mundane and soared free. It is my hope and earnest promise that my own generation, standing on the shoulders of giants, will soar even higher.
And so, rest assured, dear readers. This is our resolution. We speak for you, too: the elite; the crème de la crème; the divine. My generation will blacken the skies with burnt coal and oil. We will drill holes with a vengeance, until this nation swims in gold. In mines and servants’ quarters, there will be jobs for all those willing to work, even the Irish, Negroes, and Italians. The stock markets will forever soar while the British sterling sinks. We promise this as a fulfillment of our birthright and as the execution of our destinies.
I close, with a sincere parting wish, my friends, old and new: Peace on Earth, Good Will Toward Men.
From The New York Herald
Debauchery in Central Park
January 5, 1894
The bodies of two women were discovered early this morning at the northern end of Central Park. They are assumed to be the Parisian actresses reported missing from the December 31st New Year’s Eve Gala at The Breviary building on 110th Street. Families were unable to identify their bodies, but matched their gowns (blue and ivory, respectively) to what they’d worn that evening. Because of the high-profile nature of the case, the names of all parties are being withheld. The young women’s bodies were disturbed and their gowns torn in such fashion as to imply acts untoward.
From The New York Times
6
She’s Thirsty Because Her Neck Never Stopped Bleeding
The air mattress deflated. Her shoulder and bony hip jabbed the hard, wooden floor. Around her, the walls of 14B creaked, and the stained-glass birds peered out from the glass, captured in midflight.
Her dreams moved like sludge through her consciousness. Heavy and relentless. Always, the man in the three-piece suit was with her. Always, he was watching.
She was standing outside the Film Forum in Manhattan where the marquee read: STRANGERS ON A TRAIN. She loved that movie! But wait, no. The letters rearranged, slip-sliding into a knot, then pulling apart again to spell something different:
Audrey Lucas: thiS is YOur Life.
An usher waved her into the lobby. He was dressed like a 1950s bellhop: tassels on his shoulders; a thick, wool coat. She got closer, and saw that he was Saraub. He smiled blankly, without recognition. “This way, ma’am.”
“But I haven’t paid for my ticket,” she told him.
“That’s fine,” he answered “You’re the star of the show.”
She walked down the fifty-foot hall, and into the theatre. Lights flickered against the screen. Credits rolled familiar names: Betty Lucas, Saraub Ramesh, Billy Epps, Jill Sidenschwandt, Collier Steadman…To get a closer look, she climbed onto the stage and stood against the screen. Then, suddenly, she was in the movie.
The room where she found herself was empty and white. Her mother Betty stood next to her. Their skin was joined at their hips and chests like Siamese twins. Down below an audience filed into the theatre and took their seats. They munched buttered popcorn with greasy fingers, and slurped red wine from paper cups.
“Good to see you, Lamb. I’ve been waiting a long time,” Betty said, and the audience began to laugh.
The man in the three-piece suit was in the movie, too. He lurked in the far corner and shushed the audience with a single, furious rasp.
Audrey tried to leave the stage, but something caught her. She looked to her left and saw that she and Betty shared a single heart: lub-dup; lub-dup. A soothing, symmetrical sound. Ventricle to ventricle. Left side, then right. Left side, then right. She struggled to pull away, but the tissue binding them held firm. “This works better,” Betty announced, then pulled a knife out from her pocket and began to saw. The left twin cut, and the right twin bled.
Down below, the audience cheered. Hooray!
Fade to black. Another dream. Another. Another. Relentless. She found herself in an empty room, pulling a black thread from her toenail, only to pull her toenail away, too. And then, compelled to continue, to make everything neat and even, she kept pulling, until the lower trunk of her body unraveled into a perfectly wound coil of cotton.
“Is this what you came here to see?” she asked the man in the suit, the dandy with wolf’s teeth. She could hear his rasping breath as he watched from the edge of the screen, and another dream began.
The dreams played all night. Fucked-up Audrey Lucas: Greatest Hits. The audience cheered, and jeered, and laughed,