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83 V'lalis

Oh, Jsslyyyn. Perhaps you kept the red men at bay. Molybdenum-based monstrosities. Wells wrote his book, a tangentenil threat. Run scared.

I slept throught what they called the Jazz Age, allowing the silicon in my nanotubes to gel, Glen Gray & the Cosa Loma Orchestra my muse.

In the 1930s I floated high above the dustbowl of Oklahoma, the color of codfish, and watched a young Dick Overtone, my new assignment.

The tempunam who ran our space argent became aware of Overtone when, at the age of eighteen, he sent spider pirates into Wichita, watched.

Gleefully aware, every human thing, every building gone, but for one bright white shining two story building, a glowy third floor: JOY MOTEL

I watched in fastback replay, the ruins sucked into the motel storm cellar door, then spat back out, everything new, everyone alive unawares

Years ticked, Overtone moved like clockwork, assembling disciples. I hovered over desert, so many farmers had migrated to California, quiet.

Danko Drought, a drunk from Sante Fe. Guy named Deedle, loonybinned Denver. Barnum would call them rubes, geeks. Then I met young Kindred.

The only one full of hope. My thoughtstems had evolved, Overtone had created something that snookered my nanotubes into overdrive, fastly.

Power to engines. Turbine to speed. Moving out. A beautiful blonde with eyes for all men, Karin Offal, not a drunk but still a Nazi by heart

They built a bomb, Trinity, vaporized air and separated my limbs, be what they are. I searched for my right arm (I guess) for almost 2 years

Damaged, on a ranch near Roswell, New Mexico. Seen, touched, left behind. I took my bodypiece, the military laid tinfoil, made jokes of it.

Forty years later, Roswell is still considered a jolly jape. Yet, my fallen outerpiece frightened the military. They bombed Japan & waited.

Aliens would come, grey, reptilian, hairy and orange, from Zeta Reticuli and Sirius, Wolf 359 as well. Exploratory or by accident. No harm.

I was on watch when not near Overtone, mindwashing Lonnie Zamora in Socorro, New Mexico. Sonny Desvergers, the Florida scoutmaster. More.

Overtone slyly created the cult of Ummo, played mind games with Kindred, eventually drove Karin Offal mad with nightmares of Auschwitz.

The Joy Motel was a devious device, powered by massive turbines that reversed the immediate past to become an altered present. Yet again.

Unbeknowest to Overtone, a sentient block of selenium had snuggled up fuzzycozy to become the invisible third floor, they became friends.

However many times Overtone recreated the Joy Motel, I, the Methane Man, the carnynaut, would be welcome to warn Kindred, to save his son.

K Tate and his friend the sylph, now in Chicago, Tower Town again. War avoided, my love lost. This is my story. My name sounds like V'lalis.


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