Don't Order Dog_ 1
Part I
“The ecology of power will change.
By the end of the twentieth century, the balance of financial and political power within the world’s developed societies will witness a rapid if not accelerating shift from their governing institutions to their largest corporate bodies. This phenomenon – fueled by corporate de-regulation and governmental misguidance as well as by explosive technological innovation that will outpace lawmaker’s ability to understand and control it – shall be ultimately considered by both analysts and historians as the inevitable evolution of the economic state.
By the beginning of the new millennia, the largest of these corporate bodies – particularly those directly responsible for producing or controlling the flow of energy, capital, and information – will grow into multi-national and multi-conglomerate entities that will individually generate revenues exceeding the Gross Domestic Product of 90% of the world’s countries; at the same time amassing technological and human resources more vast that any corporate complex previously conceived.
These immense corporate entities – with financial, political, technological, and above all, human resources as great if not greater than most developed countries – will define an entirely new organizational species in the evolution of modern business.
This new economic species will be defined as the Corporate State.”
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James H. Stone
“Predictions in the New Business Ecology”
1.
A.T. Road, Guwahati
September 25, 11:35am
Planet Assam, India
Jeri –
Holy shit. I mean it. Holy shit. I have no business being here, in this gritty land of maniacally cruel humidity. There is not enough morphine in my IV drip to even begin to erase the endless torrent of loathing that pours like the monsoon rains upon this place. Everything here surely hates me. How can it not? I hate myself right now. Goddamn what I wouldn’t give for a double-shot of Fortaleza and a Camel Light.
Last night I spun restlessly on the razor-thin mattress of my two-star hotel room for hours before finally kicking insomnia in the nuts. It’s the goddamn heat. It burrows into your skin like a flaming hookworm and shits hot sauce into your blood stream. I swear to god Jeri, I’m sweating from the heat inside. Believe me, I contemplated a midnight swim in the river Brahmaputra, but this is India… Buddha knows what might swim up my ass and perform a hostile takeover should I doze off under the spell of my favorite nighttime muse Lady Xanax.
But enough about my anal phobias. We have far more important matters to discuss. I imagine you’re reading these words as you sit in your favorite corner behind the bar; your fingers creasing this very page as your other hand rests delicately against your cheek. Just the knowledge that this letter will soon find its way to your sublimely slender fingers makes the dull, piss-warm weight of this place momentarily bearable. Have I mentioned our kids will be gorgeous?
Enclosed is a photo of me beside a shrine to Shiva at the Umananda Temple. Please forgive my cropped head. The young miscreant I assigned the task of photo-taker displayed a level of stupidity I have not seen since the time I asked for directions in Ohio. Please also note my Joe’s Last Stand t-shirt, the very one I bought at the bar so many months ago. Tell Joe I do not expect compensation for providing international advertising. As with all things, I do this out of desperate, reckless love for you.
My time here in India is drawing to a close, which is a blessing bigger than my tequila-ravaged liver. I took my last tuk-tuk ride to the market last night, which means this assignment is done. And just in time. I’m burned out baby. Anything more than a day here and my morality and urine both become horribly clouded. I can say with an uncharacteristically high level of objectivity that this place is categorically fucked. The people worship many gods. The gods all have many limbs. When not worshipping the gods, the people eat dogs. I kid you not. Consumption gone awry, my dear.
Gods and dogs Jeri, gods and dogs.
Right. Well, you have drinks to serve, and I’m late for another lunchtime rendezvous with Benji. You don’t need to say the words Jeri, I already know.
Ta!
- Mysterious Joe’s Last Stand Guy
p.s. Don’t order dog.
2.
Jeri Halston laughed out loud.
The rich staccato sound of it echoed warmly against the dark, oak-paneled walls of the old saloon. The handful of patrons sitting inside Joe’s Last Stand Saloon turned and stared at the attractive twenty-six year-old bartender sitting behind the bar, but Jeri didn’t notice. She finished reading the letter and slowly stood from her barstool in the corner, a smile still lingering on her face.