The Poison Pie Publishing House presents:

September 1, 2020
Cole experienced a keen embarrassment for wandering uselessly through a dead city, while, unbeknownst to him, the diluvian knights had arrived on Earth. He had supposed that he would be there to greet them when they first stepped upon terra firma. In his imagination, he had envisioned Shaharazad emerging from a formidable extraterrestrial craft at the head of ten thousand knights. She would greet him as an old friend with an embrace.

The truth of the matter was jarring. They had not bothered to inform him of the time or the place of their coming. Nor did it seem that she had any intention of disclosing their whereabouts. Cole pressed her on this point repeatedly and with increasing vehemence. Shaharazad gave no indication of softening her position in response to his pleas and demands. Cole could scarcely believe this turn of events. On the other hand, Shaharazad, for whom the future was no less accessible than the past, expected nothing more nor less than what exactly proceeded to transpire.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 1 (September 9, 2012, Yokohama Shinko Futo, Tokyo, Japan, digital file)

September 2, 2020
Cole insisted that Shaharazad provide the coordinates of the current location of the diluvian knights. At the same time, Shaharazad restated that one of Cole's remaining duties as a herald included gathering those few thousands, who had unintendedly survived the deluge from their subsistence living in the abandoned lands, and delivering them to a refuge. A sort of compromise was reached when Shaharazad offered to provide directions to the landing site one step at a time so long as Cole agreed to collect any wandering humans that he encountered along the way. Like a recalcitrant child, Cole begrudgingly accepted these terms. The alternative was to wile away the days among the dead. "Which way do I go?" he asked. By way of the same telepathy, which the alien had used to communicate with Cole since their initial meeting, she indicated that he was to travel south.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 1 (May 3, 2012, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

September 3, 2020
Cole managed to fill the back of the pickup truck with containers of gasoline, scavenged from garages and shops around the city. It had been a fairly easy task since he had no competition. He supposed that he had loaded enough fuel to travel at least twelve hundred miles. He smiled briefly at the mental image of the explosive conflagration that would result if he crashed early in the trip. He also packed food. There was bread still available on store shelves that hadn't gotten too stale to eat. A cardboard box filled with canned tuna and canned fruit sat at the foot of the passenger seat. Around it were lodged bottles of water and whiskey. As he pulled onto I-75 heading south, he thought about things he had forgotten--a backup flashlight or a rifle. In most post-apocalyptic settings that Cole had seen on the television, a firearm always came in handy. He did not turn around to retrieve any sort of gun; he relied on the protection of the diluvian knights. If Shaharazad abandoned him to his death, he would be excused from completing the onerous task before him, which would surely require that he subject himself to the great opprobrium of his fellow survivors.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 1 (May 3, 2012, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

September 4, 2020
Never had I-75 been so free of traffic. If there was a bright side to the end of the world, this was it. No impatient semis approached perilously close to his rear bumper nor did aged drivers maintain their position in the passing lane while adhering to cruise control set five miles per hour below the speed limit.

From the highway, the world looked largely the same. No discernible difference could be detected in the long tracts of forests or the empty fields. At exits, a familiar collection of signs for filling stations, fast food restaurants and hotels rose above the tree tops. Not another vehicle did he pass, save the odd car here or there that appeared to have broken down on the shoulder before the deluge and would there remain until it rusted away.

After several hours on the highway, Cole slowed down when he encountered a makeshift sign spray painted on a sheet of plywood leaning against an exit sign. It read, "We are still alive. Exit here."

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 1 (May 3, 2012, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

September 5, 2020
At the end of the exit ramp, another sheet of plywood had been positioned at the intersection with the county road, but had been pushed over by the wind. Cole got out of the truck and set it right. On the sign scrawled in the same spray paint was the name of a motel and an arrow pointing west. From where he stood, Cole could see the three story building arranged among a row of garish restaurants, convenience stores and competing lodging. As he approached, he noted that about half the parking lot was full of vehicles. He conjectured that patrons had checked into the motel and had never woke. It was almost a certainty that there had been no more time to move the bodies than the automobiles. He pulled up in the covered unloading area. A third sheet of plywood, written by the same hand declared, "Help! We are still alive!"

