New York Mike

By Jo Jo Gunnar

“Call me Epidemetheus,” requests the expat American narrator. His adventures, both real and imagined, explore deeply philosophical aspects of his life as the metaphorical hapless brother of Prometheus. Epidemetheus caroms from tennis pro in Thailand, to university professor in South Korea, to gun runner, to jilted husband discussing philosophy with Frankenstein’s creature in the Arctic, and back to South East Asia in his search for understanding. Along the way New York Mike haunts his every move and thought. Unique in its exploration of philosophy, New York Mike romps through western intellectual literature, film and art references in a Walter Mittyesque exploration of the challenges encountered by an expat American in contemporary South East Asia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jo Jo Gunnar
• Release date: Jun 18, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463601365

Jo Jo Gunnar

Seeing you've showed the interest to look at this offering, you might well be asking: "Just who is Jo Jo Gunnar? I might well answer, by saying: "That would be me." As you would likely find this threadbare response far less than satisfactory, let me answer by asking: "Just who might you be?" Don't get me wrong, I don't mean to sound cutsie or glib, but, it seems to me there couldn't be a more confounding question. I could expound a bit, by saying I'm a this or a that. But, whatever I said, just as with Alice, the hookah smoking caterpillar, would say: "Yes. But... WHO ARE YOU!" This, my friends, is the eternal question. One that, each and every one of us was put here to answer. Seeing that's the case, who I am, or what I've done, doesn't interest me nearly as much as does the answer. Come to think of it, the question's not too bad either!

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NEW YORK MIKE

Jo Jo Gunnar

NEW YORK MIKE

Published by Left Hand Books

Manila, Philippines

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved

Copyright © 2018 by Jo Jo Gunnar

Cover photo Copyright © 2018 Gryllus Glyphics

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law.

CONTENTS

PROLOG

THE CROSSROADS

THE CHOCOLATE SODA

ERMITA

THE JEEPNEY

THE CARGO CULT

MANILA

KOREA AND BACK AGAIN

ESCAPE TO THAILAND

GRAND CANARY

ST. JOHN’S

NORTH TO PANGNIRTUNG

PANGNIRTUNG

SORT OF A PLAN

THE MONSTER

HOMEWARD BOUND

BALIBAGO

THE LEGION OF LOSERS

HOMEWARD BOUND AGAIN

PROLOG

Call me Epimetheus, and... I was before the beginning; in a time when those pure unassailable virtues known as Titans held sway upon the earth. Least amongst that storied race, you no doubt know my more famous brother the better as the only God that’s said to have never died, the Titan, Prometheus. As much as you might know of him, did you also know… he had but one eye? You may well know how he came to hang suspended from the precipice, but did you also know that I hung strung up at his side?

This, then, is the untold story of my brother and I who, by his unerring strength of foresight, led those pure unassailable virtues wither he would, while I followed in the rear, looking backwards in reflection. In this way we ranged throughout the world, and when evening came, we made our camp alongside the river Styx. It was then that Prometheus would come to me, and, separated from the others by some distance, we’d recount the day’s events. Sitting close by my side, my brother would regale me with his dreams and his visions, which I would then amend with admonishments and revisions. Things went on this way from one age to the next, until, one day, word came to us that other gods had ascended to power atop Mt. Olympus! Though lesser in strength and stature, and in all ways meager by comparison, they were thought to be more crafty and cunning, and were rumored to be in possession of things of which we knew not.It was for this, that, henceforth, we always gave that fiery frozen peak a wide berth.

One day, the earth rumbled to its foundations, and the river Styx fell away. From the mouth of that yawning chasm, there came the anguished cry of being, without form or substance, crying to escape from the pit and become, but being naked… it could not. Prometheus withered at the sound and withdrew to join the others, who, likewise unable to withstand the din, removed their camp to some still further distance. To me, these awful sounds were sweet music to my ears! I sat atop the rim and listened. Soon, I was able to distinguish the wail of the one from the other, and to know each of these separate beings according to its utterance. But, I was wrong about my brother. He did not wither, for he soon returned to me and, on telling him all of what I’d learned of those within the pit, he soon hit upon a plan.

