Thoughts of Revolution amidst a Free Falling Elevator
As the clock approaches 2230h on a brisk, dark night on the Dark Side of the Moon, Tood begins his nightly[1] pilgrimage across craters and carcasses to his private elevator. In the distance he sees a Moonrool clean up crew carrying their designer soap boxes to the scene of yet another elevator accident to check for survivors. These are hard times for clean uppers. Although these rescue attempts are heralded by some as altruistic acts, Tood believes that clean uppers are as dirty as any other Moonrool. He’s jaded like that. ‘They’re vultures who prey on the fear and trauma of fallen riders to fill their growing vacancies[2].’ He departs little nuggets of wisdom like this from time to time to less experienced Moonrools who are still trying to find their way in a world void of illumination. ‘Watch out for illegal aliens,’ he’ll warn, or ‘Just because a moonpie is on the shelf, doesn’t mean it hasn’t expired,’ he’ll quip. Tood is in the know these nights. It wasn’t always so, but deepening crevices on his forehead, and the sprouting white hairs above indicate that he’s become a wiley veteran on the Dark Side. And so he doesn’t ask many questions any more, especially not of himself, since so much of his time is devoted to sharing the expertise experience affords by dispersing the aforesaid nuggets. But unbeknownst to Tood, there’s a fine line between confidence bred from experience and total fucking obliviousness. For the former can be a sedative which ever-so gradually lulls its recipient to sleep until self-delusions are mistook for universal realities. Tood is oblivious. He’s been surface sleep walking and riding elevators so long he swears he’s an insomniac. Granted in a world that receives approximately 0 hours of annual sunlight, it’s relatively easy to drift away to oblivion. The Dark Side of the Moon can truly be a fool’s paradise, and these nights ToodEtood feels right at home.
Tood wasn’t always an elevator junkie. Like so many other Moonrools, Tood’s nightly escape into the box was a gradual process. It’s difficult to say exactly what first sparked his intrigue or how, many earths later, his orb became so totally transfixed on the high the device provides that everything else slowly faded to oblivion, leaving only his star-crossed obsession peering out into the universe through hollow spheres. Perhaps an advertisement featuring several prominent elevator riders proclaiming the benefits, or maybe a timely invitation from a friend during an otherwise mundane moonwalk captured his attention and led him to the inauspicious juncture he now happily approaches. Regardless, what began as a novel fling to escape a silent, albeit aching desperation, gradually morphed into a nightly affair to be pursued at all costs. The first elevator he rode was marked: CURIOSITY; these are like the training wheels or pull-ups of elevator traffic, useful and instructive for unfamiliar riders possessing uncertain aims. It’s a well-known fact that Moonrools aren’t limited to any elevator in particular, like if they wanted they could ride different elevators every night in different locations with different altitude destinations and so forth. However, being creatures of habit, once they find an elevator that sufficiently engorges their orb, it’s highly unlikely they’ll look for another. Another well-known fact is that 98.4% of all Moonrools return to their preferred elevator of choice following a crash — assuming they survive the fall — which, of course, depends largely on the elevator high they were riding. To Tood’s knowledge it’s unclear why elevators spontaneously fall from the sky. But because he’s developed such disdain for the phrase, ‘I don’t know,’ when pressed by Moonrools not in the know, Tood chimes back, ‘Gravity is a motherf%@ker.’ And so with this senseless axiom as his shield, he navigates the craters and crashes and prickly questions and manages to moonwalk to and fro his elevator on a nightly basis; free from any doubt or concern that might otherwise perturb his sleepless slumber or ground his euphoric elevation.
