Chapter One

I talk to my mother in the kitchen and then walk through the forest. “You’re late,” Tim says. “You’re fired. Please get your stuff out of your cubby and leave.” There are two managers and one is Tim.
I cry two tears and leave.
Tim stares at me. “I’d like to see you again but not here. And stop crying.” Tim is twenty-five, and owns a grease fueled van. He stops by the diner and fills his tank every other day. I cry two tears at him. I walk into the forest and life appears all around me. Four other nature guides are standing around. I have a lot I want to say to them. I feel like asking them questions. Where do they live? What are their houses like?
"Latino Heeeeeeeeeeeat!"
One was Eddie Guerrero former WWE Heavyweight Champion. I had gotten too drunk one night on Bud Light and Eddie walked me home through the trees. He was very nice, but also seemed like if he wanted he could lie, cheat and steal his way into or out of anything he wanted. I put my arm around Eddie’s broad shoulders. I kept telling Eddie that I loved him; I saw him shotgun ten Bud Lights in a row one time and leave the bar with a stripper. “Thank you for that night you drank all those Bud Lights through little holes in the side of the can and then made out with that hot blonde stripper and the Packing Slut,” I said to him. Eddie Guerrero told me his wife left him after that night and wouldn’t talk to him anymore. He said he worked for WWE. He went to Wrestlemania a few times but just recently won the big one. “I am pretty serious,” Eddie Guerrero said. “I get drunk and put myself through wooden tables at random birthday parties with my friends,” I said. I threw up on Eddie’s new Nikes and I kept thinking, ‘Bud Light, Party, Hot Blonde Chicks.’ I was not surprised or afraid just really drunk. Walking home that night I threw up three times. Eddie held me the whole way home. I really liked Eddie. I wanted to be friends with Eddie. I want to be friends with everyone.
Eddie once invited me over to drink beer and watch Monday Night Raw. “We’ll make Tacos.” He laughed when he said Taco. I laughed and had an image of hanging out with other WWE superstars like The Undertaker and Randy Orton and Eddie. I thought about Eddie climbing up one of the trees in the forest and doing a Frog Splash onto some litter. At home that night I really thought about going. I called Eddie’s cell phone for directions and that is when I found out that he had suffered a major heart attack in his hotel room, while brushing his teeth, alone. Eddie Guerrero died.
“Is it busy? Today?” I say. I look at everyone because everyone is my friend and I am not lonely.
“It’s been a pretty decent week,” someone says.
“Remember when kids talked to each other and played board games instead of spending all their time on cell phones or writing in their blogs alone in their rooms. I’m bringing true friendship back.” I say. “Why not? It was cool back in the day.”
When there are no people to guide around the National Park you spend your time working trail maintenance. The idea is for the trails to look appealing so people who spend their days online are more encouraged to leave their houses and explore the land on which they live. If the entire job were to make and maintain trails more people would want to come outside. They would drive their SUVs across the country and scream about their summer vacation. Sometimes there would be strangers meeting in a gift shop. My mother was going to Seattle but got on the wrong plane and is now in New York City. It’s risky to scream in an airport. There was a woman once who screamed a lot in an airport and later she died with handcuffs around her neck. My mother worries a lot but cares about the entire world and that is why she must worry so much, let her into your blog-o-sphere. World. Friend her on myspace.
I cry two tears at no one; at a path diverging in the woods. I feel good for the path. I walk down it. ‘Two-Tears.’ I need to push on. I need to use my body to convey emotions to the world in order to keep us all alive-crying in groups of ten thousand or three; expressing gratitude, concern, or love for people, the weather, the food; and getting anyone to love the world back and respect mother nature. That is what a body is for. One manager isn’t enough so there are two. But there is only one of me. I wish we could all get along. I wish we could all be one. Or each one of us like one million.
I went to an aquarium with a girl once. We saw a shark and ate some pizza. She kept saying she was having a lot of fun and I believed her. “I really want to do this again,” she said at her door. “We will,” I said. “I’ll call you,” she said. I saw her the next night when I decided to leave a stuffed shark toy on her doorstep. And she hugged me really hard. Maybe she was being polite when she stood there telling me that she loved me. Maybe she was actually being sincere. Maybe we all just have to stop being so disconnected. Maybe everyone should tell everyone they love each other. Someone should write that book. ‘Tell the Person Next to You that You Love them.’ I learn so many important things everyday from everyone I meet.
I was walking through the woods and writing an entire novel. My face was full of emotion. I felt productive and loved. My name is Two Tears Boye. I am twenty-two years old, I live in America, and instead of being bored and annoyed I talk out loud to real people that I can touch and look at and I try to build friendships because I hate the internet and I hate computers and I hate the economy and I just want to fly above it all with all of you like something mystic.

