A Gilded Planet

Christian stoners united around a polymorphic Book of Hours Sick cattle in Devonshire Rainstorm on the outskirts of Bangkok War in Equinoctial Kesh These Christian stoners will go just about anywhere carrying Bibles and bags of Cheetos Hernia Outbreak in Tripplehorn County? you best believe Christian stoners got there already playing their lutes laughing in tongues Spreading the good word about the nature of that universe there "Who are they?" ask the newsmen "Are they in cahoots with cartels?” question the cops "Why don't they go back where they came from" bark the troglodytes A fad that will pass or a scene that lasts Christian stoners will carry the day A joint for your troubles A crucifix bong for the suffering the unlimited suffering of strips of tortured flesh thick sluggish blood pain that grows greater with each choice so take another rip and munch His body

A version of this article I wrote 9 months ago was originally published in the zine Connect the Dots. The online supplement to Connect the Dots can be found  here. We know of a remote arcade in Berkeley. Every Friday night, games are played there. Down an unlit street in the southern reaches of town, one may find an unmarked blue door with an ornate knocker at its center. When the intrepid soul enters for the first time, bathed in the ethereal glow emanating from dozens of seemingly ancient pinball machines, one is likely to be struck with an astonishing sense of rapture. Just like falling down the rabbit hole, stepping into this enigmatic House of Games almost seems like entering another world filled with curious amusements – Egghead, Trade Winds, Magic City, Cover Girl, Gottlieb’s Two-Player Surfside, Gottlieb’s Four-Player Masquerade, Rotospin and dozens more, glittering with midcentury light, ringing and echoing caustically about every win and loss, haunted by fun until th...