2001 with Maha Saibyebye

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when Avatars get ready to rumble

Being a maha is really a matter of riding your luck. When things go well i kick back and lie low. Imagine my shock when i go for a solo (rare as its one of my favourite places to try out my favourite maxim with an overseas femme deevotee: you got it all to fear when i am near baby ragggghhhh) visit to the movies. I sit there in my usual wrap around shades and surgical mask for maxo incognito ready for some movie called unbreakable. You gotta see this. One of the two main characters reminded me of someone i met recently. Gettit: one of the two main dudes is an afro type messianic nut with frizzy hair who is hellbent on a mission to establish some way out holy moly nonsense. Get this: he breaks his legs and its supposed to have cosmic significance. He is a bleeder of other peoples spirituality and ends up slap bang in the middle of a major bust up. Remind you of anyone?. Brace yourselves and if you have a mo visit www.movieweb.com/movie/unbreakable/index.html and feast your deeevine peepers on this mucho weirdo simulacra. Scroll down a pip or two and check the guy on the left in the first still, enlarge it... ring a bell?

Meanwhile stevie says we can no longer count on continuing franchise expansion after my breakout darshan and discourse. Apparently Ally McBeel has a new beau and he is bigger headlines than self now. So i am putting together a new one hour special to pitch to tv. Strikes me that i am so deeevine i ought to get closer to folks. All this waving and taking letters its a bit distant. Answering questions is about as close as i get to most folks: 'o maha will armani have a vent or a dart in his spring sports coat..'....'relax my son bless you it will be half dart and pleat' etc etc. So i gotta get to the kids says stevie, they have the spiritual hunger and the disposable moolah. Maha likes moolah but not the youth. But davey says no i got to get my deeeevinity out into the streets or shhhtreeeetzz as he puts it.

So heres the idea: one hour with maha out in the shhhtreeetz. All these magic guys are doin it out there so why not an avatar. Hows this: were gonna do

Street Miracles: with maha saibyebye.

I got to wear a t shirt and do the avatar bit downtown with a shaky camera on me. Well why not i can get down and dirty with my flock. I can rough it, trade a splash of tommy boy for my trademark armani por l'homme for my beloved deeevotees. The try outs go well. I Hang out next to a few guys by a fire hydrant and guess which of my 108 names they are thinking of. No prob as the list only stretches to 3 as the names thing is a work in progress. All delight in receiving a specially materialised one off ring made of unique diamond-ite and set in special maha-ite with the help of my friends at qvd-the shopping channel. One guy says if i can materialise an itty bitty ring why dont i make a bigger object, he suggests an atom bomb. I say hey guy i'm an avatar not inspector gadget. We cut the bit where i got a bit over italian and he got patched up at my superdooperspeciality deli.

I am snoozing in my fashionably appointed bayside boudoir when in comes stevie with a shocker. Seems my main competitor way out east of here has got himself riled. Stevie says his christmas ditty was a real hellfire job. Stevie reckons he calls me a judas and i think he means dreamy jude law he of the chic look at movie premieres. But no apparently im supposed to be that guy from way back in sandals and grubby toenails who kissed JC goodbye and goodnight. Not very christmasy. Now normally this guys talks dont merit much attention from the highlighter pen but stevie has filled in the bit about how all judases will face 'consequences.' Now this has me rattled. I mean the last thing we want is an avatarial range war. The last bust up finished with that little guy in the bobble cap and rolls royce buying it so we gotta restore order. Stevie says i should forget about it. They got a major image problem out there and they are just rattling sabres a bit. So they got a problem, whats that got to do with everyone else? Why not have an image change like me? Stevie says that the old fear thing never keeps people in the show. 'Trembly lips no substitute for devoted hearts' he says. Yeah hes right the fear factor is old hat in the guru game these days. People just up and split and it costs you moolah. Ok so they go for fear rather than a corporate makeover but its the 'consequences' thing that sticks with me.