At 2348h Tood is climbing out of an unmarked crater that caught his wandering attention and sent him tumblingrumbling downward. Luckily it wasn’t as deep as it might have been given the area he’s traversing. He brushes himself off as he looks around to make sure there are no witnesses. He's just itching to get high. It’s a well-known fact among those in the know that Moonrools are genetically predisposed to ride certain elevators based on a wide array of factors including [but by no means limited to]: earth phases, crater formations, exposure to sun rays, access to moonpies, the positions and postures of their parents during and immediately following the big bang – all of these occurrences [and more] help determine what elevator they will eventually climb aboard. Yet, the Moonrool is a complex species, and like any creature of evolution possessing freewill and prone to chemical imbalances, some Moonrools embrace their natural anti-gravitational predisposition with gratitude and ease, and some do not. For example, born loners often ride elevators marked: FAME, which feature transparent panels so voyeuristic surface Moonrools can gawk at their elevated status. Meek and timorous Moonrools frequently get high aboard the most dangerous elevators; chronic doubters often ride elevators marked: CERTAINTY; Moonrools harboring great feelings of buried inadequacy and surface embarrassment sometimes get high on elevators marked: AUTHORITY[3]. Other well-known facts: Elevators marked: INTELLIGENCE are camouflaged[4] because riders are often paranoid about being found out while high; riders of elevators marked: BEAUTY suffer the highest B.T.[5] [6] rates; more exclusive elevators like MONEY are available to all Moonrools, but they must agree to part with basic decency, dignity, or respect before riding[7] [8]. Interestingly there is no polar opposite available for hater Moonrools, because love cannot be accessed via elevator traffic since it only exists on and beneath the surface. Indeed, hate is a toxin that corrupts so absolutely that surface haters can only get off on elevators marked: HATE, and getting off on hate requires more energy than almost any other endeavor the Dark Side has to offer. No matter the elevator, once the doors close and the box ascends to its destination, nobody else is allowed access – except for FAME riders, whose sole purpose for getting high is being seen.
The clock strikes 2300h and Tood blissfully nears what may well be his final hour. He sees a group of adolescent crater-faces sneak out of an elevator marked: XXX. Try as they might to control which elevators their youngsters ride, parents will forever be out maneuvered due to their natural inclination to believe their descendents are more pure and innocent than they actually are. The parental crusade to keep their underlings grounded is stymied in no small part by innumerable elevator ad campaigns and marketing strategies which have targeted the coveted crater-face demographic since waybackwhen. It’s a well-known fact among even the biggest Moonrool boobs that the first, and probably best known, advertisement for elevator traffic on the Dark Side of the Moon featured a song by an earthling band titled, ‘Free Bird.’ Ironically, of course, the earthlings responsible for that tune plummeted to their deaths while riding a contraption designed for high altitude travel. This rather unfortunate fact escaped the officials at the Ministry of Propaganda who chose the song for its appeal to freewill, independence, and the spirit of rebellion and defiance championed by crater-faces and earthling ROCK‘N’ROLL music alike. It’s a lesser-known fact among Moonrool boobs just how integral their government was/is in the development and propagation of elevator trafficking. At the dawn of the initiative, the government christened the new entitlement program, ‘UPWARD MOBILITY.’ To this night, the elevator industry remains the single largest beneficiary of government subsidies designed to spur innovation and keep costs grounded so the average Moonrool can afford to get high on demand. At first it appeared the elevator endeavor was doomed to failure. Moonrools weren't all that interested in committing themselves to a box that went up and down. ‘Whooptido,’ seemed to be the universal consensus. But the vanguards of the Moonrool establishment were committed. Motivated by the promise of windfall profits, industry leaders, and government officials whose aims were yet unknown, met at the Palace of Craters to discuss ways to entice Moonrools into riding elevators. The brainchild born of these meetings was a new narrative of unrest and turmoil – ‘A MOON N’ DISARRAY’ – to be broadcast nightly over the airways. With this message of fear and panic bombarding craters across the surface of the Dark Side, interrupted momentarily to showcase corporate advertisements featuring famous Moonrools getting high riding elevators, this new mode of getting off [the surface] began to catch on. Yet there were still obstacles to overcome. The first elevators were plagued by mechanical bugs and glitches which resulted in crashes that left Moonrools maimed marred and mangled. Nightly images of Moonrools looking like mashed up moonpies competed for attention, and the ensuing lawsuits cut into the returns of shareholder investments. It wasn’t until the advent of ‘Do-It-Yourself-Navigation©,’ which gave riders total control over the altitude and duration of their highs, that investors saw the returns they had first envisioned. In the landmark case JACKSON & CUDI v. AIRAVATORS, INC. (MCMLXXXIII), the Moonrool High Court ruled this new technology absolved private contractors from any and all responsibility for elevator crashes.
