- A radioplay -

R O A D   S T O R Y
voice of CLARK, with symphonic and ambient sounds:
“me and my jack-o’-lantern SEBASTIAN, we had our road movie started from shelbyville, indiana, a provincial town where they despise gays probably as much as they despise punks, beatniks, communists, pirates, gypsies or ravers. to them, we’re weirdos ‘cause we appreciate the enticements of jerking off each other. well, when his parents divorced, the valetudinarian kid SEBASTIAN was in hopes of living with his father, a half-indian and a quiet, peaceful radio station technician who liked his son. he probably wouldn’t have minded SEBASTIAN being gay. maybe he would have moved to New York City with his son. but the entozoa judge ruled otherwise. SEBASTIAN was forced to live with his over-religious banshee mother who tried to manipulate her son into becoming a hard-core baptist, but he saw right through her paltry schemes. and so he ran away to hide at his father’s place. but his puffy mother came, together with the police and a local enquirer reporter. she took SEBASTIAN home, in the process accusing her ex-husband of trying to kidnap this innocent helpless boy. never again did the kid try to escape to his father, ‘cause he didn’t want him to be accused of kidnapping or worse things like child-molesting. so, he lived with his grimalkin mother for two weeks, and i could not help but notice that he was totally miserable and unhappy. he had to wear all those decent clothes which looked a bit like british school uniforms and he had to play with all those meek disciples of bigotry. in his puerility, however, he did not know what to do. he was in the state of suppressed despair. so i said to him “okay now, sunny, thou shalt hit the road or receive a bloody nose from thine best friend”, and we scrammed in hysterical laughter. yeah, you might say that in my scornfulness, i freed him from the tender grip of shelbyville, and this time, my young bloodbrother SEBASTIAN FARTHING got away without getting caught, together with me. we really hit the road. we hiked through the bucolic states of illinois, iowa, nebraska, colorado, wyoming, utah, nevada and california, it took us five weeks ‘cause amorous hobos like us, we always had to be on the spot. i did not want the police to catch us or some fargone perverts to mutilate us. i don’t mind the paganism of paiderasty – actually, i kind of like it,  i’m not one of those p.c. androphobians who mystify our conceptualizations of morality - who are transforming morality into anaphrodisiac trains of thought which resemble closed circuits – all just for the single reason that the children of our nation can grow up as better machines than the robots. yeah, p.c. must have really been an invention of the IMPERIOUS LEADER OF THE CYLON EMPIRE. there’s just one thing, however: and that’s america which has such an abundance of parracidal men picking up hitch-hiking boys and then trying to rape them without their prior consent. but then, by scouting i always managed to locate the spots of some cool bohemians, though you might not expect them in these hinterland regions, eh, and we never once got caught. i tell you, we’re one lucky pair of silly runaways... you know, when we eventually arrived, we’d been punks for two weeks already. yeah, we got our hair dyed in wyoming by some bizarre gothic lady who lived a life of some crazy old hermit. we had a spectral seance and talked to the spirits of apollo and syd vicious and the black buccaneer. they told her to tear our clothes apart and to make us some piercings. she decorated us with some leather stuff and other paraphernalia like brass orchids and handcuffs. we stood there, gaping at ourselves wearing these presents of ghastly genuineness. and then she took us toVegas ... she turned out to be some sort of indian transsexual magician. it was the night they blew up the dunes. out on the street, in the crowd, we met several people whom we invited to come celebrating with us that night in the most luxurious suite in caesar’s palace, and they thought we'd gone mad. the next day, she left us on a desert road, in the middle of scorched nowhere, but that was part of our lesson. she had proved to me and SEBASTIAN that our thirst for life would be immitigable, and that our good-natured imperishableness could not be profaned ... there is something she said during that night, while me and her, we were together in the bath tub, naked. and it is something which i find disturbing only now, because at the time she had said it, i was way too happy. she said “for generations, i had been content. it is only now that i begin to miss the ubiquitiousness of real life again.” maybe, she was a real vampire after all... but now, we’re finally here – San Francisco, SEBASTIAN FARTHING – same initials, by the way – and me... what about TINTIN? oh well. i suppose he’s real enough, a little bit weird, off-beat, but he’s no selfish vampire. he sure loves SEBASTIAN, and not some mirror image of himself as a kid or of another bloody boy of ‘79, if i get your meaning. i even think that TINTIN is not selfish enough. SEBASTIAN  and me, we’re still as thick as thieves – we look after each other ... i wanted to make sure he never loses his way, and he was the first boy with whom i had plenipotentiary sex, you know ... ”

the symphonic and ambient sounds fade away  ...



as in will-o'-the-wisp