Now its got me thinking. Im sure i was followed on my drive out to the eaterie last night. Yeah in the rearview i clocked a foreign registered all white Hindustan that didnt handle the hills of SF well at all. And while i was sipping my martini i spotted a guy under a lamppost over the street. Short, all in white (hardly incognito), reading a magazine, Sanathana something or other, o and he desperately needed a tailor. I slip out the back door and drive to Chinatown, i need the word from the street from my old pal and teacher. I drive into Charlies Bar, check the rearview ok, no Hindustan. I ask C if Meher Babajihi is in. C says the guys always at his usual spot. I head out onto the patio. All the time im thinking stay calm, dress down. Out back i see babajihi is indeed settled in. To be precise he buried himslef under the patio sixteen years ago and now breathes only once every 30 days. This guys amazing. He sees and knows everything above him at street level. He lives in chinatown but this guy is a master of bilocation. They call him the nonlocal local. I spot his air tube and his little box for donations. Now meher is like those betting shops where they have a camera at every track in the country and with babjihi its strictly pay per view. You wanna know then you gotta have the moolah. I try putting one of my dimaonite rings in his box. No response. Ok so i cough up the standard five bucks. Now we are downloaded and up comes the response. Two little globes of spit shoot up the airway and land in the potted plant behind me. I lift up the big leaf that has the first little spitty on it. Underneath is written 'your screwed.' And next to it is another ittle bitty leaf, a kind of cosmic ps with another spit. In little leters i read 'watch out behind you....'

Too late, i hear a bang, i clutch my chest, i fall.....down down...................nothingness and then..

Now its all blurry and i am aware of being carried away, i mean like dragged out not carried away like i usually am when beloved armani unveils his new collections. Im taken away in a white car, but wait it aint no ambulance its the Hindustan and those guys in white arent the hunky medics id expect but those sartorially challenged roughnecks who been following me. O my god (hang on thats me aint it though) im being kidnapped. I feel a jab in my arm and one of them says thats what they give to judases. If i felt stronger id give him a betrayers kiss with my forehead..smack on the bridge of his nose but im going , going..............gone.

I wake up in bed with the sound of bloody crows and theres a monkey on my bedstead. I struggle to the window, christ its hot, and look out. I aint in my fashionably appointed bayside boudoir im in bloody nowhereland, Hindustans everywhere. I turn startled when i hear a voice behind me.

'Ahha Mr Byebye i see you are with us again.' Hells teeth its my competitor outEast, and hes sitting in the corner chair menacingly stroking a white cat. He says, 'Relax mr B or should i call you Judas.' Now this is seriously lalah. I cant really walk, my head is swimming and it isnt cos ive been sucking one of his beetle nuts neither. He continues: 'you are my guest here at my somewhat less than fashionably appointed ashram until ......well, until..lets leave it at that for now.' He speaks in that unmistakbaly new jersey accent.

Ok says i soonest as i can toddle on my pins i will get out of here. He says:'Mr b the whole ashram is surrounded by a sea of truly appaling tailors selling awful unstylised tat. I know you, youd never make it through. Hahahahahahhahhahhhahhhahahhhahhah.

Hes right, no way out. After another blankout i rise and look in the mirror. I am wearing the same goddam white outfit everyone else here sports except mine has got 'Judas' embroidered on the front.

I am escorted to my room in the ashram. Well i call it a room, its a little bunk with 300 others. Pasty spotty Englishmen. I take a walk because the smell of Lifeguard aftershave is overpowering. Jeez this guy is into gold and statues, theyre everywhere. Now holy mother (donna karan) says a touch of gold here and there can highlight ones natural radiance, i favour a little tiepin now and again, but here theres gold everywhere, even on the roof. A little overstated. I stand before a statue of some elephant guy. Behind me a distinctly American voice says, 'them eyes seem to follow you everywhere dont they.? Funny sort of southern drawl on this guy and a very retro ponytail. I look at the statue again and its true the eyes do follow you. A closer look reveals that the damn eyes are godddam cameras. Hes bloody right. The statues are an ashram wide surveillance system. Im about to moon the elephant statue when my fellow american says 'wouldn't if i were you.' Then he motions me to follow him to his little room. Well he says his name is 'Zac and hes a long time follower. I dont get this guy I mean hes chewing a hamburger and pops a bud light. I thought this was contra the head cheeses wishes. He says he came here years ago with a great idea: seems he wanted to build a big hospital, make a pile of moolah and then open a chain of hamburger joints back home. Problem was he got hooked on the beetle nut and the idea came out backwards. Cost him millions. Now i dont know about this guy, seems a sort of God on a Harley type to me but hes an ally of sorts. I gotta get outa here....

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Now ol Zac starts mournfully plucking at his geeetah and its time for me to mooch out. Then i see it, my means of delivery out of here. Yes Yes come to maha...its a silver murrrsayyydeez parked by the gate. This head honcho has three of them so i let down the tyres on two and sidle into number three. I turn the key. The cassette rings out with Jai Ganesha but i manage to retune to the radio and find Roadrunner by deeevine Mr. Edwin Starr..perfect. Now i got to get out the gate guarded by two whiteys. Rev rev and forward i go. They do their pranam thing but i stops, pull down the window, give them the ol single finger salute. Rev rev reveroooo im a roadrunner baby yes i am. Rev rev and maha has left the building...consider me gone. Now progress down mainstreet is slow. Every ten feet theres a rickshaw or a trinketeer in my way. But im going theres no doubt and i flattened the tyres on daddys other cars so what the heck. Hey three whole days of separated sexes and i am ready for deeeeevine love, ladies better fear cos im getting near raaaaggghhhhhhh.