Inside the lobby his suspicions were confirmed. The stench of decay was overwhelming. He wrapped a bandana, which he had taken to carrying for just such situations, about his nose and mouth. He decided that no one could live here under these conditions. Nevertheless to fulfill the duty he had been given, he called out several times. "Hello! Is there anyone here?" Receiving no reply, he quickly departed. Obviously, the signs had been left in the frantic one or two days after the deluge when a few doomed souls still staved off the onset of a permanent slumber.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 2 (May 3, 2012, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

September 6, 2020
No more than an hour later, when Cole reached the Atlanta suburbs, but before he arrived at the I-285 loop, he encountered a road block. Someone had intentionally parked more than a dozen cars sideways in the road, blocking all lanes of traffic in both directions. This was no accidental feat because the highway congestion at this point had been legendary and the Georgia Department of Transportation had seen fit to expand I-75 to no less than fifteen lanes. Cole drew to a stop about fifty feet from the makeshift barrier. He reminded himself to keep calm; he had seen back-ups in this section of interstate stretch for ten miles. To be the only vehicle waiting was refreshing in contrast. He needed merely to roll one of the smaller cars out of the way. With this intention, he exited the cab of the truck and approached the wall. At twenty feet, he saw a small sign taped to a sedan in the center of the road. He could not read it at this distance. When he stepped within ten feet, he apparently triggered a motion sensor that set off a flashing red light and a piercing digital siren. Whoever had rigged the alarm had considerately noted at the top of the letter that the siren could be disabled by flipping the adjacent switch. Cole did so then read further a polite request to stay put; someone would arrive within half an hour.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 2 (May 3, 2012, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

September 7, 2020
Cole waited in the cab of the truck with the windows rolled down. A slight breeze cooled the interior. After nearly half an hour had passed, he was alerted to a motion in the rear view mirror. From the highway, he watched a white four-door sedan approach. It made no sound at all, clearly powered by an electric motor. As the car pulled up behind him, he recognized it by the ornamentation on the hood and the all-glass roof as a Tesla. It appeared to be in brand new condition.

Cole was not sure whom he had expected to emerge from this vehicle but he supposed it was some kind of hardy, embittered survivalist, not so unlike himself. Instead a black woman climbed out from the driver's seat. She stood an inch taller than Cole and the width of her shoulders was no less than his own, though her frame was spindly. With glossy maroon lipstick and eyeshadow, she struck Cole as curiously made up for the apocalypse. She had chosen to attend this meeting in a white sundress printed with large purple orchids and green leaves. The straps exposed her shoulders and the dress fell to a curve in the front, which provided just a glimpse of the top of her breasts, then descended to her knees. The same breeze that had cooled him earlier, blew her long, frizzy hair into her face. She pushed it aside and presented Cole with the first smile he had seen since the deluge.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 2 (May 3, 2012, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

September 8, 2020
In white sandals with a modest heel, the stranger walked toward Cole with an extra sway of the hips, which his brain processed as an exaggerated femininity. Coming to a stop several feet from him, she said, "I'm Manuela. What's your name?" Her voice was unusually deep though she spoke with a lilting rhythm.

"Cole," he replied.

The two people stood on a great expanse of concrete under a pleasant September afternoon sky. Perhaps they had so little in common that they would soon resort to commenting on the weather.

"Where are you headed, Cole, if I may ask?" inquired Manuela.

"South."

She rose to her toes and conspicuously looked over his shoulder at the bed of the pickup truck, every square inch filled with tanks of gasoline. "Traveling Air Hindenburg, I see." She softened the jibe with another fetching smile.

Cole nodded toward the Tesla behind her. "Electricity may be hard to come by where I am going."

