Vlive PAGE At the passing of last autumn an olive rain was collected from every mean spirited cloud in the city. These clouds, which hang about under bridges, around ferry termi- nals, airports and factories, chipped a chunk of their reservoirs into a vast bucket. - When enough rain had been solicited the crusty sewer green scum floating on top was scraped away and the bucket was unloaded over Granville Island. As if drawn by a lodestone the poison focused on one particular sidewalk corner, so that when the settling mists sloughed off into the Lagoon there loomed an evil citadel ; “Maingate” hunched quietly on the island’s fringe, waiting. Frequenters and visitors to the island, alike, avoided the place instinctively. They turned up their coat collars and stretched their hats down over their heads, no foot was let drag when the time came to walk past the beast. Such was the olive slug’s. power to unnerve. In the Maingate’s arched Gothic windows could be seen It’s helpless minions. They stumbled past the glass but could not see outside for the windows were such they could only be looked into. A passer-by brave or stupid enough to look in could rarely look away. They would stand transfixed, staring hopelessly at the prisoners inside who shuffled about carrying out meaningless menial tasks with ping pong eyes and motionless smiles. The gazer would wonder what their tasks could be, unable to comprehend that it was but a display being played out before tainted windows and that deeper inside the monster, far more meaningful and terrifying works were being performed. But the observer would not have long to wonder. Traipsing vacantly around the blasphemy were young people dressed in the fashions of their lost society, with long, ribbed, flexible stalks soldered to the fronts of their heads which fed into the open doors of Maingate. These leashed minions distributed leaflets, flyers, coupons and handed out frozen yoghurt treats and attempted to entice unwary passer-bys and those foolish enough to be snared by the windows to come inside the citadel and browse. Those hooked are never seen again stalkless. “Hello sir... would you like... some yoghurt?” “What ?” I blinked, rudely yanked out of the state of distracted dreaminess | tend to amble about in. The cars which had been honking angrily at me for having caused a near accident by jay walking became nervously quiet, and the drivers poked out their heads to fearfully watch my doom unfold. “Would you like... like some... yoghurt? It’s strawberry... Mmmm, it’s so yummy and so good for you.” “No, no thank you, | don’t want any. Excuse me- “ “Are you sure ? Here, try... a bit. You'll like it... and it’s so yummy...” “Hmm. Yeah, it is pretty good, you’re right, but | don’t- Uh... | don’t really want any.” : “But it’s sooo good ! Mmmmmmm |...... And so good for you !” “Well, maybe a little more... It is pretty good.” “Yes, it’s so yummy, isn’t it ?..... Would you like some more ?” “Duh-uhhh, okay. | like yoghurt... Can | have some more yoghurt ?” “Of course ! There’s more inside Maingate... But you have to come in, come in and browse and get some more yo- ghurt.... It’s so good for you !” “Duuh-uhhhhh-uuhh, okay. | like yoghurt, y’know.... | really, really do, uh huh, uh huh....” The light inside was a filthy green that stuck to whatever it reflected off of. The walls were stippled with flaking cakes of this light. Faint, luminescent trickles jiggered down the grooved walls into puddles of feculent energy. The minions of Maingate sloshed through the foul mire on their way to nowhere. | tottered in the cav- ernous front hall, leaning against a wilted tree for support, picking at it’s seam. The yoghurt did not seem so tempting anymore, but the doors behind me had closed, shutting out the light of the outside world, along with any hope for escape. The walls of the citadel were jagged, and conflicting. they seemed to collect in bundles of corners wherever they pleased, regardless of any laws of physics or architecture. From the ground floor there could be seen five distinct levels in the building, opening out into the the great hollow space of the courtyard. Figures could be seen oozing about on each level, though in diminishing numbers. As each level succeeded the other, so too did they exceed in seediness, degree of filth and confusion. As each level rose, one’s vision descended. The minions were preparing for christmas. They were propping signs and ads on cardboard face out against mirrors they were too blind to see themselves reflected in. Dimly glittering tinsel and silver bolas were being strung from the multiply- ing corners that twisted up the court yard walls to the glowing