Whoa, whats this in my rearview, oh oh heres trouble. What in the name of hurry worry and curry is closing in on me fast. Dammit its the head honcho himself atop some mighty all golden chariot towed by six whitey lackeys. They are closing fast and soon they are alongside. They got a flashing sign....pull over resistance is futile. I look sideways and we're neck and neck. The head honcho lowers his sunglasses and mouths, 'come back to daddy.' In a jif i'm back in front of ol elephant head inside the gates.

I slip away to doze awhile. I awaken uner a starlit sky. A comet streaks over the horizon, perhaps an omen of better times. Then the whole sky seems to be on the move, whoah...now the planets leave their orbits and come towards me as the whole universe collides and.....hold on folks all's well i just dozed off in the planetarium again. No movie houses hereabouts, frowned on by the head man.

As i blink at the scorching daylight 'Zac falls in behind me so its back to his cell for bud and rock and roll. I ask him how long hes been held prisoner in this abode of heavenly alcatraz. He looks puzzled. I ask him to come on and tell me how much of a sentence to expect. He says im crazy aint noone in here a prisoner, everyone is here cos they want to be. I dont get it surely everyone is in headman's personal lock up. 'Zac says it aint no lock up neither, that folks come here for their spiritual redemption. I say spiritual redemption? Its more like the Shawshank Redemption.

I dont get it days i been here now and i reckoned i was a prisoner and so was everyone else. Stands to reason. We get up at 3am que up endlessly to get our nummber for the day from a scruffy little bag held by one of the trustees. We have to wait for hours on stony ground. To get a letter home it seemed you had to hope to get top number so you could hand your note to the headman personally. He insists on reading them all before they could be allowed out. Every day a few lucky prisoners would be called in by the headman for what looked like some sort of parole hearing inside while, cruelly, rest of us sat outside. They duly came out and some seem to have had their personal effects like rings and watches returned, least they seemed joyous about it, staring at their lost posessions endlessly. Some afternoons a little sing song would happen or maybe a show would come into the prison. Everyone joined in enthusiastically, only show in town i suppose. Again each item would be vetted by headman. Sometimes we would get a long speech from the headman about prison rules. Seems we all gotta be kind and nice and play the game. What game? Man they got a funky cricket stadium here and (though i dont know cricket at all) when i asked the groundsman for a game schedule he said the next match was coming right up in 2003.

'Zac is cracked up he says man it aint no prison its just an ashram, they all wanna be here. Well not me, tomorrow i gotta get out of here.

I get what zac calls Ashram rush and spend 24 hours in the bathroom with spotty Englishmen banging on the door keen to flail their wretched Lifeguard deoderant. I am really free, if you get my drift, from all hatches. No wonder the gods in this country all have at least six arms.

Restored i get lucky and draw no1 in this mornings lotto. I also get the thumb from the head cheese and at last get my parole hearing or 'interview' as zac calls it as we trapse into this phone booth that passes for the big mans office. Theres gotta be an ashram joke about how do ya get sixteen argentinians and two dumb yanks into the interview room. I'm lucky i get the only chair, mmmmm cumfy cushion but zac says only big boy gets to spread his buns. After ten minutes or so of standard ' i love you, we love you..i'm borin you to death-your borin me to death' stuff i get called to get behind the curtain. Now i see a bit of change of image from mr big. He likes the old good cop-bad cop routine favoured by SFPD and little mr love all has suddenly become the grumpy dwarf. Hes at me about whose paying me money to copy the routine. I shrug but hes still at me, now hes gone all Tommy Cruise on me 'show me the money, show me the money.' I insist i just started out in the guru business and im self financing. Now i see a full blown tantrum except when he sticks his head out the curtain to tell everyone else lovey love love.

Then it happens quick. The wall im leaning on suddenly spins round and i have suffered something of a reversal of fortune. Im standing on a ledge some two feet wide looking down at a pit full of snakes. Yik this is getting a bit spielberg. Ol grumpy d appears at a little window and hes still doing the show me the money rant, oscar performance level. He pauses and wipes his brow with a white hanky. Then he switches to Tommy C meets Dr No and tells me that years ago he cleared all around of a plague of poisonous snakes and im now looking at em. The ledge starts to retract and i have to tell about the money or rendevous below. I got no choice so i make a leap in the dark, literally. My fingers find a little ledge on the other side and i scramble into a little passage.