Chapter Two

Sitting in a field after work. Listening to the sound of nature. This is how you have fun. I’ve been singing to myself for three hours. I will keep singing until my voice gets tired. My voice sounds like a natural wonder. I am ready to go across the world and travel to all clubs and cantinas and sing like a young, mystic Bill Joel. I want to go everywhere. I want to build a tree fort for the entire world to climb into and then the entire world can all be in a tree fort together. We will all get along because we will all be part of the same giant club. It will be perfect. I will trap all the bad and boring people in the tree fort. The tree fort won’t have internet so a lot of people won’t know what to do with their time and thoughts. And then all the bad and boring people will turn into normal people again when they wake up and start speaking and smiling and going outside again.
I soar out of the field. I find the center of America without any help from mapquest. I am the American Mystic Man and I have mystic powers. Mystic navigation is one of them. I have read books about aliens and strange happenings in abandon houses. I feel sorry for the people who need watch “Signs” or read these books to feel like there is something ‘unknown’ left to believe in. I am Two Tears Boye. I am the Thoreau of Americana. I am afraid watching the land be destroyed with no one standing in the way to try and stop it. I want to fight progress with my hands and my tears and the tears of all of you that I will collect in a giant bucket and dump over this country like a tsunami of release. But I don’t want to hurt anyone. I don’t want anyone to hurt. I want the tears to wash over us and over you and over them and rub our sharp points away and we will rise a new nation, smooth around our edges like the glass trapped underneath the sea. Eventually all of us won’t have to feel so lonely. Eventually we will all share the same tears. After eating a salad with all of my sisters and brothers I will listen to the sounds of America going to sleep and I will kiss you all goodnight on your foreheads. After eating a salad I will cry two tears from the stars. ‘Two Tears.’ Two tears are complex. Why would you cry only two tears? A neighborhood is passing by on the right. Sometimes I shoot TVs with a gun for fun. I laugh when I do this. At night sometimes I create lightning so people turn off the computer because they are afraid of the bolts coming through their keyboard. I am worse than a Trojan Horse. I know why I exist.
It’s depressing that people are different. Everyone should be one person, who should then give themselves a hug and cry if they need to. I want to create a mountain range between everyone single person in the entire world and then all of us would all really be alone. Surrounded by nature and nothing else. ‘Profound?’ No. Mystic. I should joint the Peace Corps. No. That’s a dumb idea. I should be better than the Peace Corps and start my own Corps: The Mystic Corps. I climb a tree. Everyone runs away from me and I am left alone crying. Two tears? Yes. Someone comes back and holds out their hand. I reach for it. But then when I go to touch their hand I realize it is a hologram and my hand goes right through theirs and I fall back to the ground. Everyone is inside on computers. There is no one around to plant corn for the coming season. There is no one around to help the Mystic Man to his feet.
A Golden Bear comes out from the woods.
The Golden Bear stares at me.
I put my hand out.
“Hey, can you help me?” I say.
“Shuure,” The Golden Bear says.
“Thanks.”
“I am The Golden Bear (…the golden bear) I am the Captain of Candor. I stand up for the honest and the true and the kind.” The Golden Bear points to his heart and smiles a goofy smile.
“I am Two Tears Boye. The American Mystic Man and I feel lonely. I have been going around my country and my people have forgotten about one another. They have forgotten that we are all in this together. That we are all defenders of this land.”
