This was the first time that Typecast had ever had to resort to the method of retroactive enchantment. Due to issues of a financial and moral nature, Typecast was not invited to participate in the Woodstock III festival. At the actual time of the festival it was not possible by occult means or even some of the old stand-by’s like bribery or blackmail to get Typecast on the bill or even inside with mass quantities of DMT and LSD. Oh well. So actually the riots at Woodstock didn’t “occur,” or perhaps had not “occurred” until four months after the fact when the ‘Cast arrived on the scene at the Gentlemen Callers/
More Fire for Burning People show at Shafer Court. This may seem preposterous, but it is, I assure you, no lie. In order to grasp the concept, however, a brief diversion into the concept of orthogonal time is here indicated. First regard the following figure:
The term “orthogonal time” refers to the concept that time has three dimensions in much the same way as space has. In physics as we are taught at the University today, space-time has four dimensions, three of space (modeled as three axes: length, width, and depth) and one of time. We posit a six dimensional space-time: the three of space that we’re used to, and the one of time conceived as merely one of three axes (albeit we seem to measure time only along this linear axis). So if we term the t axis “real time” we can label the other two “imaginary time,” this concept rings with the use of “imaginary” numbers to transpose wave forms-normally the wave form describes a pattern symmetrical about the x- or y- axis depending on what kind of wave it is, but in introducing imaginary numbers we create a new axis where the value of x- or y- does not equal 0. These dimensions of imaginary time represent the results of other variables being plugged in to the quantum equations that presumably “govern” our lives. So the premise now becomes that along side the stream of events that usually encompass “real time” there is an engulfing indeterminate cloud of alternative possibilities for every choice the perceiver is faced with. This is presumably random as in the fractal model, but as with fractals, if you alter the equations that generate the pattern, then another pattern will be generated. At this point the crux of the situation becomes: do I or do I not believe that I may deliberately control the outcome of any event I choose to focus my attention on? There are other matters than just willingness-you cant oil a wagon wheel with sulphuric acid.
So anyway, with normal enchantments we would be at t0 where we would cast the enchantment to act on the possible futures existing at t1 so that the desired result materializes at t2. With retroactive enchantment, however, we cast the spell from t0 causing it to act on events at t-1 causing not only a different “present” at t0 but a different present at t1 and (hopefully) a different “future” at t2. But enough of this math horseshit, let’s get to the fight scene:
Luckily the cast had access to a flat bed truck courtesy of Sri Boober’s monastery up in the hills of Highland County (it was a Ford 350 with the flatbed for hauling landscaping equipment around). The line-up of brutality consisted of two Eugene X clones, Creight Fulstax, Paul Bearer, His Divine Grace A.C. Bhaktivedanta Swami Trivett, Bob Elon, the Very Hon. Bro. Rev. Jarvis Overlord, M.D., Ph.D., D.D.S., Tony Bitch, Jah Rasta Far I Hate God, John E. Blade, Hare Erc, Sri Boober, and Yves A. Destruction. They drove the truck westbound on Broad St., made the left turn just after the Hardee’s onto Shafer St. Everything had been cleared out of the way already, and the lights had been timed; this in strict accordance with one of Bob Elon’s maxims-that Chaos and Order exist in similar principle to air masses in the Earth’s atmosphere. Chaos really comes into its own only when Order becomes so rigid and unwavering, constantly creating lower and lower pressure zones into which the chaos cannot help but to be sucked.
So anyway-the show’s semi-packed, the beer truck being more popular than the artists, the ‘Cast pulls up about fifteen feet away, walling in the crowd among the stage, the ‘Cast and the beer truck. Up comes the tarp, generators humming. A wall of Peavey 10 watt amps stands looming behind a tangle of shitty guitars. A caterwaul ensues as John E. Blade begins to feed a giant wood mulcher/chipper with the array of Squires, Harmonies, and Epiphones. Tony Bitch meanwhile sprays down the crowd with the wood chips and fret-shrapnel. Only then does the crowd realize that the whole pile of guitars has been doused with patchouli oil, which much to their chagrin, is flammable. His Divine Grace raises a bow with a flame tipped arrow aloft and fires a graceful, high-arcing parabola into the audience. As soon as the arrow touches off the blaze, the gang launches into “
Bloodbath in Shafer,” as Yves A. Destruction runs around the crowd shoving a huge dildo into whatever he can. This arouses the suspicions of the Police which in no way fazes Bob Elon; decked out in his Brooks Brothers’ double-breasted black pin-stripe, collarless white shirt clenched tightly around his neck, long hair combed straight back, sporting the Alien sunglasses he raises a Korean made AK-47 and wastes each cop, and 3-4 bystanders in their respective vicinities to boot. This (and perhaps the sodium pentathol and DMT concoction the patchouli was spiked with) was enough to set off a riot with the remaining show-goers, and their work done, Typecast drives back toward the East.