At first, the Titans were wary to concede to beings’ release, but, as the din continued unabated, they finally acquiesced. In accordance with my brother’s plan, each Titan then offered up some odd remnant of their finery, which I then placed upon each being as I called it from the pit. So it was, that, one by one, each being ventured forth and was arrayed. I adorned those that call the air their home, the creeping things that crawl upon the ground, and the fish that swim in the sea! And, as each came forth in its turn and was adorned, the din abated, until, finally, there was but one voice yet heard wailing from within: The voice of the being… called man.

I could tell my brother felt great love for this being. However, lacking in foresight, I had nothing left for man to wear. This saddened my brother so, that he went and stole the fire from the gods and bedecked this being in it! That my brother had stolen their fire and given it to man; and, that man might now someday rival the gods, so enraged The Olympians that they declared war upon both The Titans and man! Prometheus, knowing this war wouldn’t go well for me, advised me to seek refuge with man, while he and the other Titans made ready their campaign.

So it was, that war raged between The Titans, The Olympians, and man. Out of his great love for man, Prometheus left the Titans and fled to Olympus. With his strength of foresight and knowledge of titanic strategy, the Olympian campaign began to find some success. It's been said that, in the end, the Olympians were only able to defeat the Titans with the aid of a strange race of powerful and ferocious beasts. Beasts they were, although… not those made of flesh and bone, but of war engines seamlessly annealed in the fiery furnaces of man! Engines, made up of everything the virtuous Titans were not. Engines, designed to lure the one away from the other, and, once bound securely with unbreakable cords of deceit, each would then be transported to the underworld that lays the other side of Hades, and… from whence there is no return. One by one, these titanic virtues were bound inseparably to these engines. When the last of the Titans had been thusly banished, war came to an end.

Almighty Zeus declared the Olympians victorious! In his magnanimity, and for the roles we two brothers had played in his great victory, Zeus offered amnesty to both my brother and me. What isn’t so well known, and as yet remains unwritten, is that, while Prometheus and the Titans were planning their assault, the leader of man had made a secret journey to Olympus where, in an audience before the great god Zeus, a bargain was stuck for the secession of hostilities between the gods and man.

For my part, I took a wife who, like myself, was least born amongst their women. As it went, I came to love her dearly, and… gladly taught her all I knew about each and every virtue which, in a way completely unbeknownst to me, she then delivered into the hands of the leader of man, a sorcerer well practiced in the black art of deception, and who, to my eternal shame, stole my wife away from right under my nose!

In the aftermath of war, and to commemorate his great victory, Zeus declared a holiday. A great party of man was then assembled for the journey to Olympus. Picked to be amongst these, I was never more looking forward to reuniting with my brother than I was then! On the way I was accompanied by my wife. It was she who would betray me in an audience before the great god Zeus, by speaking thusly:

Mighty Zeus, all being gives you praise and glory! It is to you, and to all the Olympians, that we pledge to forever bow down and pay homage! Yet, we know that you are sorely grieved at our having received your sacred fire from Prometheus; it's for this that we seek to make reparations, so that war between us, might never again come to be! Let it forever be remembered, that we were your allies in this Great War against the Titans. As much as this alliance lead us on to victory, if it were not for the assistance given to each of us by these two brothers, Titans though they be, the gods and man would surely never have prevailed! Yet, Titans they are, and Titans they remain; and, as Titans, they must answer for their crimes! Prometheus, for stealing your sacred fire; and my husband Epimetheus, for the part he played in building engines, that, should these two yet have their way, would one day bring down the gods as well!

At this, a great murmur arose amongst the Olympians. But, our quarrel is not with you, O’ Zeus. Your rule is just. And, justice must prevail! Stealing, and the corruption of virtue, are crimes that must not go unpunished! To this end, engines have been secretly constructed that would bind and banish these two traitors to the underworld that lies to the other side of Hades, where their fellow criminals eagerly await them! But rather, as a favor to me, to man, and to my beloved lord and master, I pray thee banish these two instead to some remote place as might be found at the ends of the earth! If you should do this O' Zeus, we will pay eternal tribute by sacrificing pieces of Prometheus in the very fire that he stole from you! As for my poor, dear husband Epimetheus, let him hang there by his side at my pleasure… to do with as I please!