“Do you want to change that?” The Golden Bear says.
“Yes.” I say. We walk and reach a cliff.
Below the cliff is a city of people and dead professional wrestlers. Sometimes there is a very tall statue of the current president of the United States but is has graffiti all over it. I recognize the president’s face. I am ashamed. The Golden Bear stands next to me. “Brrrrrrrrr man. It’s fweezing,” The Golden Bear says.
“Tell me about it,” I say. “Come here.” The Golden Bear steps towards the trees behind me. The Bear has a golden tie tied around his forehead and a blue party hat on his head. He looks like he means business. I like it when I know other people mean business.
The Golden Bear takes my hand softly and kindly and helps me to my feet. We take a few steps. We stop. The Golden Bear kneels, opens a secret passageway in his chest, and points to his heart. “Do it,” The Golden Bear says.
“Do what?” I ask. “Why?”
“Climb inside my golden heart. Do it,” The Golden Bear says. The Golden Bear takes my American Flag and throws it inside his heart. ““Oh.” I say. “Good thinking. Now I am going to have to go get the American Flag or else I’ll appear ‘unpatriotic,’ or something, an irresponsible mystic being littering in the wilds of North America. I’m going.”
I climb inside The Golden Bears heart. The Golden Bear climbs inside his own heart.We climb together.We are climbing. The Golden Bear makes sure I am doing ok. “Are you ok?”“Yes.”
We climb.“Why are you golden, Golden Bear?”
“Not all bears are the same bear,” The Golden Bear says. “I am the Golden Bear. The Sultan of Sincerity. The General of Genuineness.”
I pick up my American flag. We keep walking. There is a nook. Chris Benoit is lying in a nook. He curled up in a ball. “Why is Chris Benoit inside your heart?” I ask. “Keep walking,” The Golden Bear says. “It’s tuurning into a cold and lonewy worwod,” The Golden Bear says. “I know,” I say. “What happened to all the kindness? The honesty?” The Golden bears. “I don’t know. What happened to all wonder?” I say. I sit. A person comes over from the corridor. I stand. The person has a computer attached to their face. I look at the computer; the person doesn’t do anything. More people arise from the corridor. More people come and then they all fall down and go, “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ!” They are sleeping. I cry a little. Two more people fall asleep. The person with the computer attached to their face in front of me says, “Watch this.” I watch. He just falls asleep. “Life is stupid when people are so bored they sleep all the time. Where is all the kindness? The love?” The Golden Bear says.
“Life is stupid when people are so bored they don’t cry anymore. At anything.” I say.
“Yeah. Not even the movie ‘Stepmom’ starring Julia Roberts and Meryl Streep,” The Golden Bear says.
“Yeah.” I say. I felt like standing there and telling The Golden Bear all about my mystic self. All about my feelings for the girl I have had my eye on from the clouds for many moons now. I thought about telling him that my mother cried watching “Stepmom.” I thought about telling The Golden Bear about my family and how my mother and father used to love one another, and then hate one another and then love one another again. But then I stopped. I stopped thinking at all. I stopped feeling at all. Even inside The Golden Bear, the most adorable wrestler of all time, the entire world has forgotten how to share these simple moments from our pasts that make us who we are. All we do is sleep. In a world full of so much natural beauty we don’t see any of it. We don’t share anything. We hide. We don’t fight. We display on a screen and sometimes we blink. And I cry two tears because everyone else has forgotten how too. I want to change the future. I don’t want it to feel like the now.

