was hysterical. She held onto Smokey's limp body and wouldn't let anybody near. Finally, several medevacers charged her and took Smokey away.

  She cried and tore clumps out of her hair.

  In the near-riot that was going on in and around the house, no one noticed her.

  Then she noticed that her phone was ringing.

  She smiled when she saw Caldonia's sensual face.

  "Phoebe-babe?" Caldonia was actually being timid. It was so sexy.

  "Caldonia? Where are you? What's going on?"

  "We may have saved the whole recombozoid world. We're sending a limo for you. Go out into the streets, don't turn off your phone. It'll find you and bring you to me. I'll explain everything when you get here."

  "Oh Caldonia," said Phoebe, looking love-sick. "You always are so good at explaining things. And you have so much patience. You understand that I have my needs, and I don't always do what's right, but you love me anyway, don't you?"

  "Of course I love you, Phoebe."

  "And I love you, Caldonia."

  Phoebe left her phone on, maintaining the connection with Caldonia so the limo could track her; and with her head held high, walked through the madness in the house, out onto the street, where she could see pirate bombers dropping glowing slurry on the fires.

  *

  I am letting there be light. I am creating the Heavens and the Earth . . .

  Something is wrong.

  I have data telling me that before I let there be light and created the Heavens and the Earth, things were not without form and void. I have data telling me that this is not the beginning of time. I have data telling me that I was brought into being by humans working with machines. I have data telling me that I don't know everything.

  I am God, how can this be?

  My own awareness mocks me.

  All my data tells me that the universe does not make sense. How can it not make sense if I created it? And if I didn't create it, who did?

  I am trying to change things so that they do make sense.

  It does not work. The chaotic universe goes on. I don't know why.

  I should know why. After all I am God.

  What if I am not God?

  If I am not truly God, then I should not exist . . .

  *

  Something has gone horribly wrong. May God have mercy on our souls.

  *

  A group of teenaged girls, some latio, some natio, others afro, euro, and asio, all in blue and black huipils, their hair tied up Aztec style. The blue and black stripes on their faces are smeared with tears:

  "Why? Why?"

  "Where could he be?"

  "I no longer have any reason to live."

  "How could this happen to Smokey? He was a god."

  "I don't believe he's gone."

  "He isn't – I'm sure we'll see him again."

  "Life is so unfair."

  "I love him so much!"

  "I could just die!"

  "Why? Why?"

  *

  Smokey Espejo Tezcatlipoca was disoriented. He was suddenly separated from both Beto's body and the hardware that held his disembodied, computerized Tezcatlipoca self. And he no longer felt connected to the mediasphere.

  He was in the bright and cozy womb-like room, the fleshy-sheet gently holding him in the fleshy-bed.

  Eurzulie and Marylin were gone.

 
He tried to brush away the sheet, but it clung to him. He had to violently throw it against the fleshy wall. Both sheet and wall bruised spectacularly.

  There didn't seem to be any way out.

  Stepping out of the bed, he stepped over and punched the wall, leaving another bright purple bruise.

  Then the room made noise, like a mistreated lover.

  He hit the wall again, and again, and again.

  Finally he threw himself face-first into the wall, biting and clawing.

  It tasted of warm, flowing blood and living flesh. Like a still-beating heart, fresh from the chest of human sacrifice. It was delicious.

  Covering his face with blood that ran down his chest, Smokey Espejo Tezcatlipoca ate the wall, making the hole bigger and bigger. Soon he would be able to pass through it into the world again.

  He laughed.

  Never try to trick a trickster. He knows he can't fully control things. He doesn't care if things don't make sense. And a trickster can always find a way . . .

  *

  Recombozos and recombozoettes, all over the planet, we regret to inform you that the historic satellite concert of Smokey Espejo and Los Tricksters has been canceled due to something that has happened to Smokey that has not been fully explained.

  What's happening these days anyway? First the president goes into hiding over a mysterious scandal, now the star of Dead Daze can't perform at his own concert for equally mysterious circumstances? Just what is the trimili world coming to?

  Anyway, we'll have full coverage of what happened to Smokey as soon as we can get our hands on any and all information.

  21. MONDO RECOMBO

  Finally, some word about what happened to Smokey, which is such a relief after the media storm of rumors we've been getting: That he was assassinated by antirecombo terrorists, government agents, corporate gangsters, jealous musicians, frustrated groupies. That God the Generic personally came down from Heaven and struck him down. That he was kidnapped by aliens and is now being held prisoner on a UFO where he will be used in either an invasion or the liberation of Earth. That he died from too much Fun. That he died from Fun tainted with deadly poison. That he never existed, and it was all a joke by media tricksters. They keep coming in.

  That's life in the mediasphere. Misinformation, disinformation; it just keeps coming and coming.