"And that is?" she asked again.

"South."

Manuela mistakenly assumed that the purpose of Cole's travel was to locate someone dear to him. "Good luck finding them," she said. "Almost everyone is dead almost everywhere." By the look of his face, she supposed that the intent of this grim, taciturn man was simply to bury loved ones now lost.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino & Doravideo - unreleased live recording, track 1 (September 1, 2020, Super Dommune, Shibuya, Tokyo, Japan, digital file)

September 9, 2020
Manuela adeptly maneuvered a hatchback from the end of the barricade, opening the way. The keys had been left in the ignition; Cole could have moved the car himself, but it had not occurred to him to look, nor had he been predisposed to depart before he met the one who had blocked the highway. He did, after all, have a charge from Shaharazad to collect the survivors, even if he harbored some ambivalence regarding the task.

He drove through the gap with Manuela following him. He came to a stop on the opposite side and Manuela performed a U-turn so that they could continue their conversation lodged in the security of their respective driver seats. From this vantage point, Cole observed the whiteness and straightness of her teeth each time she smiled. It seemed to him that some conscious effort had been required to maintain such flawless incisors and canines. He wondered at the odd thought; was he already behaving strangely due to extended isolation? To be sure, this was a belated question that he could have entertained much earlier in life!

written while listening to:  Fushitsusha - unreleased live recording, track 1 (September 15, 1988, La Mama, Shibuya, Tokyo, Japan, digital file)

September 10, 2020
From the cab of the truck, Cole watched Manuela return the hatchback to its spot, restoring the barricade. He silently noted that, since her Tesla was now on the south side of the barrier; she had blocked off her return route. She leaned casually against her car while Cole remained seated. Through the window, he confided to her that he had something else that he needed to tell her.

"Oh," she said, feigning surprise. It had been evident to her almost immediately upon meeting Cole that he was holding something back.

"It's about the deluge."

"The deluge?" she asked. Each time Manuela spoke, she cocked her head or made some slight gesture with a shoulder, elbow or hand. Cole found this barrage of movement distracting if not disconcerting.

"That's what this cataclysm is called."

Manuela raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips, indicating in her own way that this information was news to her.

"There are two refuges--located on peninsulas--that were spared from the deluge."

"That I already know," Manuela admitted.

Cole frowned. How could she know? It seemed cosmically improbable that the first person that he would encounter would be the herald who had delivered the other dose of vaccine.

By way of explanation Manuela said, "I have been listening to their broadcasts on the radio."

written while listening to:  Fushitsusha - unreleased live recording, track 1 (September 15, 1988, La Mama, Shibuya, Tokyo, Japan, digital file)

September 11, 2020
Not only did Manuela reveal to Cole that within three days of the deluge, broadcasts calling survivors to the two refuges had begun appearing on many different radio frequencies, she also shared that, in addition to the sanctuary on the Korean peninsula, the population of the Scandinavian peninsula had also emerged unscathed. The breeze picked up again and blew the hem of her dress against her legs, the floral fabric fluttering gently. We suppose that Manuela was able to follow Cole's gaze. In any case, she continued, "Who knows how many people are still alive."

Cole replied rather matter-of-factly. "My understanding is that the survivors can be grouped into two categories. The first are residents of the intended refuges, which were to account for approximately one percent of the pre-deluge global population, nearly eighty million people. The second are folks like you and me who, by hook or crook, managed to survive the deluge outside a designated sanctuary. We form a much smaller group, roughly one in a million, or about eight thousand scattered worldwide."

Manuela did not know what to make of Cole's precise knowledge in such matters. We cannot blame her for speculating that the deluge had been a nefarious government genocidal plot, in which Cole had played some role in planning. As cool as can be, she invited him to her home with the intent of gleaning more information.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 1-2 (February 29, 2012, Café OTO, London, England, digital files)

September 12, 2020
While Cole had yet to tap the reserves in the bed of his truck, fuel remained a concern to him. Similarly, Manuela had limited range with her electric vehicle. She assured him that they would travel but fifteen miles to a place where she had set up camp. He agreed to follow her. They took the next exit and passed through a brief patch of pasture, recently developed into a high density of identical, suburban houses, to rural lands of small farms. It was to just such a modest, brick farmhouse, situated atop a hill overlooking autumn fields, that Manuela led Cole.