Chapter Three

Sometimes I walk around the world and I feel things. And I think things and the way the world takes shape allows my mind to explore all sorts of thoughts and beliefs. I am moving from place to place ever so mystically and then BAM there it goes. I start thinking or talking about something totally unrelated to anything I was thinking or talking about before then. I push through in the rain. I listen to music. I feel very happy suddenly. I park cars with my mind. I play putt-putt. I don’t need to imagine it. I do it. Just do it. This sentence is too long. Oh Got ya! None of these sentences are too long. Keep it in your pants. I feel good. I feel mystic. I feel like I am ‘Rookie Of The Year’-the kid with the incredible arm strength- I am on the mound and my special fastball just disappeared and now is the time when I need my teammates the most and no one is around. Everyone has left the field. Where are you team? Where are you kid from ‘Angels In The Outfield.’ Why aren’t you flapping arms? This is how the world makes me feel sometimes. Like I am looking for the kid who sees the angels in the field and not only do I not see the kid. I don’t see anybody around me at all.
Arby’s, Taco Bell, McDonald’s they all make good food for low prices. I would love to eat them all at once. Like one big mystic triple decker Roast-Beef-Taco-Fry-Burger. That would by mystic. Damn mystic. I am against the internet for some reason; something about how it directs human perception away from the natural world and towards nothingness; I am also against being anti-American. Why does the earth act as a weapon unfired? Something is wrong with this world. Cancer or something. No one will say what. It is a good world. It is. Everything is so good and beautiful somehow. I am crying not just a little. Two tears to be exact. It’s the feeling of so much potential with so little push. I should go back to all those sleeping people and throw love in their face. They need romantic love. The type everyone used to believe in before match.com. It is possible to be happy. It really is. I want to destroy the world with a series of starting acts of kindness; each successive act more unheard-of than the previous. When I go home the entire world will be there, laughing inside our tree fort. I will make a sign with paint and nails and a hammer. The sign will read: “The Worlds Tree Fort Club: Everyone Invited. They will jump up and cry (the world will). We will all cry together. It will be awesome. The future is so bright only if we light it. You can’t light anything if you are sleeping. Unless there is a cigarette left burning in your mouth. But even that is changing. Now there are cigarettes that go out if you don’t inhale. The world is going to burn out like that cigarette. So it’s time to wake up. It’s time to fucking inhale the mystic.

