Sign up to save your podcasts
Or
Share SOLITARY CONFINEMENT IN THE DIGITAL AGE: The Speed of Light is Such a Shame.
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Or
SOLITARY CONFINEMENT IN THE DIGITAL AGE: The Speed of Light is Such a Shame.
Pictured is Canada's elusive prophet of folk, Raghu Lokanathan. His magnificent song, and the beautiful community of Wells, BC, should be enjoyed here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eq72SUln1QQ
Here, now, is an excerpt from BEEFHAMTON:
He could hear the men praying, chanting from another room. Andy’s heart swirled like a swallow trapped in a barn. Should he enter? He entered silently. He slipped out of his sandals. He cleaned his feet in a little basin. And his face and hands in another. He stepped into the masjid barefoot. The chanting was beautiful. It took him directly to God, Allah. He began towards the prayer room, but somehow was unable to enter, he slid into a side classroom instead, and got to his knees and put his forehead against the floor.
Allah, he said. Allah ak bar.
The second his forehead touched the floor a voice came at him firm, insistent, but also patriarchal … like some sort of numinous finger of Abraham Lincoln. The voice said:
GET UP AND GO TO WORK RIGHT NOW. YOU HAVE ONE MORE DAY ON THIS PAY PERIOD, THAT’S WORTH AT LEAST $200.
COLLECT YOUR PAY ON FRIDAY AND LEAVE BEEFHAMTON FOREVER.
NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU GET, JUST LEAVE.
GO TO WORK NOW AND NEVER GO BACK!
Andy lay for a moment with his head pressed against the cool pine floor. He exhaled and deflated himself with gratitude for a moment, then was up on his knees. He inhaled and exhaled, one last time before opening his eyes. He knew that when he did so he would be totally refreshed. He opened his eyes.
On the desk in front of him was an English-Language copy of Quran.
Andy’s mouth fell open. He winced. He grabbed the book and stood and went for the door immediately. He stuffed the Quran in his backpack, which was Will’s backpack, actually. He’d started using it when the Crybaby captured his. He wondered if he should go back to the Crybaby to reclaim his old backpack, his manifesto, before he left. He could not face this thought just yet. He hopped on his pushie, and pushed off towards the abattoir before anything could distract him from his willingness to obey what he believed was a direct order from God, Allah.
View all episodes
By Al DennisPictured is Canada's elusive prophet of folk, Raghu Lokanathan. His magnificent song, and the beautiful community of Wells, BC, should be enjoyed here:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eq72SUln1QQ
Here, now, is an excerpt from BEEFHAMTON:
He could hear the men praying, chanting from another room. Andy’s heart swirled like a swallow trapped in a barn. Should he enter? He entered silently. He slipped out of his sandals. He cleaned his feet in a little basin. And his face and hands in another. He stepped into the masjid barefoot. The chanting was beautiful. It took him directly to God, Allah. He began towards the prayer room, but somehow was unable to enter, he slid into a side classroom instead, and got to his knees and put his forehead against the floor.
Allah, he said. Allah ak bar.
The second his forehead touched the floor a voice came at him firm, insistent, but also patriarchal … like some sort of numinous finger of Abraham Lincoln. The voice said:
GET UP AND GO TO WORK RIGHT NOW. YOU HAVE ONE MORE DAY ON THIS PAY PERIOD, THAT’S WORTH AT LEAST $200.
COLLECT YOUR PAY ON FRIDAY AND LEAVE BEEFHAMTON FOREVER.
NO MATTER HOW MUCH YOU GET, JUST LEAVE.
GO TO WORK NOW AND NEVER GO BACK!
Andy lay for a moment with his head pressed against the cool pine floor. He exhaled and deflated himself with gratitude for a moment, then was up on his knees. He inhaled and exhaled, one last time before opening his eyes. He knew that when he did so he would be totally refreshed. He opened his eyes.
On the desk in front of him was an English-Language copy of Quran.
Andy’s mouth fell open. He winced. He grabbed the book and stood and went for the door immediately. He stuffed the Quran in his backpack, which was Will’s backpack, actually. He’d started using it when the Crybaby captured his. He wondered if he should go back to the Crybaby to reclaim his old backpack, his manifesto, before he left. He could not face this thought just yet. He hopped on his pushie, and pushed off towards the abattoir before anything could distract him from his willingness to obey what he believed was a direct order from God, Allah.