She pulled into the adjacent barn, while Cole left the truck outside. He heard chickens though he did not see the coop. Emerging from the barn, Manuela threw her arms up in the air and said, "You didn't imagine that I was a country girl!" as if it were some kind of celebratory announcement. Cole continued to be taken aback by her ebullience in the face of an apocalypse. He quietly nurtured a misgiving that he was being lured into some kind of trap. He had noted that she did not plug the car into a charger. Therefore, this could not be where she called home. Rather she had drawn him to some other point, though he did not know, at this time, to what end.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 1 (February 26, 2012, Tramway, Glasgow, Scotland, digital file)

September 13, 2020
They sat on the front porch of the farmhouse and watched the sun set in streaming shades of pink to blue. Manuela provided simple provisions--veggie burgers that she claimed would last a thousand years--heated on a propane grill. Cole provided whiskey. They dined also on apples, collected from a small orchard on the side of the property. The melody of Manuela's voice provided a near constant soundtrack to the evening. She spoke of her prior life. She had worked as a project manager for home security system installations, a job which had brought her to many residences, including this house. It was also the source of the alarm at the interstate blockade, which had alerted her to Cole's arrival. "You are the first one to have triggered it."

He observed her face as she moved rhythmically in a wooden rocking chair. Depending upon the angle, it was a face that struck him as either masculine or feminine.

"And what did you do," she asked him, "before the whole world disappeared?" Cole had difficulty finding the appropriate response. Of course he could have said simple words like "software programmer", "husband", or "father" but he found himself utterly unprepared to enter that terrain. Of his silence, Manuela took note but chose not to press further.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 1-3 (November 5, 2011, alter schl8hof, Wels, Austria, digital files)

September 14, 2020
Manuela waited patiently for the alcohol to loosen Cole's tongue. The sky darkened and filled with stars while the two remained seated on the porch, neither willing to abandon the first conversation, no matter how lopsided, since the end of the world. Mars appeared as a pinpoint of orange light about nine-thirty and rose in the sky, remaining visible for most of the night. When she judged the time was right, she asked, "Cole, how do you know so precisely the number of survivors?"

Cole lowered his eyes from the constellations and settled his gaze on Manuela still seated in the wooden chair. The air had cooled and she had wrapped herself in a knitted shawl. He could discover within himself no urge to dissemble. What point was there in living past the end of the world, if one continued the worst of what was to have been washed away? "I had months of warning," he said softly. "They were seeking volunteers. They approached me. I don't pretend to fully understand the criteria by which they selected the heralds."

"The heralds?" Manuela asked.

"Those who were chosen to usher in the new age." With one hand, Cole waved ambiguously at the whole world surrounding them. "I have no regrets," he insisted.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 1-3 (July 14, 2011, 20000 V, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

September 15, 2020
Up to this time, Manuela had supposed that, if there were any plot behind the deluge, it had been a government scheme gone awry. As she listened to Cole's language, her suspicions naturally turned to a religious cause, perhaps the workings of a doomsday cult. She wondered if she had made an error in judgment in inviting such a man to this secluded place. Of course, everywhere was equally remote now. The potential danger would have been no less had they remained on the interstate. The alternative was perpetual isolation.

Cole studied Manuela's face in the shadows. He had never been an especially good judge of women's ages but he supposed that she might be thirty. He told her, "Starting in April, a faceless alien projected herself through time and space onto the sleeping form of my wife." He paused, allowing Manuela to react or respond if she chose. When she did not, he continued, "I believed it a dream or hallucination until mid June when she gave me the time and place where a meteorite would fall and sent me to collect it. I was one of ten thousand heralds gathering one of ten thousand meteorites." He looked up. "You might have heard about it in the news. They all vanished before anyone could find them."