Chapter Four

I am eating a four course meal because I am rich in mystic wonder. I can feed you if you are hungry. I can pilot the spoon airplane right into all of your mouths at once and I can say over the breaker, “Chhhhh haaaaaaa chhh do not give up on life just yet. Come in. Do not eat your Anathema Charms. Remember your mother. Niner. Remember the happiness you felt as a child. Charlie. Chhh haaa chhhh. Over.” And then I would be gone and you would be sitting there, your hunger satisfied, the smile on your face not shit-eating but real and true. You would feel like you were wearing a dusty, one million year old artifact across your face. And then I would say, “No, no don’t worry. It’s ok.”
What if Jhumpa Lahiri fell in love with me? Would I spurn her? No. I would marry her. I would take the diamond-studded cruise ship in which she resides and I would sell it. And I would buy back my land from Ted Turner. The Pulitzer Prize is afraid of me because it is merely an object and I am a force.
I cry two tears .
I have written many stories and letters and myths. I have story collections. I have never submitted anything. I don’t know how. I am that damn mystic. But I have still felt rejection. You have rejected me. You have put yourself before the land you step on. Success, money, power, fame, happiness, friends; the pleasures of today-give it all away, in this mystic life, with the knowledge that everything will be returned if you correct the harm we have done to this world. In each of my stories every character believes they can change the world. Every story is a thousand pages and about the pointlessness in writing about pointlessness because pointless thoughts are pointless when you try and make a point its like not making a point because pointless points are not points but things that make fun of points kind of its all, pointless, pointless, pointless, no future, pointless, pointless, pointless, pointless, pointless, pointless, pointless, pointless, pointless, pointless.
In the Badlands of South Dakota everything is calm and quiet. I have a feeling that I am being filmed for that show Man vs. Wild. I need to do whatever it takes to survive. I will eat every plant. I will bite the heads off of scorpions. I drink my mystic urine. If I had a show called Mystic Man vs. Wild it would be way more mystic than Man vs. Wild because 1) I would be more mystic 2) I wouldn’t broadcast it because I hate TVs. Oh got you again. All my pop culture references are all sarcastic because I am just bored and pointless. Not. It’s all sarcastic. Or is it? What is the point? Is there a point? Yes. Believe in the mystic. Go outside.
There is a person with a laptop passed out at a Starbucks. They are going “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ”. Then again “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ”. I smash their laptop with a sledgehammer I find in the street. I feel like Thor but way more mystic with better hair. Yes. It’s possible. I find The Industry passing out money on the street in a suit.
“Hey The Industry there is a guy passed out there. Going ‘ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ’.”
“Why the fuck should I care. Ha. Ha. Ha!” The Industry says.
I keep walking. Mystically.
More people go, “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.”
The Industry goes, “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.”
Everyone goes ,“ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.”
Everyone except The Golden Bear and my mystic self. We are immune to boredom. And laziness. But not ladies. We love the ladies.
A lot more would be happening right now in the novel if everyone wasn’t bored and asleep at their computers.
“ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!?!?!” “OH.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.” “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.”
The Golden Bear and I walk into a room full of the entire population of Arkansas sleeping.
The Golden Bear stares at me. Then gives me a goofy smile.
While staring at me The Golden Bear licks an ice cream cone.
The Golden Bear sees the thermostat and turns it down.
I lie on a bed next to a sleeping baby and cry two tears.
When I stop crying I am warmer.
The Golden Bear looks at me.
The Golden Bear picks up a cookie.
“Put it back,” I say.
“I just put it back,” The Golden Bear says.
“I know.”“I need to get something,” The Golden Bear says. The Golden Bear goes downstairs and comes back with a shirt with a big heart on it. The heart is red. The shirt itself is yellow.“Hands Across America,” The Golden Bear says. “It worked one time.”
The Golden Bear puts out his paws and grabs my hand.“I’m happy and caring,” The Golden Bear says. “These people need to wake up.”“I bet people in Japan are awake.” I say.“Where in Japan?”“A house,” I say.“A house. What city?”“A house by a river,” I say.“Ok. That was pointless.” The Golden Bear says.I go to my cloud and sit there. Mystically.I cover my face with an American flag.I cry two tears into the American flag.The Golden Bear hugs me like a good friend does.I feel like Will Smith in I Am Legend and The Golden Bear is my dog, my only companion in this world of darkness.I want to invite the entire world to come sit on a tree branch with me. We will find a giant sequoia so the branch doesn’t break. Everyone is too tired and bored to stop all this pollution. Before long all the trees will be gone and strip malls will be treated like National Parks. We must stop it. For me. For Cactus Ed. For everything.The world is depressed. The world needs kindness and honesty. I am too worried about the state of the environment to be happy. We could all be joining hands right now and singing in one voice and chanting in one voice and moving across the nation in one movement. We could be like “D2: The Mighty Ducks” where the ducks and the other top players from around the country try to move as one while tied up on the ice. We are all the top players of this country. We can all move together. Why so much fighting? Why so much boredom? Why so much apathy? We can change it if we try. Why isn’t this happening right now? Why aren’t we uprising?

