…as he arrives at his present pass
We know that time here cannot be linear. Space and proportions are not notions we can rely on from moment to moment to understand the world, the universe, in some systematized, consistent manner – one that, by calling it logical, makes us feel comfortable and secure. But what is logic?
Maybe it’s better just to have a drink.
We are told that as he turns into a rat, The Ferret is big enough – assumedly as large as his former self – to sit on the edge of Welsh Losser’s hospital bed to resume, albeit awkwardly, a relationship with intimations of intimacy, before The Ferret is seized by disgust and repulsion with Losser’s newly deformed form as he discovers it. We have been led to envision The Ferret as at least large enough that former embraces with Welsh Losser would actually mean something on the erogenous level to both of them.
Elsewhere we are told that suddenly there is an island glutted with querulous and vicious Ferret Monkeys, known apparently only to Josh Davies, and that may be either The Ferret’s self-generated offspring or his mutant clones – something it is possible even Josh Davies does not know, much less we. This island does not necessarily exist in our dimension, the dimension we’d use to embark on a voyage and find the island ourselves, at our peril, if we so chose. But it does exist – for Josh Davies – although we may never find it.
And it also exists in the death-sleep world of Zippy Zamazda as one of three eternal nightmares from which he has been damned by Ferret Light Aqua Fresh to never awaken.
Far, far earlier, in The Checkout section of Kyiv Unedited, a separate dimension altogether in which he is stuck, making it nearly inconceivable that he can access The Ferret in the Commix section of Kyiv Unedited in any way, The Hunched Cornish says he is determined to expose The Ferret as The Liar of Liars – but, for reasons already given, I do not think that is The Hunched Cornish’s overarching mission, and we can assume that at that early stage, he did not know why he had been plopped into The Checkout, or by whom. The grotesque idiot.
The Hunched Cornish has got nothing on me. As if it’s my fault he’s not writing for The Commix, but got stuck doing food reviews in the other section.
He’s challenged me to cross the line into The Checkout, to have it out, and he’s spread the word that I’m a coward for not doing it, but I see no need to waste my time on that demented gruesome freak. If there is a need, I’ll go. You don’t have to believe me – so I can’t even ask you take my word for it. And if you don’t, well, all right then, that’s your prerogative. At least in my own mind, I have no doubt. That’s good enough for me.
And I’m out of favor with Mack. Me and Dickerson, both. Does that change things with John Smith?
Well, he’s still got a line to me – if he wants it. Although I won’t blame him if he doesn’t. He’s in pretty good over there with The Cornish, too.
Complicated? No, I don’t think so. I’m not like The Cornish; I’m not putting it on Smith to choose. That’s not what it’s all about. His relationship with that freak doesn’t bother me and has nothing to do with us. What has to do with us is how far removed I’ve become from Smith, and how close I could have been. It’s my own damn fault, I suppose – the drinking – but I got it under control.
No – I know – this time I really got it under control. I can have one once in a while, but it’s not like it pulls me in to want more – and then I can’t stop. After I’ve had one or two, I can just put my money down, get up, and walk away. And if you don’t believe me, well, like I said, that’s your prerogative.
Maybe I should just give Smith a call.
Smith – he’s not about taking sides. Smith – if he’s in The Commix or in The Checkout, there’s a reason for it, much of which I no longer understand. It’s gone beyond me. Or maybe I’ve just fallen too far behind. Can I ever make up the distance? Can I ever get back? Be truthful with yourself, Step, truthful.
The things of this world, the ways – what are they, what do they mean? And what is my place among them? Who am I? What am I an agent of? Have I actually had a purpose, or served one? Can I still be of use? I no longer, I no longer… Smith – he’s doing just what he should be doing. If he makes a mistake, he’ll learn from it, instead of fucking it all up – like I did. Yeah, me and Dickerson, both. Maybe I can still get back. I’ve got it under control. No – I don’t think I can ever get back. Don’t fool yourself, Step, don’t fool yourself.
But then we are told an abducted Ferret has been delivered by Bill Publowsky to Harry Christian, a mooching, alcoholic Hindu possessed of a sinister mesmerizing skill, with which he can torment his victims to devastating effect – when he isn’t drunk. At this point, The Ferret is not only fully a rat, resignedly (almost nobly) admitting as much, but is also rat-sized, small enough that Harry Christian, who is himself diminutive, can hold him dangling by his tail and terrorize him with a big knife.
This occurs just after a Jim Kickshitz-directed theatrical production back in Volume 1 of The Commix.
But this incident, and what takes place next, should have happened before The Ferret begins to turn into a rat and visits Welsh Losser, not after, as one might think, following the actual order of The Commix frames. But it doesn’t happen after.
For it happens now.
Filed by Jack Step, from Nowhere Land Express, November 22, 2013