At 2230h Tood reaches his destination, 1hour and 30 minutes before the 26th anniversary of his first birthnight, and approximately 2 hours before his elevator kamikaze crash lands on the surface. His palms and bottom crevice secrete sweat, and saliva gathers at the corners of his pursed lips as he anticipates the imminent high. Tood’s elevator is marked: PRIVLEDGE. PRIVLEDGE elevators are immensely popular due to their versatility. Once the doors close and the elevator begins its ascension, riders can go as high as they please and stay suspended as long as they like without so much as a tickle of guilt. They've earned that high. Tood’s been a PRIVLEDGE rider for many nights. He works hard on the surface so he’s rewarded in the sky. It’s only fair. He plans on getting super high tonight to celebrate the dawn of his 26th year of moonwalking. After all, it’s no paradise dwelling on the Dark Side of the Moon. Moonrools have to forever navigate a never-ending nightscape of unmarked craters, illegal aliens, and falling elevators; to say nothing of the rampant unannounced meteoroid landings, and that’s just the tail of the comet. What really fills the elevators night after night is the mind numbing narrative of commonsense contradictions, hypocritical moon shots, and the seemingly never ending reports of skyrocketing these and free falling those. Grounded opposition to the government’s launch of its ‘UPWARD MOBILITY’ entitlement program gradually abated as more and more Moonrools began turning inward; away from the rage and discontent and endless bickering and bantering and back-stabbing that had become so characteristic of the lunar surface, toward the havens of privacy and comfort and control and satisfaction offered by elevator traffic. Profits skyrocketed. Civic participation was at an all-time low. The system was ingenious. By concocting a poisonous reality to be spoon fed in measured doses to the populace night after night, the powers that be on the Dark Side of the Moon succeeded in spinning a narrative so toxic they actually convinced Moonrools they were better off spending their nights in isolated boxes, suspended in time and space. Moonrools by the millions took the bait, hook-line-and sinker.
At 2235h Tood climbs aboard his elevator on the verge of pissing his undergarments with excitement. He presses the appropriate combination of buttons to raise the device to his desired altitude. A soft bell tolls as the doors close and a sexy voice warns bystanders to vacate the area. Tood takes his familiar position and soon he’s lifted upup&away into the heavenly bliss that is elevator traffic. It may strike some earthlings as unusual that Tood, and millions of Moonrools like him, refer to elevator traffic as ‘heavenly bliss’ but all things in our universe are relative. Some earthling behaviors are equally perplexing to Moonrools[9]. And but so what should be simple enough for earthlings to grasp is the insulation of it all. Because after a Moonrool has grown accustomed to elevator highs, they become so attached to its insulating, inoculating affect it’s like they develop a built-in allergy for all things unpleasant. Sure they see elevators falling from the sky on a nightly basis, but the elevator high reassures and comforts, it protects and counsels. They love their elevator, and they believe their elevator loves them back. And why would something that loves you ever do you harm? By the by, Tood is especially familiar with some peculiar earthling behaviors because he has befriended an earthling named, Todd Waite. Todd shows him
By 0010h Tood is unknowingly in the midst of a blackout. Elevator blackouts are believed to be the most common mechanic malfunction leading to crashes on the Dark Side. Blackouts happen when part of the elevator’s C.P.U. known as the 'Hippocampus©' malfunctions resulting in a blind death spin which, unbeknownst to its totally insulated rider who continues enjoying the euphoric high, means like the whole fucking ride is doomed to be cast down from on high. Various studies conducted by Moonrools in the know have proven links between elevator altitude levels [E.A.L.] and its affects on rider functioning. The findings suggest that when riders get too high above the surface their judgment and motor skills are compromised which causes their elevator to rise and rise uninhibited until the hippocampus shuts down for keeps and the elevator begins retracing its ascent downward. The rider is trapped in utter darkness, completely blind to what its external self is up to. The two are permanently disconnected – irrevocably severed – and yet still wholly united by their common fate. And so as gravity beckons Tood’s box ever-downward toward its inevitable demise – destined perhaps to destroy an innocent Moonrool life or 20 – to say nothing of the ‘life’ of its lone rider – a glimpse of the earth wanders into Tood’s mind’s eye and he wonders how many times the moon’s earth traverses around his orb in a single year. Such is the mind of a habitual elevator user – nothing more than a mushed up moonpie - mistook for the absolute epicenter of all the cosmos. A once bright, capable Moonrool - turned occasional rider - turned high-fiending moonturd, able to push buttons on a device and perform bowel movements and regurgitate talking points and spew non-sequiters – but totally and utterly oblivious, in the most pathetic way, to love, companionship, and the mystical oneness of all life.