Chapter Five

“Irony is so privileged. It’s what happens when you don’t need to do anything to survive-it’s when the things you do have nothing to do with survival and you write a book about being apathetic and young and vegan.” The Golden Bear says.
“I know,” I say. “What do you want people to do then?”
“I don’t know. I am just trying my best out here. I mean people should just stop being all like, ‘I’m depressed. You’re depressed. Let’s write books and blog entries about the isolation we feel in society and feel less depressed.’ I mean that’s been done.” “That’s a good name for a movie, ‘I’m depressed. You’re depressed. Let’s write books and blog entries about the isolation we feel is society and feel less depressed.’ I’d sneak into that movie.Tomorrow is Saturday.
In the sky, on my cloud, at night I will have my eagles come whisper the words of the internet in my ear. At night I will work on my short story about people who can change the world. Every sentence will have to say something about that theme or else I will feel that both the story and myself were ‘not as good as we could be.’ It is tedious but rewarding work (trying to be inspirational and interesting about the most beautiful parts of our collective pasts and potential future) sometimes if I write lucidly enough, I feel, in a way that momentarily makes me believe loneliness is made up, I miss those times, that there was a audience, really, for my prose; and I try, then, to desire, in this missed and wanting and therefore nostalgic way, the present moment, when feeling restless and alone; to experience it while it is happening. And that is all. Feeling bad is a mistake. Words on the page are read. Life is an unwritten book with blank pages, and like Elvis Costello says, we need to write this book everyday. This will take away the suffering. Which comes from the inside. The world is here. Go outside. In a dark cave The Golden Bear says, “Watch.”The Golden Bear disappears and appears three feet to the left.
“What did I just do?” The Golden Bear says.“Teleport,” I say.
The Golden Bear disappeared and appeared one foot above the ground and dropped to the ground and bent at the knees a little.The Golden Bear disappeared and appeared holding a bouquet of roses.“I am full of love,” The Golden Bear says. “And I’m teleporting.”
The Golden Bear walks over to me and gives me a hug. “I’m totally satisfied right now. In nature. With friends. Why is everyone sleeping still?”“I don’t know.”
“I sometimes feel that people think that life is something that has already risen, and all this, the air, the clouds, the eagles, the leaves, is all just a falling, really, downward, in a kind of recession, away from all that makes humanity great.” I say.“But that’s totally wrong,”
The Golden Bear says.“I know. It’s crazy,” I say. The Golden Bear and I stare at each other. I cry two tears. We talk. And talk. And talk. We are more than acquaintances. We are the lone survivors from this lonely stupor that has taken over our generation. We will be friends for our entire lives because we have the same mystic and kind spark growing inside our chests. And we must spread. And kill this sleeping on our own.We go to a diner.The Golden Bear orders steak.I order corn.

Chapter Six

A nude picture of Candice Michelle is on the wall of The Golden Bear’s kitchen when he appears.
The Golden Bear appears sitting in a chair drinking a Bud Light.Candice Michelle has a nice rack.The Golden Bear goes into his bedroom.“My heart is sore,” The Golden Bear says to his girlfriend.“Your heart?” The Golden Bear’s girlfriend says. “Why?”“I try so hard to love the world but it just keeps sleeping.” The Golden Bear says.“Come here,” The Golden Bears girlfriend says.“I don’t feel like sex,” The Golden Bear says. “I want to exert my effort elsewhere.”
The Golden Bear’s girlfriend goes into the kitchen and takes down the poster of Candice Michelle. The Golden Bear’s girlfriend kisses Candice Michelle on her forehead. Even WWE Divas need love and kindness. The Golden Bear’s girlfriend knows this. “Do you still hate your novel?” The Golden Bear’s girlfriend says.“My novel is good. It’s about Chris Benoit. I miss Chris Benoit. I want to chew through something and get to the inside of what really happened in that house.”The Golden Bear’s girlfriend goes to The Golden Bear and holds his golden paw in hers.“I feel like I am yelling at a brick wall and hearing the echo everyday. That’s what it feels like trying to wake this generation up.”
Is the world really that boring?The Golden Bear sits down in his golden chair. The Golden Bear had slept for a long time this winter.This year The Golden Bear was looking for things to be different.But they aren’t.If The Golden Bear could he would create alarm clocks of kisses so then everyone who wakes up, will wake up feeling loved.The Golden Bear doesn’t want to hurt anyone.Only fake hurt. Like in wrestling.The Golden Bear wants to mend the world with his golden patchwork.
The Golden Bear pulls a cover up over his golden head. He has suffered for a long time, alone, in his room, physically comfortable, but emotionally lost, listening to music but then he found a way to release his opinions and feelings and fear and hate. No it wasn’t by writing in his blog. It was by talking to people and giving them the biggest, most golden hugs of all time.