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 4-6 (July 14, 2011, 20000 V, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

September 16, 2020
Without the need for a full confession, it had become clear to Manuela that the unseen burden, which weighed Cole down, was the death of his wife. Likely he had lost his children as well. The phrase "survivor's guilt" popped into Manuela's thoughts. She listened to her visitor concoct the most outrageous story, full of aliens and meteorites. Even as he relayed it, she could not determine whether he intended the narrative to condemn or exculpate himself.

"Two of us," he continued, "were delivered a vaccine, with instructions to release it. I traveled to Daegu, South Korea and released my dose of the vaccine on August fifth."

Thinking she might prompt him for a shred of proof, Manuela asked, "Do you have any vaccine left?" If he proved unable to produce evidence, perhaps his delusion would become apparent and his conviction unravel.

Unaware of her intention, Cole looked up, surprised. "Why? You have already survived. Do you know of anyone still hiding in an airtight bunker?" When Manuela shook her head, Cole responded with a shrug. "I don't have any more vaccine. I left it out on the balcony and it had all evaporated by morning."

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 1-3 (June 25, 2011, Uncool Festival, Poschiavo, Switzerland, digital files)

September 17, 2020
Midnight passed as the constellations wheeled insensibly overhead. Cole continued to drink in measured amounts. "The diluvian knights are now on Earth." He explained his name for the aliens to Manuela. When she asked whether the name had originated with the aliens or rather if he had created it, Cole claimed not to remember. "I'm looking for them," he said, "but they don't understand why seeing them is important to me. They have a different plan. They want me to gather you and all other survivors and bring them to one of the refuges."

"Is that why you came to Atlanta, looking for survivors?"

"No!" he exclaimed with unexpected vehemence. "The diluvian knights are south of here. I'm just passing through."

The pair sat in silent starlight for a spell. Manuela internally composed a message that she supposed would invite Cole to abandon his mad search for imaginary aliens and turn to the meaningful task of rescuing survivors. For his part, Cole sought an argument to precisely the opposite effect.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 4-8 (June 25, 2011, Uncool Festival, Poschiavo, Switzerland, digital files)

September 18, 2020
"I could help you," Manuela offered, "find other survivors."

"Why?"

"It's the right thing to do. None of us should wander alone."

"You misunderstand me," Cole replied. "The diluvian knights don't care about individual suffering. They want the survivors delivered to the refuges because they don't trust humanity. The deluge is painful for them--so much loss of life. They want the effect to last, so it need never be repeated on Earth. They live for millions of years. In their life span eight thousand wanderers, if left unchecked, could again multiply to eight billion or more."

Despite a reluctance to engage Cole in his fantasies, she asked an ominous question, "How would they limit the population in the refuge?"

Cole looked at her as if she had missed an obvious point. "A criterion for selection of the refuge was an existing internal zero-population growth. They won't need to limit anything."

Manuela revealed her skepticism with an expression, to which the only response was the tremolo and whinny of a screech owl, hidden in a nearby ash tree.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 1-4 (June 11, 2011, The Garrison, Toronto, Canada, digital files)

September 19, 2020
"I will help you find the others," Manuela repeated. When this declaration elicited no reply, she added, "I already know where two or three are." She then explained to Cole that the alarm at the I-75 blockade was not the only one, which she had set, nor the only one, which had been triggered.

"I thought I was the first person that you had talked to," Cole said, as if it were an accusation.

"You are," Manuela reassured him. "As a woman alone, I was afraid to reveal myself to those men."

Cole frowned. "What made you think I was safe?"

Manuela laughed. "Your sad face and your old, beat-up truck. You look like someone's dad."

