g r e g    m u l c a h y



He said, why call it a screening room? It’s a TV room.

Sometimes they show—they screen—movies, she said.

On a TV, he said.

She said something else then. Something implying he had joined the cult against the image.

It does not matter, he said, what you believe so long as you project your values.

Do you know, she said, that Russian story about the sick Czar and the happy man?

No, he said. I know the story about a dog. Or the promise of cash to come.

What about horror? She said.

I know nothing of horror.


Not that I know nothing of horror but that I know it only individually.

How else could you know it?

You’re making my point. I was once wounded through the hand. You know, like Christ?

That was through the wrist.


Soon all wounds will be treated at the cellular level.

We made this from this so why stop now?

Are you asking me?


You move from the mechanical to the organic.




You know like a carnival ride one chair after the next.

They’ve changed that now.

Or will.

I don’t know what you mean by organic.

Then the words will not make sense. Isn’t all this going backwards?



It is an imagined past.

This sequence is unbelievable.

Can a sequence be believed?

It must be.


To bring the story where it inevitably leads.

The gotterdammerung.

That’s not it.

Funny to think you can freeze to death and I once nearly did. Lost in that freeze.

I want to sell stories and products based in belief.

People understand the false nature of these mainstream images. Pictures. Pernicious fictions.

Fiction has nothing to do with it.

I wouldn’t—

Imagine a hundred tops. Spinning. Each in its own orbit. And one by one stop.





GREG MULCAHY's collection, Out Of Work was published by Knopf in 1993, his novel, Constellation, by Avisson in 1996.