roof. the roof of the courtyard was a glass screen which filtered in the light from outside, allowing all but sunlight. A horse drawn sleigh was being snapped together and hitched to plug in reindeer. A pallid woman in red with lollypop eyes was practicing for the upcom- ing shopping season with mock children. She would scoop carved wooden children with chiselled faces of stricken terror and console them, cradle them, sooth them with her languid voice. Then she would drag them up a red carpeted spiral staircase. As .she climbed towards the empty throne at the top she continued talking in an achingly sensual voice. “And what would you like for christmas, dear child ? You have such an innocent face | know you’ve been good, | don’t even have to ask. You can have anything you want. Would you like some “Batchap” TM toys ? All the little boys will have a pile of that this christmas. All your friends. Would you like some too ? And you little girl ? | know what you want. You want to be as beautiful as all those models in the maga- zines. Would you like to be as pretty as a movie star ? We have an extra special make-up kit that will make all the boys fall in love with you, and all the girls feel jealous...” Grey skinned minions on catwalks along the walls were painting percentages in red paint, the size of the figures and brush strokes growing with the altitude : 9%, 10%, 12%, 18%, 23%, 40%, 50%, 75%, 90% off all marked merchandise ! Though my perceptions were quickly weakening | noticed another breed of creature milling about. These beings seemed to be more purposeful, animated, aggressive. Men and woman, very small, thin fine featured, dressed in immaculate three piece suits, topped with extravagantly styled coifs. Their eyes were large , dark, darting, and as sharp as the points of their ears. A group of these elf-like people were gathered to harass an old white haired man who was trying to paint a picture on the balcony across and one up from me. | staggered up a mobius strip staircase to the next lowest floor bellowing : “Get away from there, get away !” The elves dispersed, each making obscene gestures of their own devising, just to let me know I'm an asshole and not at all intimidating to them. The harangued old man propped himself up on his stool and resumed his painting. He was a plump man, but by the looseness of the clothes he was wearing | could see he had once been much fatter. He had the most miserable of faces to look upon, one which could be, or once was , quite jolly but had been dragged down into a flaccid grimace. The threadbare clothes that clung to him had probably long ago been brightly coloured were now a drab ruddy, grey. “Nice little studio you have here.” | said. “They don’t charge me for it yet.” he muttered darkly, continuing with his painting. His piggish little eyes hung on his face, their inner corners beginning to melt together into his lumpy cherry nose, giving them a crosseyed appearance. “They only need me a few months of the year for promotions and in return they let me paint. | used to do much more, but...” | looked around at all the paintings of boats and bridges that strangled the walls of the studio niche. “Are these all yours ?” | asked. “Yeah.” He nodded. “They’re just pictures of boats and stuff. They sell. People like that kind of shit. Those stupid landscapes over there are mine too.” “Well,” | puzzled, “if you think that way, why don’t you paint something else ? | mean, doesn’t the very fact you call these paintings stupid suggest you’d rather do something else ?” The old man just shrugged and began absently playing with a beard he didn’t have. “You don’t seem to enjoy being here.” | continued, “You don’t enjoy making these paintings even though | can see how beautiful your technique and style are. Why don’t you leave ?” He suddenly looked up and burned his red- dened stare into my head. “Leave ?” He murmured, “You can’t ever leave here, don’t you see? You can’t leave here because Here is all there is. If you could, you might go Then, but you can’t. Do you paint ? Pick up a brush, there’s canvases over there.” “I can’t stay here |” “Then you're in a real dilemma friend, because you can’t leave either.” We both of us noticed one of the minions walking towards us clutching a squirming, fluttering stalk under her arm. From another direction, due to reach us even sooner, marched an elf with his eyebrows knit together calling out “Kringle ! Photo shoot ! Hurry up and put on the rest of your outfit !” “Photo shoot.” the old man named Kringle hissed to me. “That means they'll be letting the children inside soon, while the parents delude themselves into thinking they’re just ‘browsing’ “ “The children ?” | was almost choking on the very idea that was worming into my brain. :From outside ?” “Oh yes, every year a new crop are sucked in to sit on my knee. And Maingate grows another level.” “But this is Maingate’s first year on Granville Island !” | protested. Kringle seemed almost to laugh for a moment. He pointed up to the sky light roof. “That’s not real,” he rasped, “It’s a false ceiling, made to look as if that’s the limit, that beyond there is light.” The elf calling Kringle’s name yanked the old man off his feet by the scruff of his worn collar and flopped him around on the floor, dressing the unresisting fellow. The elf glanced casually at the stalk wielding minion who was almost upon me and threw a malicious chuckle my way. carefully ensuring the old man could not regain his footing the elf stormed off away with Kringle, leaving me to deal with the minion. Using the paints left out | quickly mixed a smooth paste of red, yellow, white and blue and spread the flesh colour evenly on a scrap of canvas laying nearby. the PAGE At the passing of last autumn an olive ‘ain was collected from evory mean spirited ‘oud in the city. These clouds, which hang about under bridges, around ferry termi- nals, airports and factories, chipped a ‘chunk oftheir reservoirs into avast bucket. ‘When enough rain had been solicited the ‘rusty sewer green scum floating on top ‘was scraped away and the bucket was unloaded over Granville Island. Asif drawn by a lodestone the poison focused on ont particular sidewalk corner, so that when the seting mists sloughed of into the Lagoon there loomed an evil citadel ; “Maingat hunched quietly on the island's fringe waiting. Frequenters and visitors to the island, alike, avoided the place instinctively. They tuned up their coat collars and stretched their hats down over their heads, no foot was let drag wien the time came to walk ‘past the beast. Such was the olive slug's ‘power fo unnerve. In the Maingate's arched Gothic windows could be seen I's helpless minions. They stumbled past the glass but ‘could not 366 outside for the windows were such they could only be looked into. A ppassor-by brave or stupid enough to lookin could rarely lok away. They would stand ansfixed, staring hopelessly atthe prisoners inside who shuffled about carrying out meaningless menial tasks with ping pong eyes and motionless smiles. The gazer would wonder what their tasks could be, unable to comprehend that twas but @ display being played out botore tainted windows and that deeper inside the ‘monster, far more meaningful and terrifying works wore being performed. But the obsorver would not have long to wonder. Traipsing vacantly around the blasphemy were young people dressed in the fashions oftheir lost socity, with long, ribbed, flexible stalks soldered to the fronts oftheir heads which fed into the open doors of Maingate, These leashed minions distributed leaflets, flyers, coupons and handed out frozen yoghut treats and attempted to entice unwary passer-bys and ‘those foolish enough to be snared by the windows to come inside the citadel and browse. Those hooked are never seen again stakless. "Hell sir yoghurt?” “What "| Binked, rudely yanked out ‘ofthe sate of cistracted dreaminess | tend to amble about in. The cars which had been honking angrily at me for having caused a noar accident by jay waking became nervously quiet, and the drivers Poked out their heads to fearfully watch my doom unfold “Would you ko. ike some... yoghurt? W's strawbory... Mmmm, i's so yummy and 180 go0d for you." "No, no thank you, I don't want any. Excuse me-* “Are you sure ? Here, try... abit. Your tke it. and i's so yummy...” “Himm. Yeah, itis pretty good, you're fight, but | don'- Un... I don't really want any ‘would you lke... some “Buti's 2000 good | Mmmmmmm | ‘And s0 900d for you ‘Well, maybe a litle more... Ris prety good.” “Yes, is so yummy, isnt it? you lke some more 7” “Duh-uhh, okay. ike yoghur. Can | have some more yoghurt” "Of course !Thore's more inside Maingate... But you have to come in, come in and browse and get some more yo- hut... i's so good for you Duvh-uhhhnh-uuhh, okay. | tke yoghurt, yknow.... | eally, really do, uh huh, uh huh...” “The light inside was a fithy green that stuck to whatever it reflected off of The walls were stippid wit flaking cakes of this light. Faint, luminoscant tickles Jiggered down the grooved walls into Duddes of feculent energy. The minions of Maingate sloshod through the foul mie on thoir way to nowhere | tttared in tho cav ning against a wited {roo for support, picking at's seam. The yoghurt aid not seem so tempting anymore, but the doors behind me had closed, shutting ou