At 0030h Tood awakes as alone and confused as the night he was born. He’s buried god knows how deep in a crater beneath the remains of his wrecked box. Soon after regaining consciousness, maybe at like 0042h, memories long since cast out by his elevator begin reappearing like meteoroids falling from the heavens, leaving indelible craters on his psyche. Trapped beneath the debris, with no elevator to escape in, he has no choice but to face what he’s been fleeing from for so long – memories more damning and unbearable than the fall itself – memories condemning him to a no-holds-barred shame game with ghosts from falls past. The lies and empty promises – feigned remorse and genuine betrayals – and of course, the inevitable returns to his elevator. With hindsight suddenly functioning well beyond 20/20, providing like ultra HD resolution to his still reeling mind’s eye, the ‘shouldas’ and ‘wouldas’ and ‘couldas’ creep into Tood’s mind, scratching at his conscience like fugitive beetles trying to break into a double wax reinforced eardrum. But the modal threesome is nothing compared to the torturous shame that presses and squeezes and gnaws at his innards, as sharp and unrelenting as the Man thrusting a knife into his ear orifice[10]. Word of Tood’s fall quickly spreads on the surface and soon flocks of scavenger Moonrools approach the scene to cast their 2cents and delight in the aftermath. They laugh and snicker and jeer as they merrily shout, ‘O Tood.E.Tood, you moonstone! You threw yourself up high but every stone that is thrown must fall.’ They sing and circle dance around their fallen compatriot, inhaling the remnants to indulge in their newfound schadenfreude high as they slowly close their eyes and ride elevators marked: JUDGMENT upup&away into the sky.
* * *
For fear of falling into the ranks of the dastardly scavenger or voyeur Moonrool flocks, let us offer the fallen Tood a moment of privacy beneath the rubble of his shattered ego at the bottom of his crater and take this opportunity to gossip about his oh-so familiar plight. How did he come to this? Were there warning signs? Was it a Moonrool suicide attempt? Did it never dawn on Tood’s darkened conscious that the aforementioned ego he carried was so bloated that he had exceeded the recommended capacity limit and his elevator was destined, sooner-or-later, to plummet from the sky? On contraire mon frere, it’s a well-known fact amongst Moonrools familiar with ze toodEtood that he is scared shitless of heights. Especially heights like he had been riding on a nightly basis. Dead end. No matter. Let’s stop mining the past and start speculating about the future. What now? Now lying prostrate beneath the ruins all busted and bruised, Tood is in the midst of the fight-of-his-life battle royal which will inevitably determine the future of all his nights. It’s a well-known fact whether one hails from the Dark Side of the Moon, or Nowheresville, IA, or the quote real world, once you hit bottom, regardless of how many times you bounce[11], you’re bound to venture upon an inescapable fork in the road marked: LEAVE. OR. LIVE WITH IT. Some Moonrools say the elevator marked: LEAVE is a ride for cowards and pussies and quitters. Maybe. But unfortunately for Tood, he’s facing the hellacious duo of self-pity and self-loathing. These two are not to be ignored. They’re fraternal twins that hail from a long line of fuck uppers. If you don’t beat them back with a baseball bat, or a Dr. Phil, or a shotgun, or whatever you have in your possession when they rear their ugly orbs at your front door, soon their whole brood will invade and you’ll find yourself the unwitting host of a great big family reunion of fuck ups. I, for one, would rather take that final elevator ride to the sky than spend the remainder of my nights at that party. It takes some serious you know what in your you know what to last a few rounds with that clan – ESPECAILLY – after you realize the family of phantom fuck ups that have been kicking your you know what all over the place for god knows how long is none other than you know who – Y.O.U.[12] But keep your head up, Tood, because friends make themselves known in the aftermath. And if you’re lucky enough to find someone searching for your mangled remains amidst that catastrophe of your creation, ‘grapple them to thy soul with hoops of steel[13],’ for they are a rare