Of course, Cole was someone's dad, just like Abraham. However, unlike Abraham, the diluvian knights had not stopped his hand at the last moment and provided a ram, its horns caught in the tangle of a bush, to substitute as sacrifice. His purity exceeded that of Abraham and his suffering was to be commensurately without equal. He rose unsteadily to his feet, surprised by the extent to which the alcohol had effected his balance. "Neither you nor anyone else can help me."

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 5-7 (June 11, 2011, The Garrison, Toronto, Canada, digital files)

September 20, 2020
Manuela guided Cole to an upstairs bedroom, then retreated to the master bedroom. She let him sleep off the drink, until Cole rose of his own accord about ten o'clock the next morning. He found her on the front porch boiling water for coffee on the propane grill. He claimed not to be suffering any effects of a hangover, though he accepted two capsules of ibuprofen when Manuela offered them.

"She came to me again last night," Cole said, when he had settled into the same seat as the night before.

Naturally, Manuela thought he spoke of his wife. Having followed Cole closely this past year, you and I, gentle reader, know better the identity of his nocturnal visitor.

"You look like you could use a hot shower," Manuela commented.

Among all the amenities of the lost world, a hot shower ranked high in Cole's mind as one whose absence he most lamented. "There's no electricity here," he replied.

As she tended to the coffee, Manuela paused and put one hand on her hip. "I have plenty of electricity at home."

"This isn't home?"

"No," she confirmed, "this is just a place where I bring drunk guys that I picked up off the street."

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 1 (April 15, 2011, Roadburn Festival, Tilburg, The Netherlands, digital file)

September 21, 2020
After swearing (rather unnecessarily in Cole's opinion) not to reveal the location of Manuela's secret base, he followed her ten miles northwest along wooded lanes until they arrived at a yet more rural private farm. A stately brick farm house sat some distance from the road. A line of trees formed an unbroken horizon behind it. The presence of electricity was immediately apparent because an automatic garage door opened, allowing Manuela to pull the electric vehicle beside a charging station. Cole left his truck--which, for the record, he had never regarded as beat up--on the driveway.

He followed Manuela on foot along a narrow path through the trees to a hidden field beyond. This clearing was populated by an impressive array of solar panels. "This house is totally off the grid," Manuela stated. When Cole asked her how she had discovered it, she replied, "We installed the security systems for just about every good-sized house within three counties of here."

The previous owner had apparently been something of an eco-fanatic, outfitting his residence with every modern convenience intended to reduce energy consumption, the likes of which only the wealthy could afford. A solar water heater hidden on the backside of the roof provided Cole with his first hot shower since the deluge had struck. Situated in the expansive tiled shower, Cole had never thought to experience such luxury before, much less after, the apocalypse.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 1-6 (April 9, 2011, Café OTO, London, England, digital files)

September 22, 2020
After showering, Cole encountered Manuela in the mistress's bedroom. She had clearly claimed this house as her own; the closet door was open, revealing rows of vivid dresses, blouses, skirts, sandals and accessories. She followed his eyes and explained, "You can't blame a girl for consoling herself with a little shopping trip after the end of the world." She then chastised Cole for putting on the same clothes as before. When he corrected her, noting that he had donned a change of clothes from the truck, she asked him in dismay if his entire wardrobe consisted of exactly the same shirt and trousers. Not waiting for an answer, she waved imperiously, "Out! It's my turn to shower."

Cole wandered in the front yard, where he spied two horses, one chestnut and one bay, in the field to the right of the house. Upon closer inspection, he saw the barn door was open, as was the gate to the pasture.

