How to find your way at Joy Motel

To READ Joy Motel from the beginning
then follow the link at the bottom of each chapter.

To JUMP to any chapter,
use the list of chapter titles in the panel on the right side of every page.

Or use the SEARCH box after each chapter to find what you're looking for.

45 Pretty boy

Reality distortion field, concave smoked gray lens of spacesuit presenting a curvalicious view of exterior environment: my Faux Joy Motel.

Sentient me trapped inside multiple moonshot jacket and pants astrolab tailor-designed would you like those with a nice hemmed cuff, sir?

Conscious of my own ragged breathing, distant clank of redtop tanks, skull and crossbones dangerosity monstrosity that's me in lockdown.

Methane cowboy spaceman earthdown visited weekly by my loving psychdaddy, insanity coach floats serendipitously peripherally vociferously.

Pulling memories from disturbed cranial wheatfield like tubers goobers newbies screw me. Docdad kisses methane me Kindred me not Lindred me.

My face half gone since 1945 Trinity when nine year old me darted so bombwardly dumbly out of the shelter to eat the flashwhite nuclearity.

Searing sandpaper ripgripped my eyeeee out, cheek tweaked asunder and monstrified my mortality to kingdom come, Kindred the Elder mortified.

Hallucinatory eventides washed detritus of memory, powdery waves of scabrous seashell holograms, fantasizing metastasizing, childhood gone.

Imagining marauding G-Men adrift on desert revengery of shotgun retribution, paternal rescuement assuaging latent guilt, neglectful father.

Dreamscape escape across hardcracked macadam, me nine years old propelled by Mafia boy Sinatra in a rocket landlocked absurdly automotive.

Emergency landing in asylum of fear and abstract hope in a building of insane inmates ironically labeled Joy Motel. A loonytune nuthouse.

I, Kindred, do solemnly swear I have been living in confinement in the Joy Motel all of my life since the age of 15 with no probable parole.

House arrest, for my own good, yes yes, bulltwaddle government-speak, gasbag attached to mouthhole by tubery magnificent, deep breaths, son.

Until the day a laconic stranger occupied the room next to mine, Saturday night special, docdad home in his suburban ranch house, me alone.

I went to work that night, oh yes, my voice seeping cancerously through the air vent to impinge upon his defenseless synapses, got him bad.

Brainwash hashpipery, misidentification brainrape, personality replacement in full effect after six hours of persistent coldwiping erasure.

My neighbor, how odd his name was Lindred, such coincidence etched starbound in wonder, set out next morning as Kindred, new me rampaging.

Vietnam vet CIA trained human missile of destruction I set him loose to deal discipledoom while I sit tankstrapped gulping methane for pain.

My face half gone, no right eye, Trinity blasted, headlocked in spacesuit helmet, my ventvoice refreshing mission for substitute Kindred.

Head atilt my window in Joy Motel, tearblinks, I see 'me' in parking lot. Go forth and destroy, adventure and enjoy, I love you pretty boy. 

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