* * *
At 0135h Todd Waite receives a call from a mutual friend informing him of Tood’s fall. He gets dressed and tells his sleeping beauty [why not?] not to worry, and that he’ll be back soon. He arrives at the crash scene at 0148h. The scene is ripe with scavengers, voyeurs, and clean uppers standing high atop their soap boxes, all jockeying for position to get a look at the fallen rider should he have the gall to show his face. Todd tells them all to ‘get bent.’ Soon another elevator falls from the sky so they rush from one crater to the next to get off on someone else’s demise. Todd begins digging through the wreckage to find his friend. At 0205h Todd reaches Tood beneath the debris at the base of the crater. He carries his wasted friend to the surface. Will Tood survive? Maybe. Maybe not. If he does, will he get high again? Who knows? Maybe. But maybe not. People can change – the world can change – and not always for the worse. Revolutions are sometimes born exactly where and when you least expect.
[1] It’s always night on the Dark Side of the Moon
[2] These particular clean uppers ride elevators marked: CERTAINTY, which, in Tood’s opinion, is totally bat shit crazy.
[3] Crater-faces call them power trippers
[4] black
[5] Bad Trips
[6] Elevators marked: BEAUTY always have mirrors inside.
[7] Elevators marked: MONEY never have mirrors inside.
[8] Opposed to their earthling contemporaries, MONEY elevators aren’t that popular amongst Moonrools, apparently they don’t think the high is worth the tradeoff
[9] For example, many earthlings spend their days and nights planted in front of stationary boxes to view other earthlings with IQs lower than a moonpie self-destruct as they ingest/inject substances of hate, known toxins that will inevitably shorten their lifespan, if not end their nights for keeps, and then they commute to large, overcrowded establishments and fight for a seat to pull levers or roll cubes only to hand their hard-earned paychecks over without so much as a ‘thank you, come again’ to show for it; then locate another seat in or near the same establishment that just took their money, to offer up the remains of their measly salary to a stranger who pours them glass after glass after glass of a liquid that makes them forget who they are until they’re like so loaded on this liquid that they climb into their automobile, which is sort of like an elevator except a whole lot more dangerous, and hurl themselves down roads at incredible speeds mere meters from other earthlings; if they make it back to the place they call home alive, which again is a relative term, they’re so enraged by this night of their creation that they sometimes do the most heinous and unspeakable things to the earthlings they supposedly love the most and…well, if you’re reading this you’re probably an earthling, and in that case, what’s understood doesn’t need explaining.
[10] It’s a well-known fact that the Man has a longstanding personal vendetta against Tood for some off-the-cuff remarks the latter made a while back. For more info, scroll down.
[11] According to eye witness testimony from voyeur Moonrools nowhere near the area, Tood’s forsaken elevator may have bounced anywhere between 2-10 times before it was all said and done.
[12] This entire scene looks a lot like Chuck Palahniuk’s narrator getting his ass kicked by Tyler Durden in one of Tood’s all-time favorite earthling films, Fight Club circa 1999.
[13] Shakespeare, William. “Hamlet.” Act 1, Scene 3.
Just read once the very beginning of this post and then, a couple of times, the notes, but this reading already has made this post VERY THRILLING! I look forward to living with this post for days to come, as I read the various parts of the body of the post slowly for the first time, and reread all of the parts, variously conceptualized, many times and half-times for a long time to come. It seems so beautiful, so humane. VERY THRILLING, Tood!
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