Zeus, impressed by my wife's treachery and eloquence, had Prometheus and me banished to the most remote region of the Caucasus… there to hang suspended from the highest peak!

Prometheus was bound at the ankles and hung suspended upside down. I was bound at the wrists and hung suspended lengthwise in like manner. Birds of prey were then sent from Olympus, to pick away at my brother’s flesh. In the same way, birds were sent to me from the encampment of man, charged to crawl down my throat and pick away at me from the inside out. After each one of these visits, the flesh of my brother would magically grow back! I, on the other hand, was picked clean from within. When there was nothing left of me, I was to be cut loose and plummet into the abyss!

It's been said, that a sad maiden in the form of a cow came upon us where we were hanging and took pity on my brother. Out of her great pity for my brother, she unbound him. But, I tell you, this was no sad maiden come to free my brother, but my wife, come to cut me loose so that I might plummet from the precipice! Prometheus, did all he could to dissuade her from this errand, but to no avail! The cord was cut. As I fell, my brother reached out his hand and grabbed me by the wrist. Prometheus would have held me safely in this manner, but, my wife, in her fury, then began to hack away at his tether! Not wishing to see my brother come to his destruction with me, I beseeched him to let me go, but, the more earnest were my pleas, the tighter was his hold! Nothing I said, could convince him to let go his hold. In my desperation, I reached up and gouged out his right eye! He gave a start, and with an anguished cry, he then let go his hold! So it was, with the right eye of Prometheus clinched tightly in my fist, I hurled headlong into the vast expanse of the bottomless abyss!

THE CROSSROADS

It was 6 AM, as I stumbled out of the oxymoronically monikered Ministry of Information and Culture Guesthouse in old Vientiane, beginning what would be a third day of no sleep, and a fifth day of what was becoming an increasingly annoying and debilitating bout of diarrhea. This chronic condition was wearing me down, and had effectively reduced my normally wide ranging to that of only small movements, and even then, to those that could only be made in the direction of a small handful of toilets I knew to be reasonably serviceable. I have to admit, it was quite unusual for me to be leaving my lair so early, and that I was only doing so, out of a desperate need for cigarettes and drinking water. Stumbling in the direction of a dirty little crossroads, I began to drink in the ambiance of this quiet old city. Although, physically drained and weak as I was, I felt the quickening of what soon became an undeniable sense of euphoria. So much so, I couldn’t help but wonder if this strange feeling was the result of sleep deprivation and dehydration, or more the somnolent charms of this dreary and decaying old French Provincial Capital. Either way, it really didn’t matter, because, to tell the truth, nothing did. Although, I have to say, that, on this day, I felt as good as the old pair of tennis shoes I’d have been wearing… if my wife hadn’t stolen them... along with everything else that had given me reason to go on living. It was this same month, the month being June, one year ago, exactly to the day, the day being the 20th, that I was first confronted by my wife’s infidelity. Come to think of it, it was this very same day, some nine years gone now, that I last saw New York Mike.

When I found her out, she was already two months into an affair with a man I would later discover to be the leader of a notorious drug and extortion racket that had very deep political and judicial connections. As luck would also have it, this same man, would prove to be a genius of incredible evil! Struck by this now, as I was then, it makes me laugh to think that I don’t believe in luck, or in revenge for that matter. However, I have to admit the mere contemplation of such violent redress, percolates through my mind in pure sublimity! For, in vengeance, I’m the great Ulysses! Or, better yet, Nevada Smith. Alas, my dear reader, enough of these aimless flights of fancy. Suffice it to say, this matter has been reserved for another time. After all, let’s not forget... this is a story about New York Mike. It’s just that… I want you to know... that I desperately loved my wife, and, the wounds of her treachery still smart, if touched; and, when touched, like just now, serve me a constant reminder that betrayal, like revenge, is a dish best served cold. But, enough of my somber and sullen mood, lest you think me a cry baby, for this, my friends, is a happy story… a tale told in the celebration of redemption, rebirth, and renewal!

