6 On 11 January Emma Solomon also called Maya Sorieya, whispered now by many to be ‘the mother of Messiahs’ arrives in the Capital of Haiti.  She is athletic in build. Olive tan skin, her brown hair is still flowing and while she appears exotic. She travels in on a Spanish passport still having much noble data within the space between her ears that must be passed quietly to underground on this island before most of them are wiped out by devils in the next 72 hours. Port-Au-Prince is unlike any other place on earth. The singular thing one absorbs … Continue reading Company or Rescuers (6)

5 Paramedic Victor Cange is weathering an ugly pink beanie. It’s really one of the ugliest hats anyone has ever seen. If it were day time a supervisor would have told him to take it off. He is working Transport Unit 808 out of the Transcare base in Canarsie, Brooklyn. He is fairly slim and wears thick black spectacles. It’s Christmas and he shouldn’t be here, but his seventh day adventist church teaches that Jesus wasn’t really even born on the 25th, not even really born in December. His partner is the tall, serious Jamaican named EMT Mickhi DBrisk. Michkhi … Continue reading Company of Rescuers (5)

4 We’re in the garage below Woodhull Hospital. A city block sized iron and concrete monstrosity that erupts out of the ground on the border between Bushwick and Bedford Stuyvesant. They had designed it originally as a prison. But today it is a city hospital of ill repute. It’s the 21st of December, the KDT says. I punch in our numbers. I type ‘GOD’ in as the third rider. It’s a superstitious thing. It’s old school. The rookies don’t have a god anymore. My name is Scott Sevastra. I’m 33, that’s allegedly when Jesus did his best work, so they … Continue reading Company of Rescuers (4)

3 It’s the 20th of December in the year we understand to be 2009 on the Gregorian. Jeremy Mccgaffey has been dead for about one year. Most of the mourning aloud was long over. But his ghost remains. Those that kill themselves traumatize the living. But all the late nights driving the ambulance around Brooklyn until my soul leaks, I see him again. Looking at me in the mirror, stone faced, he almost whispers something prophetic from the world to come.  Those fucking pagans from Gerritsen Beach tried to kill me and Maria, Nick and also Angelica on the damn … Continue reading Company of Rescuers (3)

PART ONE 1 On the 10th of December in the year 2009 the snow dropped openly and the sky fell out and then we suddenly had a 7 foot ice coat. To keep warm I invited pugnacious and highly sassy Yelizaveta Kotlyarova to join me at the Wall Street Baths, called Spa 88 in the cavern tombs below the District Financial. The date is the 10th of December in 2009 of the Common Era. The snow still falls heavy on the Isle of Man.  Below ground, in the underground you can hear the rumble of the trains through the walls; … Continue reading COMPANY of RESCUERS (2)

Prelude I ask you now friend, in whose reality do you live? We all dedicate our actions to the future. But, what is it that we claim to do with our little lives as that future narrows? Have we all lost our faith in outer generations or a glorious world to come? Of course, all lives are both great and also quite little, but it was a matter of sure and soulful pretension; crossed of course a bit with the “sollidaritous” desire to teach a nation of certain newly freed slaves to fish. Allegorically speaking. The fishing and the slaves. … Continue reading COMPANY of RESCUERS (1)

The plane was leaking fuel, so everyone was waylaid in a Howard Johnson Hotel in Miami until the repairs can be made. They had to ground the plane on the evening of the 15th in Miami because the fuel was leaking, or they had over fueled, there were a few excuses, anyway, something was wrong with the plane. They missed their landing slot and the Scientists put everyone up in a roadhouse near the airport. It only fueled anxiety and the unrelenting anticipation. Not knowing still what he was getting into, he’d taken some napkins from the airplane and written … Continue reading ANFOM 10

Mickhi Dbrisk was not allowed on that plane he had found. He had no passport to board. Like many of the mostly black members of the Bed Stuy Volunteer Ambulance Corporation, he seemed annoyed and surprised that he even needed such papers in such a time of great calamity. Yet, even the devastation of the great earthquake did not waive the requirement to have a passport for international travel. Thus, though his ultimate role in the world to come was substantial, through lack of papers he wrote himself out of the history of the response. Art least the first wave … Continue reading ANFOM 9

Upon returning to work at Station 35 under Woodhull Hospital, Technician Adon is unable to escape the spectre of the Tremblor. He watches the pictures flash over the telescreen bolted within the 7-11 on Atlantic Ave. It was like 911 times 10,000. No one had any idea how many were dead, how many were wounded, and how many were trapped under the rubble buried alive.  His phone rings as he watches bodies pile up on the evening news.  It’s his friend and comrade Mickhi Dbrisk. A Jamaican EMT he went to school with and helped found the Banshee Association. A … Continue reading ANFOM 8

On 12 January, it was another morning in Port Au Prince. Everyone was getting ready for at least being awake and alive. Then the ground moved suddenly like a wave and then suddenly death was absolutely everywhere. Hysterical screaming, thousands and thousands of walls falling over onto the people under them. The earth shook and then swallowed in just a few moments over 100,000 to 250,000 to then maybe 316,000 souls. No one would ever know since the census had ended in 2004. The year of the last coup. Many, many more would perish from their injuries in the days … Continue reading ANFOM 7