Dreamed 1985/11/6 by Chris Wayan
for R Crumb and the underground artists of Wimmin's Comix
I settle into one wing of a CIA safe house to secretly design my Yuppie Corrupter. (Yuppie is American slang--strictly, an acronym for "young urban professionals" but generally used as if it means "young upperclass poop-for-brains": the oblivious rich.)
My prototype Deyuppifier is a shoebox-sized maze full of little gray halls. But that's merely the control box--as I tinker with it, the apartment around me transforms to match. I gleefully picture things to scare those yuppies into thinking the Safe House is haunted: vibrating walls, heaving floors, subsonics, distorting mirrors--I make them subtle and asymmetrical--far more disturbing than the reassuringly obvious ones in funhouses.
But fear isn't the only emotion that'll motivate them to step out of their box. I plan a sex-maze too. I was inspired by a large device in the corner of the maze that I'd forgotten, a dome with holes like a whiffle ball, or a swiss-cheese City Hall. Examine it closer. It's a big warm dome of humming steel. I drape myself over "City Hall" and hang on. Vibrates and tingles! Warm air blows out the holes...
Ooh! I get hard. Stick my cock through a hole... and fuck City Hall! It feels wonderful, and I come quickly, intensely. So satisfying! I recommend everyone fuck City Hall.
As I come, images of other sex-rooms appear in my head. More ways to deprogram workaholics! But as they get clearer, I'm shocked to realize they aren't just plans, but buried memories of rooms I already BUILT. Only when I fucked City Hall did I regain all my memories, reclaim the whole maze!
Wow... so the Tongue Tunnel is REAL. If you try to walk or crawl through it, the Ten Thousand Tongues push you back; but if you relax and let the tongues carry you like cilia, they'll lick you ALL over, and carry you, tastebud to tastebud, on through...
To Hand Hall, where pleasantly heated fingers probe and tickle all over, as long as you treat them gently, patiently. Hurry, and you're gonna get slapped.
And my masterpiece, the Go-Slow Room, with its floor of mouths, where corporate types in a hurry who try to stick their cocks in right away find the mouths spit them out, even nip them painfully... but if they go slow, kiss the mouths, and let their whole body be kissed and licked, then the mouths will hunt for cocks and clits and happily suck. Guaranteed to slow them down, rebodify those Yups!
And sex and fear aren't the only ways to go. I'm not the only one building models around here! A young Japanese guy has modeled a major bank in such detail that he can plan the perfect robbery. He tells me about it openly... then he gets a brainstorm. "With a model this perfect, I can just start a bank and make my own money! Why steal their cash when I can build my OWN economy!"
So... what's your model?
NOTE NEXT MORNING
The dream's a parody/tribute to the Tactile Dome in San Francisco's Exploratorium (if you're in town, I recommend a visit. It'll definitely put you back in your body! Call ahead for reservations, though--it's booked solid.) I always wanted to build a sexual version...
I can't even imagine what a financial version would be...
NOTE THIRTY YEARS LATER
Now I can. I boycott corporate capitalism! I live in a big shared house. Our mortgage is with a small regional bank that rejected the financial games that caused the '08 crash (and will cause the next). My food's from a farmer's market and a cooperative, worker-owned grocery. Thanks to solar panels and my old bike, my net energy usage is... zero. My housemates' savings are in credit unions; mine are in longterm social/ethical funds--supporting firms that don't exploit, pollute, cheat.
You CAN build your own economy. And high time we all did! Theirs doesn't serve us. It doesn't even work.
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