Entering this crossroads, the steps of my stumbling gait began to move in an odd and absurdly syncopated manner, as if marching to the beat of a lost, forgotten rhythm that instilled in me a pleasantly intoxicating catharsis. A catharsis of feelings, that whispered in a soft and most assured manner that this crossroads, what was no more than a shabby little collection of open air carinderias had, in the blink of an eye, suddenly become… The very crossroads of my life!

It seems strange to me, the many times I’ve been told… and I’ve been told this again and again, that everyone confronts this same situation; that of standing on the precipice of the abyss, and that, this is such a common experience as to have been relegated (in the terms of today’s politically correct vernacular) as no more than some touchy feely thing called, a life crisis! I’m constantly amazed, and totally confused, as to how everyone can be so completely at ease and so comfortable with something, that, to me, is completely unknown and quite singular! When these same people look up to the sky, I know what they see! They see those creamy little storybook cutouts that pop up to everyone’s surprised amusement, right off the page! They see a fabled fleet of Spanish treasure galleons plowing the azure sky blue sea, weighted down to their gunnels with the rape of Montezuma treasure, heading for home, a full mast of sails billowing in the wind and gold rimmed by the sun! When I look up to the sky, do you know what I see? I see what can only be described… as a spreading canopy of evil!

…a spreading canopy that separates the world of reality from that of appearance. As I stand and watch this canopy unfurl, I’m reminded of the passage from A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, wherein, Joyce makes passing reference to a lecture given on the fall of man by one of his Jesuit professors, the gist of which goes: One day, the thought entered Satan’s mind… ‘I shall not serve,’ and… -THUS-FELL-SATAN! …along with a third of the heavenly host into the deepest fiery pits of hell, the walls of which are five miles thick! It seems as if the mere thought of NYM had caused me to fall from heaven back to earth, and back within the shell of the self and its flimsy existence. Just the same, I would sorely miss the time I’d spent in the abyss, and the freedom it had lent me from what St. Paul is want to call… The old man.

Would that it were possible for me to detail this strange reverse epiphany, but, as the abyss is filled with nothing but nothingness, nothing of this can be known to those that haven’t had this same experience. As much as we can ever hope to know of nothing as a function in a process, we can’t ever hope to know anything of it as an absolute condition. Therefore, we can do no more, than speculate as to what might comprise a nihilistic state of being. The awareness of nothingness, presents us with a dilemma that’s been most adroitly addressed by Schopenhauer, who tells us of a somewhat misbegotten attempt he made to dissuade a friend who remained adamantly insistent, that his consciousness would continue after his death. For his part, Schopenhauer was more than willing to concede to this continuation, if his friend would but agree to endure a short period of nothingness first. And which, after a spirited and lively exchange, was agreed upon to be three months. The point Schopenhauer wants to make here is that: three months, three years, three centuries, or three times the countless eons that comprise all of eternity, would easily fit comfortably side by side with plenty of room to spare, within the very same instant that would pass completely unnoticed!

If you want to experience this total lack of consciousness yourself, you need no more than to cross The International Dateline. Cross this line from east to west, and you pass a whole day without a hint of having done so! Cross this line in the opposite direction, and you live the same day all over again without a trace of déjà vu! This, my friends, is the void. And, it’s apparently just as much of nothing, as it is of absolute necessity. Without this singular line of longitude, time would run into itself, the earth would stop spinning, fall from its fixed position, hit the ground and bounce into a hole in the floor! Some of you might find it a bit inconvenient to take a trip across this line. Given this, it’s really not all that pressing that you do so. You can experience the void’s apparent counterpart from anywhere and at any time, in the moment that is the continuous present… the one moment in time that’s always there, right before your very eyes, but… never really is. To contemplate this void in real time, and from its broadest possible perspective, you need no more than to stare up into the heavens on a cloudless evening. There, you’ll see all the many spectacular things the universe has to offer. What you won’t see… is life. This, is the void of existence. I’m amazed at the stellar effort man makes to reach his hand into this vacuum, ever looking outward, never looking back. I’ve often wondered… if life did exist somewhere in the outer reaches of the universe, and, someone there were to train his gaze back towards the earth… what might it look like? Nietzsche said, man’s final frontier is not the journey outward… but the journey within. Nostradamus, arrived at this same conclusion from the opposite direction, when he said: "There’s nothing new under the sun,