so more & more terra becomes my very good friend. & thats quite alright with me; she's saavy & she's got fangs. tonight we went to the happy hour at the fat black pussycat & did some writing. or well, she wrote a letter & i wrote some mythology. though saying it now, saying mythology? sure makes me feel okay. i'm penning the tale of archibald & mortimer. archibald OR mortimer. woland is old scratch & mem lurks in the shadows like he knew how the whole thing with daphne would end up. anyhow, there were drinks, & drawings, & penned notes passed back & forth. there was a period of veils; secrets revealed & then hastily covered up again.
sarah is gone, & now its jenny & me again. i accidentally let slip a comment about my absolute terror. because, uh, its hard to live in a world where you have to accept that the one you love might not love you enough. but hard is what i am. hard like rasputin, like blackbeard. i have no complaints. jenny is the stuff of legends, & so i'll dare her fickle adoration with a grin & a sword. it isn't like i havn't had worse. oh, i've had worse. & shit, while we are keeping track, i've done far worse, to bystanders no less. who the fuck do you think i am, prince charming? i'm the prince of fucking darkness, assholes.
so uh, basically? i left jenny sleeping on the futon to come write this. i left with her asking me if it was okay if she read, after i threw that whole "i'm constantly stressed by the fact that you could leave at any moment." i mean, she threw her hat in the ring. she was willing to take a few lumberjack swings at that yggdrasil. which is all i'm asking for. i'm here without hurt in my heart. & i mean, the past few days? have been beautiful. its been all adulation & then sex when nightfall came. i'm hoping its more a reflection on us, then on sarah's visit. thats all.
oh & how have i been? i've been like a god-damn tank. i've got treads & i leave those pitter-patter footfalls all over motherfuckers faces. it looks like autumn happened real violently, when i get done with a place. i mean fuck. i INVENTED north korea. we're tiny & basically defenseless. but we've got these nukes, right? or maybe not. but i'm sure acting like we do. who wants to play "korean roulette" with my crazy ass? because i'm all about mutual assured anihilation. in fact, i have a million icbms. in my pocket. fuck you fuck you! this is the age of the korean, you jerk! leave me & mine to our supremecy.
what i'm trying to say is. i'm all turned around & twisted. heck, i'm a grenade whose fuse has been clipped short. but thing is? thats just fine. oh hell oh swell. what do i care? i moved to new york to give it a shot. what ami i supposed to do, go running for cover when the first mortars fly? no dice, bitches. instead, how about i show you what a salvo looks like? i'll tie up murder with a ribbon & mail it to us senators. fuck fuck fuck, i invented anthrax. i invented living a life at orange alert. its like being mr. spock. its okay. its better than okay, because i've got these faggoty ass ears. do you have pointed ears? you lame fucker, i bet you don't.
what was there to say about the city Strong John wrought? it was built of blood & sweat & steel & the people loved Strong John. Strong John had returned from europe with a mind towards rebuilding the wastelands of america. he had seen what the refus in the majors metropolitan centers of germany had done, had learned basic post-mutation agriculture from fringe farmers in spain. he was the great hope of the good old yew-ess-of-ay. he'd found a boat load of solar panels in baltimore & was dead set on making the city a new paradise. Strong John was smart, charismatic, & above all, Strong. he came back from europe & they loved him. she loved him. it was swell for Strong John.
meanwhile, elsewhere. there were secrets & recriminations. no one in New Moscow felt safe. someone had gotten Rocky 4 & put it on public access. the crypto-commies were feeling delicate at the moment. rice rations had been steadily falling off & the commisars were handing out weapons & ammo. a weapons to one comrade & a clip of ammo for it to the guy behind it. the rumor mill was abuzz with phrases like "80 percent casualities." compared to the leisureless lifestyles of the New Moscow pinkos, casual sounded real fucking nice.
his ribcage was opened up. it turned out his heart had been set upon by leeches. there was something in the offhanded way that he dealt with it that had sent everyone scurrying. nobody talks about the affairs of the heart with such non-chalance. it was clear to everyone who mattered that he'd been dead for some time. that magic & malice had kept him on his feet for so long, rather than blood & love. the leeches the surgeon was pulling out of his chest were as big as a baby's forearm. it was clear that they'd been living in there for a long time. that they'd been living off him for a long time. the sticky pads stuck to his forehead had stopped transmitting any beeps or bloops to the moniters for some time now, but the doctors just kept pulling the bloodsuckers off of his organs.
Go Go GO! it was like a japanese biker gang ran through charlie's head, the first time he did cocaine. it was the last time, too, but fuck; the shop front windows of his skull were sincerely busted in by a bunch of pseudogangster kids that one time. the drapes were dowsed with gasoline & set aflame. charlie is still recovering. he gets no sleep, he gets no rest. he's saving up for the cofffin, is what he tells everybody. but the thing is? he happens to not be bluffing. when charlie dies, he's gonna be at least TWICE as dead as everybody else.
natalie? she spends summers with her nana & grandpop, in egypt. she looks at hippos & jackals & everything she can get her eyes on, but she can't figure out what set's head is supposed to look like. which is fine. when summers are over she comes back to barbados & gets back to the bussiness of looking out for number one. she busts out her book of voodoo spells & the charms of a sorceress. she gets down to bussiness. her chin runs with blood at every sabbath, as she devours the hearts of small pets. natalie has a hunger in her. a hunger unsullied by the illusion of humanity.
this is the world that pearl, daughter of hester pryne, is queen over.
THE FACE ON THE TELEVISION LOOKED RIGHT AT HER. cao, see, was special. besides being the reincarnation of isis, she was among the top five pupils of the antichrist, ever. she knew she'd never supplant fuckers like mortimer & the three muazzin, but she was pretty confident that her spot at number five was secure. so the tv talking to her was hardly worthy of note. she was an Important State Figure. or well, she had been, before the State had been abolished. now she guessed she was just an Important Figure. cao was the boss of a whole truckload of reborn motherfucker: agamemnon, general sherman, dracula, the bronte sisters. point was, she was Hard As Nails.
on top of that, cao spent most days wearing only her underwear. when you are one of the top five most dangerous people in history, you don't have to get dressed up for social events. she'd rubbed her crotch against more than a few thousand dollar tuxedos. as far as she was concerned, a little frilly lace & a front-catch bra was as good a show stopping number as any crappy ball gown. the pistol tucked down the front of her panties only accentuated the whole get-up.