the light ofthe ouside world, along with any hope for escape. ‘The walls of the citadel were jagged, ‘and conflicting. they seemed to collect in bundles of corners wherever they plaased, regardless of any laws of physics or ‘architecture, From the ground flor thore could be seen five distinc loves inthe building, opening out int the the great hollow space ofthe courtyard, Figures ‘could be s00n oozing about on each love, though in diminishing numbars. As each levol succeeded the other, s0 to di they exceed in seadiness, dogtoo of fith and ‘confusion. As each level rose, one's vision desconded. “Tho minions wore preparing for christmas, They ware propping signs and ‘ads on cardboard face out against mirors they were too blind to seo themsolves, reflected in. Dimly glitering tinsel and siver bolas wore boing strung from tho mutiply- ing corner that twisted up the cout yard walls to the glowing root. tho root ofthe ‘courtyard was a glass scroon which tered in tho light from outside, allowing all but sunlight. horse drawn sleigh was boing snapped together and hitched 1 pu reindeer. A palié woman in red with lolypop eyes was practicing for the upcom- ing shopping season with mock children. ‘She would ecoop carved wooden children with chiseled faces of stricken toror and ‘console them, erade them, sooth them with her languid voice. Then she would drag them up a red carpoted spiral staircaso. AS she climbed towards the empty throne at ‘he top she continued taking in an achingly sensual voice. “And what would you tke for christmas, dear child ? You have such an innocent {ace | know you've been good, | don't even have to ask, You can have anything you ‘want. Would you lke some "Batchap" TM toys 7Allthe litle boys wil have apie of that this christmas. All your fionds. Would you tke some too ? And you litle git? know what you want. You want tobe as beautiful as all those models inthe maga Zines, Would you like tobe as prety as a movie star? We have an extra special ‘make-up kt that will make all the boys fall in love wth you, and all the gis fool jealous..." Grey skinned minions on catwalks ‘along the walls wore painting percontages in red paint, the sizo of the figures and brush strokes growing with the altitude 9%, 10%, 12%, 18%, 23%, 40%, 50%, 75%, 90% ofall marked morchandise | ‘Though my perceptions wore quickly weakening | noticed anther breed of creature miling about. Those beings ‘seemed tobe more purposeful, animated, aggressive. Mon and woman, vay small, thin fino featured, drossed in immaculate three piace suits, topped with extravagantly styled cols, Ther eyes wore large , dark, darting, and as sharp as the points oftheir fears. A group ofthese ol-ike people were gathered to harass an old white haired man Wo was trying to paint a picture on tho Would baleony across and one up from m | staggered up a mobius stip staircase to the next lowest floor bollowing : “Got away from there, get away I" The elves dispersed, each making obscene gestures ‘oftheir own devising, justto let me know fm an asshole and not at all intimidating to ‘them, The harangued old man propped ims up on his stool and resumed his painting. He was a plump man, but by the looseness ofthe clothes he was wearing | ‘could see he had once been much fatter He had the most miserable of faces to look ‘upon, one which could be, or ance was uit jolly but had boon dragged down into a flaccid grimace. The threadbare clothes that clung to him had probably long ago ‘boon brightly coloured were now a drab ruddy, grey. "Nice litle studio you have here,” | sald “They don't charge me for ityot* he ‘muttored darkly, continuing with his painting. His piggish litle eyes hung on hi face, thir inner comers beginning to molt together into his lumpy cherry nose, giving thom a crossoyed appearance. "They only need me a few months of the year for promotions and in return they let me paint. 1 Used to do much more, but.” ‘looked around at all the paintings of boats and bridges that strangled the walls ofthe studio niche. "Are these all yours 7" | asked. "Yeah." He nodded. “They're just pictures of boats and stutt, They soll. People lke that kind of shit. Those stupid landscapes over there are mine too” “Wel,” I puzzled, “you think that way, why don't you paint something else ? 1 ‘mean, doesn't the very fact you calltheso paintings stupid suggest you'd rather do Something else 2° The old man just shrugged and began absent playing with ‘beard he didn't have. "You don't seem to ‘enjoy being here." I continued, “You don't enjoy making these paintings even though I ‘can see how beautiful your technique and styla aro. Why don't you leave 7” He ‘suddenly looked up and burned his red-