After The Resurrection
a story by William McKenzie Neal 2.5.92
Lazarus was resurrected from the dead as the story goes by one called Jesus Christ. Now, what happened to Lazarus after he was raised from the dead was not properly explained. With that, let's join the story already in progress and see where we can go with it.
Lazarus was minding his own business in a cave being dead, when all of a sudden Jesus called him forth. The power was overwhelming, as was Lazarus' smell. He needed a bath. He needed new clothes. And, he needed something to eat. Not to mention something to do.
Some folks in the group that had been following Jesus that week, broke off from the crowd and took care of Lazarus for awhile. There was Pete, the carpenter, who smoked quite a bit. There was Lily, the launderer, who so recently quit. There was Simon, the pie man, who wasn't simple at all. And, there was Derry, the nary, a questionable sort.
Pete built Lazarus a house, complete with running water. Lily, the launderer, acquired for Lazarus a whole pack of clothes. There were ties and cummerbunds. There were hats and handkerchiefs. There were even some nice lavender colored terry-cloth socks. Simon, the non-simpleton, managed to rustle up some food goods for Lazarus. Cans of peas; Blackeyed and English. Butter croissants and egg bagels. For dessert, there was a push cart piled high with Napoleons.
Derry the nary tried to oblige Lazarus with gifts too; sexual gifts. But, didn't understand the story. You see, Lazarus preferred Lily. But, the problem with that was, no woman or man in their right mind would have sex, or even date anyone who has been resurrected.
No one wanted sex with Lazarus except Derry. But, Lazarus didn't want sex with Derry. Derry, the nary, who was a man at one time, however, having undergone certain trendy hospital experiments, cannot be considered much of a man or woman now. But, that's besides the point.
Lazarus decided to disappear into the haze. Being indifferent to the sexual craze, he'd go celibate for a while. He figured that it couldn't be too bad.
Years went by. Lazarus stopped writing his friends. His friends stopped writing him. He was lonely. He was depressed. He regressed to old habits. He put on a dress. (Actually it was a kilt, but folks that don't know what a kilt is, call it a dress.)
He picked up his bagpipes and began to play them all around. He would walk into the Highlands without anything on and play and play and play. He would go to Ghirardelli Square with his flat green woolen cap that he didn't often wear and get it full of tossed coins on the ground. This lifted him up a bit.
As far as regular habits went, Lazarus would do the route of doughnut shops and bookstores. He'd make diurnal trips to specialty tea shops in search for the infamous P.G. TIPS. It was the best tea in the world. Unfortunately for Lazarus, no one in the States had gotten the clue.
Lazarus' life was boring. He was getting frustrated. It was time for a trip. To the Southland. It was too cold where he was. Wet too. Maybe some sun was what he needed. Perhaps a tan.
Hamburger joints and soft, loose-fitting clothing greeted Lazarus. It was hot and people were sweating, especially Lazarus. He took a dip and was soothed. He was also gunked. Tar. Huge gobs of it stuck to his feet. It stuck to the sand, and the sand stuck to it.
"What kind of randy place is this?" muttered Lazarus. Finding a turpentine vendor up the beach a ways, he considered himself lucky. Indeed he was. Most wildlife who come in contact with the tar from the offshore oil drillers die.
All of this exercise made Lazarus hungry. He found this yellow and brown colored food joint. They had a burger that was fat. He ordered the giant with the works. He also ordered chili fries, with real shredded cheddar cheese and freshly chopped white onions sprinkled on top. He consumed everything with zeal.
Dessert was provided by a Kosher ice cream place next door. Lazarus ordered a large vanilla soft-ice, with rainbow sprinkles on top.
Lazarus had just about run out of money. He was really broke and did not want his flow of cash to quit. Answering an ad in a local paper, Lazarus went to work at an amusement park scooping up trash.
But, of course, the new source of bucks wasn't enough. He tried to think. He couldn't. He got dizzy. Stumbling into the kitchen, he just barely made it to the sink before throwing up. Luckily he didn't fall. Not like the drunken woman neighbor of his with her cigarette. Falling down over and over again; not once dropping her fiery cancerous carcinogenic stick. It was a Thanksgiving Lazarus would not soon forget. Ironically, the turkey's had it easier. All of their lives to live it up, and then it's over real quick like. No resurrection.
On the freeways sometimes his mind would drift. Could the car? Some sort of mechanical failure? On purpose? Swerve violently from lane to lane, taking as many others with him as possible. Nothing personal of course, just to have some company; reduce the risk of a second resurrection. More work if more were involved. Simple arithmetic.
The last snack Lazarus ever had were these French vanilla ice cream balls, covered in dark, bittersweet chocolate. He wanted just a few, but he ended up having a few hundred. The packages came that way. Lazarus grabbed for one, but in the process, knocked down another. Feeling guilty enough with just the one, he mumbled distractedly in the check out line about the hungry guys back at the house with the poker game.
Lazarus ate all of the bon-bons in one sitting. His stomach bloated with all of the gaseous cow juice. It was half time, and the game on T.V. was a drag. He couldn't even remember who was playing who. He went to bed.
A while later, Lazarus got up. He cleaned his teeth, relieved his bladder of liquid waste material, and went back to bed. Tossing and turning, he couldn't get comfortable. He rolled over once again, and his heart went into cardiac arrest. Lazarus was dead once again.
Yes, so, what'd you think? I like it. It's a perfect WHAT IF? situation. Updated. Today. And yet still the story of then. What happened then...sort of.
Any way, I hope to now make pictures of the book Carmina made and post them. Her art work really should be out here more. I can't understand why this professional art instructor cannot be famous and rich and also my friend who gets me work from time to time as I will employ her too. She's married now or engaged or something, or so I am told...Thank you Joe Jackson.
The story is all about eating. Food. Fuel. Life? Well, the consumption of energy. I guess that's life. Or so as we know it.
The book is on fast food paper wrappings and is in a chicken store box and inside another box like a tomb or crypt, which once carried paper or something. On that cover is a photo of a mayan figurine or something like that. I'm not sure what it is. You'll have to ask me later and I'll have to get back to you on that after I research it or you tell me how ignorantly off I am.
Good Day. The rest of the story plus photos follows.