When Manuela appeared, she took on the aspect of a dream, so radiant was her countenance and ebullient her step. In new lipstick and make-up, she veritably bounced down the porch steps. She wore a dress of vibrant baby blue with impossibly large sunflowers splayed across it and was adorned with silver bracelets and earrings inlaid with turquoise. The stone of a matching necklace rested on her exposed sternum. Aware of Cole's attention, she posed dramatically in the afternoon sunlight. Her presence reminded Cole of a hovering squid, garbed in flamboyant orange.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 7-13 (April 9, 2011, Café OTO, London, England, digital files)

September 23, 2020
The horses approached Manuela and nuzzled her affectionately, coaxing her into offering them apples from the basketful, which she and Cole had gathered at the other house. The sensation of unreality remained with Cole, even as he followed her inside to a small room adjacent to the study where electronic equipment was arrayed. Surveillance cameras showed not only the horses ambling languidly down the front drive of the farm, but the stretch of I-75 at the blockade and two additional sites, which appeared to be in downtown Atlanta. She replayed black and white footage of two men reacting to the alarm she had set and calling to a third person who remained off camera. "Like I said," Manuela explained, "I did not respond."

They were leaning shoulder-to-shoulder over the desk in a room illuminated by the light of the colorless images. The space filled with the scent of the perfume Manuela had recently applied. Cole feared that it would cloud his judgment.

Turning her head, Manuela asked, "Should we go gather these people?"

Cole discovered that he was in no hurry to emerge from this dream. "Let's wait for another day."

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 1 (September 17, 2009, Init, Rome, Italy, digital files)

September 24, 2020
Time passed at Manuela's house in a haze. Some moments were elongated, stretching out for thorough examination as they transpired, while other days disappeared almost as quickly as they arrived with nary a moment for introspection. It proved difficult for Cole to distinguish between one day and the next. Events that had occurred the same morning appeared no less distant than those from earlier in the week.

To Manuela he said that it felt as if he were in a story, in which the narrator's clock was moving at a different speed than his own, sometimes faster and sometimes slower, and he, as the hapless protagonist was at the mercy of this lack of synchronization. "Does that make sense?" he asked.

"Yeah," she nodded casually. "I know what you mean."

It defied all of Cole's mental faculties to determine whether Manuela actually experienced the same phenomenon or rather she simply agreed in order to shut him up. Most amazing of all, he discovered that he did not care which explanation was real.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 2 (September 17, 2009, Init, Rome, Italy, digital files)

September 25, 2020
They listened to the radio broadcast, a repeating message translated into multiples languages on many frequencies. In English it proclaimed the existence of locations on the Korean and Scandinavian peninsulas unaffected by the so-called virus. It encouraged those who could to make their way to the sanctuaries, where they would be welcomed. The message also transmitted a telephone number, valid for as long as the satellites continued to work, with which survivors could alert authorities to their presence. The intention was for the military air force of the closest remaining nation to pick up survivors, who were instructed to band together so that as many as possible could be saved in each trip.

Hunched over the radio, Cole's eyes lingered on Manuela as she claimed, "Others are already putting your plan in motion."

Cole eventually nodded in relief. There was something unusual about Manuela's face, which coupled with her deep voice, caused him to think of her in masculine terms. He had virtually no experience with gender fluidity so he wisely kept this observation to himself.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 1-3 (May 3, 2009, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

September 26, 2020
On the following morning Manuela wandered into the upstairs hallway, fresh from a shower, wrapped only a towel. As Cole surveyed the upper contours of her breasts, the musculature of her thighs and her long, brown legs, she asked him if they should today venture into downtown Atlanta to find the survivors.

Cole responded in a peculiar fashion, not to the question but to the exhibition of her body, which he supposed could only be intentional. He began with a lecture on sexual dimorphism in squids. "In many species, male squid are larger than females. The mantle can be longer and narrower in males while shorter and wider in females. Oftentimes the patterns of males differ from that of females, but since squids alter coloration and patterns, this method of differentiation is not especially reliable. The only unequivocal way to distinguish genders is close inspection of the mature male, in which the outer part of one left arm ends in a copulatory pad rather than suckers. By this means, a spermatophore is deposited within the female mantle cavity."

A confused look passed across Manuela's face. Then she asked with an easy smile, "Are you making a pass at me?"

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 4-5 (May 3, 2009, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

September 27, 2020
"That would be impossible," Cole replied.

