At the seedy table in the dark corner where the reprobates gather, hidden by the heavy clouds of the old Chinese men, smoking and playing Dominoes, where the latest secrets were exchanged for the value which they latently held. But it is in this place, where the truth laid hidden from view and for the right price anything can be purchases at this table.
For one to find this establishment and it’s less than political correct denizens, one would need to turn off the main drag, leaving the glints and glitter behind you. Down the back alley one would go, pass the overflowing trash bins that add to the ratified air of the environment, a sickening sweetness that cuts the stench of the piss mixed with cheap wine. Back around Hop Loo’s import shop, which is in all reality a front for one of the new caravanserai’s that populate the New Silk Road. Beyond the smoked stained windows of this establishment one can find whatever they are seeking, illegal drugs that will enhance the mind, members of the human race that will aid with a divorce action, in the form of 9 millimeter bullet to the brain pan of someone that is no longer pleasing you or a new liver for your Aunt Flo, all for a price.
Hop Loo is the friend, minister, counselor, guiding light, buddy, main man and the connection to the superficial world of darkness. For the really scary stuff one must continue on pass this place and seek the Bar of Lost and Forgotten Dreams.
At noon the alleyway is as dark as night, this is not on the Gray line tour nor do the dwellers of sunlit filled world come down here, for fear sake. One must find this place, by their own effort, for no one will guide anyone in these back labyrinths and there are no maps given out at the Chamber of Commerce. Most that live in the world outside the hidden cities claim these places don’t exist, but they do. The journey is the trail of character, for as one goes deeper in this forbidden landscape, exacting tolls must be paid. There are no free rides.
The dangers that lurch in the shadows are all too real. One needs to be anonymous, there is no leaving of bread crumbs behind to find the way back out, for that would lead others to you. Captured in this no-man’s land, one could lose everything they worked for at the lease and at the worse, end up living in a six by nine cell with sunlight pumped in. There are those that don’t want you to know that this place even exists. Blind agents of multi-letter agencies hid in the alleys and alcoves waiting for the uninitiated to blunder in and make just one mistake. Just one and the force of Empire will befall anyone. Jack booted, Storm Troopers, in Ninja blacks, will fill your nights with terror, back there, in the place where you have come from. Sour magistrates with look down at you from the bar, wringing their hands in judgment. Will they hang you or just put in a cage like an animal on exhibit forever.
If one has the preservation of self as a hallmark, they should never attempt this journey.
Only those that are willing to look at the secrets of the truth should even attempt to enter this world. For the very act of desiring to see the illegal games held in the smoke filled arenas here, are always to the death. Either the mongoose or the cobra will win. Money won and money lost on the speed ability of either. Only those that run the establishments truly win.
For they have no stake in the game. Peddlers to human weakness, they collect the wages.
When at last you reach the Bar of Lost and Forgotten Dreams, there is still the cover charge to be paid. The red haired, green eyed whore that whirls in the mist of time waits at the door to collect the coins of the realm or the souls of the lost. Morpheus is there, without discourse holding out the red or blue pill. Choose wisely. Leave now or be captured by the opium smoke of knowledge that fills the air.
The light is dim, the air so thick one can cut it and yet at the table in the corner are the merchants of truth. There is no pretense as to character or charm. This is cash and carry business, where those that want something and those that have something to sell.
One would ask, what is this long diatribe about? Are they the ramblings of a blue lotus eater? Or is this the madness of the zealot on a Jihad to cleanse the universe of heretics? The bottom of the rabbit hole, where Alice found all she wanted to know, or nothing and all. This is about the unseen, unheard of, Deep Web. This is the place where the Matrix does not exist. Herein is a massive cavern for those that only deal in the reality of life. At the table in the corner, they sit, waiting.
Do you want 500 milligrams of DMT to reprogram your mind and break the shackles of cultural programing that controls you? That will cost you 10 coin. Looking for the secrets buried inside some governmental vault. 8 coins and go, never come back. Perhaps you seek a fighter jet, a hired killer, some weapons, new identification papers, counterfeit Euro, Dollars or Yen? It is all here for a price. Just a few key strokes away. Nubian slave girls, hot cars, shady relationships with Arab Princes that wish to hid even more money from their brothers. Perhaps you use a new credit card with no limit and no payment. You come to the right spot. Faust would love this place.
TOR your friend has guaranteed you a safe passage, at least once into this place. Get in and out. But that is problem, having access to the truth is addictive. The monkey will be on your back. You find a chair and pull yourself up to the table. What could it harm, a few coins here and there and taste the different blends. A manuscript on a blog site, written by a seventeen year old Iranian girls, that addresses violence, incest, rape, beatings and even murder of her sister. The very fact that it is written down is a death penalty for her, if caught. It lays there on the green felt table, waiting for someone to pick it up and tell her story to the world. A twisted tale of a Senator or someone that is buying young boys for pleasure and making speeches against pornography in chambers, photos and fact included. The rambling of downhearted employee that knows enough to get him killed, wanting the shackles to escape to Prague.
Take your pike! More information that one could amass in a lifetime, just sitting there waiting for someone to tell the tale. All it takes is to travel the back streets, alley and dead ends within the Dark Labyrinth of the truth, is courage.
I have said too much, I must move again, before they find me. The writer is doomed, if they are not willing to seek the pure truth. For what is fiction in our world above the surface, is fact in the Bar of Lost and Forgotten Dreams.