Chapter Seven

I go to the refrigerator and drink some of my best friends Bud Light because I ran out of my own. I know my best friend won’t mind because that’s what best friends do. They don’t mind when you are an asshole.One night I read some writing by Zachary German. It was ok.I brush my teeth in the shower.I sit on my carpet when I am naked. I don’t have a chair. But it doesn’t matter. I have a cloud.One Friday I lay on my back on the cloud.My eagles were all around me.I listened to myself sing.
Mystically.In the morning I was standing in the bathroom.I looked out the window. A cat was staring at me. The cat wasn’t sleeping because cats can’t use computers because they are too dumb to understand symantic webs. The cat cried two tears. I called the cat Chief Running Tears.Chief Running Tears and I became friends. We met up with The Golden Bear at a bar.The Golden Bear was fucking wasted.I told The Golden Bear and Chief Running Tears that Tao Lin was severely disillusioned and probably always very depressed, because his thoughts were more exciting to him than anyone’s else’s; and he understood the power of the internet, did not believe in such a thing as ‘charisma,’ and knew the possibility of a power outage as the power outage may cause many people across the country to commit suicide if they cannot access their various online accounts and community boards. I told The Golden Bear and Chief Running Tears to read “EEEEE EEE EEEE.” But then I took back my suggestion because the novel is actually not very good and just comes off as a book written by a guy who just found out about Fernando Pessoa. The Golden Bear said he probably shouldn’t read the book. I told him he was right.
The next day I had my eagles e-mail The Golden Bear. I told the eagles to tell The Golden Bear I was sorry for telling him not to read Tao Lin. As I told the eagles what to tell The Golden Bear I felt good about being honest. I thought, “Honestly is the best policy.” Honesty and kindness aren’t bad. The only thing to be angry at is people themselves. For not believing in their existence. We all force our assumptions and contexts onto other people. We must expect greatness. Each thought influences our actions and each action exists inside-and so influences-the world. That is the world. We should all care. I walked around the city and asked all the sleeping people at their computers if they had read Tao Lin.The people went, “ZZZZZ ZZZ ZZZZ.”I saw a hamster. I asked the hamster is he had read Tao Lin.“Who is Tao Lin?” The hamster asked me.“Tao Lin read Fernando Pessoa and thought he was cool. He liked Pessoa’s idea that art was fun and beautiful because it was useless and had no meaning. He liked that Pessoa believed that life is not fun because there is always a goal. Tao Lin has no goal.
Tao Lin writes like he is sleeping through every beautiful sunset. Tao Lin writes like he hasn’t ever gone a long overnight backpacking trip into the Ozarks. Tao Lin writes like a person sitting in their room alone and sad, reading Fernando Pessoa and finding a calming sensation within his words and typing all of his pointless thoughts into his blog.” Tao Lin and people like Tao Lin write without a goal. And that is why the world is sleeping through all this destruction. We are goalless. It is time to change all of that. It is time to let out all of this sadness in our tears. It is time to collect our tears and filter out the sadness until they become tears are happiness and passion. And we must march. We must carry onward through this haze. I cry two tears everyday of my life because apathy is kills every dream of every person around me. The world is falling asleep because art has lost its power.
I am Two Tears Boye. I am the American Mystic Man. I am one of the only who still believe.I am looking for anyone who is still awake and reading.I am looking for anyone…Are you still out there? Do you feel mystic when you are alone? You are not alone. We are all together. I will slap you in the face if you don’t believe me. I will go on a crying rampage across this country. I will flood all of you out and start anew. Eat that shit. And grin about it.