The tall, straight form of Manuela maintained a parallel line to the walls of the narrow hallway on either side of her. This geometry held in Cole's vision as she waited for him to explain himself.

What could he say except the truth? The deluge had washed from him any impulse to dissemble. Despite this apocalyptic ablution, he would have preferred to remain silent. But he found in Manuela such a peculiar tenderness that he capitulated to her right to an explanation. "I did not kill my wife and daughter, not to mention the rest of humanity, just to find unexpected happiness in the rubble."

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 6-7 (May 3, 2009, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

September 28, 2020
When she was dressed, Manuela suggested that they venture into downtown Atlanta. There could be but one reason. For this task, she had chosen to don tight-fitting blue jeans and a vanilla colored tank top, over which she had left a blouse unbuttoned but with the tails tied at the bottom. A banana colored bandana gathered her hair into a bundle that projected upward at a calculated angle. By this outfit, she meant to convey that she was serious about getting to work. She had also repainted her nails a vibrant fuchsia.

"Let's wait until tomorrow," Cole replied. He would not allow his reputation as a paragon of inutility to be so easily dashed.

"What's so important that we should wait another day?" There was more irritation than impatience in her voice.

"I haven't said goodbye to the horses," Cole answered, grimacing at the patently flimsy excuse.

"That doesn't even make sense."

"Surely you don't intend to bring everyone you find back to your private sanctuary."

Manuela frowned. "No," she agreed, "not everyone--just troublesome vagrants like you."

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 8-15 (May 3, 2009, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

September 29, 2020
That night, Cole lay on his side, facing the wall in the dark bedroom. A waxing gibbous moon had risen early in the evening but Shaharazad had yet to visit him. He heard the door open and Manuela quietly step across the room. Climbing into bed, she drew the sheet over her. She lay behind Cole and rested the top of her forehead between his shoulder blades. Her left hand she placed on his ribcage. In a few moments, their breathing synchronized. "We could offer comfort to each other," she whispered.

Like that of any member of Homo sapiens, Cole's body possessed both autonomic and conscious processes. Instigated by the combination of tactile and mental stimulation, local nerves caused the muscles of the corpora cavernosa to relax, allowing blood to flow and resulting in an erection. And yet Cole was not utterly deprived of his will. He remained resolutely motionless, until he was certain that Manuela had fallen asleep. When he finally did roll over, dislodging her hand from his side, he discovered Shaharazad waiting for him. Her blue outline conformed no less perfectly to the shape of Manuela than it previously had to the more diminutive form of his wife. Once he realized that the dimensions of the projection were not intended to be life-size, Cole re-evaluated his mental picture of Shaharazad, supposing that she might be ten or even twelve feet tall.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 2 (November 21, 2008, Akarenga Soko No. 1, Yokohama, Japan, digital files)

September 30, 2020
Shaharazad commanded Cole to rise from the bed. Desiring greatly to continue to lie beside Manuela, he resisted but Shaharazad was adamant. She had for him a task to accomplish this very night. "Let someone else do it," he pled. "What about the herald who delivered the other vaccine?"

Shaharazad informed Cole that the herald of whom he spoke could no longer be considered a viable option; she had committed suicide, unable to live with her guilt. Such an event was not unforeseen, merely a confirmation of the wisdom in having included redundancy in the design of the deluge. The task now fell to Cole alone.

"Why did you pick me?" he groaned, loud enough to wake Manuela, had she not been subdued by the will of the diluvian knight. Shaharazad answered him; his potent distrust of reality allowed him to maneuver around obstacles that others found insurmountable.

Ultimately, Cole conceded. Rising from the bed, he gathered paper from the printer in the study downstairs and sat at the desk, feverishly writing the coordinates of latitude and longitude for nearly eight thousand unintended survivors of the deluge.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 1,3 (November 21, 2008, Akarenga Soko No. 1, Yokohama, Japan, digital files)