I crawl for ages but then i hear the comforting sound of a harmonica. I know the tune its Waltzing Mathilda. A hundred yard later and i find a bearded guy playing a rather mournful version of the Aus classic. I shuffle up and shuffle back a bit cos this guys been down here a long time. Seems years ago ol Jerry McGwire back there did the vanishing number on this guy. Said if he loved ol Aus so much he could damn well find his way home. Hes been down here ever since. Seems the ashram pr people made it a story about a happy return home by magical means but the truth is hes the ashrams Ben Gunn, stuck down here ever since. I get him fired up by bringing him up to date on the homeland, they held the olympics blah blah and we start to tunnel upwards.

Now a homesick Ozzie and a deeeevine yank can shift earth and in no time we have surfaced, somewhere in Grumpy dwarfs unmagical kingdom.

We punch through and look around...two whiteys playing poker surrounded by medical gear, gotta be the hospital. We work our way past guys playing hockey in the empty wards and filling bottles with tomato paste in the blood bank. Only accounts is busy. I embrace old oz and we agree to split up and quit separately. Time to hook up with zac and get out.....with luck i'll be back in my fashionably appointed bayside ashram in time for armani-namavali or at the latest maha-verace-arathri.

P> If you need to catch up click onto Maha in 2001 above.....

Me and sixteen whiteys make it into the 'copter. At 200 feet only one whitey is able to hang on. At 10000 feet there is one heck of a scuffle but eventually i get him out the door and down he plunges. Now i dont want to be responsible for anyones demise, wouldn't play out for an avatar to be responsible for anyones expiration now would it. So im gratified to see my adversary tumbling down towards one of the huge open tanks of big mans water project. Phew i mean we all heard about those millions of gallons pumping relentlessly for the relief of the locals right? Got to be 2 million gallons down there ensuring a safe splashdown right? The sickening crunch of the impact though seems to suggest they never quite got round to the water part of the project. Yo hum.

I land at the airport, my final flip will be in grumpy's lear jet. Deserted strip, cant see Godhead 1 anyplace. Then i see the Merc and at the helm grumps himself and he is looking especially grumpy this merry morn. He's bearing down on me, his teeth biting down on a cigar. Yards from me but i am swept aboard.....a golden harley hey its zac. I ask him how he got fixed from his beating back there and he says he knows a coupla doctors in the hospital. I ask him how but he says its a long story and a lot of hamburgers so come on i got a date with beloved Giorgio for Armani-namavali back at bayside.

Now grumps has pulled alonside us and this is all getting a bit Dukes of Hazard. Then clunk something takes out a chunk of Golden Harley and it seems like he's firing shells at us. Clunk again and we are taking hits. I wonder what he's got, some sort of mortar. But no the ol' chuffer is smacking us with linghams. Big golden ones, he's leaning out of the drivers window and spitting them at us. Yo hallo what velocity. He just kinda belches a mo and he's on fast reload. I reckon another duckegg on our fender and we are gonners. We are maybe a hundred yards from Godhead 1 on the tarmac and grumps is so preoccupied with us he fails to notice a coachload of japanese heading straight at him. Crump and devotees and leader are gloriously united head on. Yeeeeeeehaaaaah now izza God on a harley and i am not planning on making way for my next incarnation nossir.

We are quickly aboard and gone. Luckily 'zac is at the helm and i can reflect on upcoming plans for maha-versace-arathi back at my fashionably appointed bayside ashram. But hang on bro we are losing height we are going down down downnnnnn...blurry blurry, spinny spinny and out of the blurry blurry i hear a voice...'maha,maha,maha.....................'

Whoa its stevie looking over me 'hey maha he says, you fainted back at Charlies bar. Seems the Hindustan backfired and you passed out. Where you 'bin you been muttering about Harleys, grumpy and hairy backs. ' Well i rise stand on my balcony and hear joyous crowds singing Armani sharenam, sharenam Versace.' Im home and its all been just a routine taking on the karma scam.. Phew.

Life will be back to normal and i just might make the dinner and darshan we got planned at the Raddison tonite. Then my door clicks open and in walks ....Zac complete with burger and bud. 'Hey maha i got a great idea, see we build a big hospital here in the bay and then we split the dough and plough it into hamburger joints, i got it all worked out see.................

Email: saibyebye@yahoo.com