For Every Tib and Tom Cat

dijous

18th... Soon there...

18.


Coralline, double-crossed, cried. Everyone awed, making such a great fuss about the tiny Thai’s elephantine pregnancy.

The trees out the window themselves also expectant. Tilting their necks to peer inside. And the dumbfounded beasts of the wild climbing the trees to the bloody tops to be able to greet the great barely disguised new messiah with the ample tasteless skirts and the enormous bulge ahead…

Avaunt, ye klutzy pachyderm, avaunt… Avast, how could she! The shamelessness! A-wasting her fucking waist, what a waste of expectancy… Nothing to wait for but apocalyptic death… The devil reborn, the devil to pay… A-born for its millionth time in the millionth shape — a gook’s, and a gook’s, and a gook’s — with no end in sight other than the end to end it all, an immovable surfeit of gooks from end to end — with no room for a single other gook — ah, then, the horror of the exploded gook-ery! — big bang of the gooks — a gook head every dismembered gook — a gooky head: a planet careening to the infinite infinity, entering another doomed womb, a tomb… A tomb tumbling without rhythm nor rhyme — damned devils, you’ve killed even the illusion that the spheres ever danced, and that there was some music sublime — with you around, messing stridently around, how could it…?

Pish, Coralline! Forget the damned spooks. Disentangle yourself from their heart-piercing talons…, with their wily, subtler Oriental arts, they prey on you, wickedly, ruthless, no compassion. Ignore the backstabbing bastards. You recall, when suffering the last bout before this one, when you forbad yourself the company of beggars, so bad for morale…? Portents of what’s coming too fast…? And how charity begins at home…? All that, and how true…? Altruism being another word for giving up…?

Reinforce your ego, remember the shrinks of yore. Push your mind out of those rats gnawing at the rat-nest inside your cranium. No. You’d do much better watching, through the tears, while mourning the future of disaster and tortuous extinction which is in perfidious store, willy-nilly, for all of us…, the throbbing tides of the moon, yeah, the matachini of the bats, so pretty, the devil’s laugh with his starry teeth shining on the night sky…, he is handsome in his hideousness, some sparsely sown cirri for mustaches, some sailing spy planes exploding his zits — galaxies of bloody pus, blackholes of his many assholes…

She was blowing her nose. Alone, desolated, in the dark, having turned the lights off, looking out the window from an upstairs bathroom window.

She, Coralline, who that same morning had gone expressly walking for miles through sinister, stairs-ridden streets just to find the especially browned narrow baguettes Maximine so craved. And now this… Way-worn rover most egregiously jilted… The slap of the Thai present and blossoming. And the slap of all the other ugly fatheads fawning over the swollen skink…, and the slap of her ex-friends laughing each joke with such shrillness and forcefulness, grating her nerves, making her puke.

Beguiling the balls off everyone’s faces and crotches, damned pollywog who’d swallowed a hippopotamus… The spectacular wonder, shitty cheap circus, worse, disgusting carnival act with a couple of gagging freaks — one swallows the other, the other swallows the one, they vomit themselves mutually reciprocally all at once… Insufferable.

A woman withal who knew what she wanted — she and hers, incrusted and growing, a tumor with many heads, metastasizing fast, jumping like gymnasts, huge locusts, a plague, occupying every house, strangling the rightful owners of the land, crowding out the fair… Installing the dark devilish malignant imps. All her family here, all of the half a million of them, packed into treacherous Maximine’s doomed abode, like into another damned mosque full of farting ass-elevating shit-lickers of the infectious ground…

Her dung-spangled skirts leaping with the kicks of the disease-ridden monster inside, apoplectic already, schizophrenic, epileptic, a devil to tie, yeah, it better be born spancelled already, or you’ll have your work cut out for you just to hunt it down and kill it afterwards… That provided that first you yourself don’t perish during the effort. And the beast escapes… Egad! America down the drains, swimming down the prosperous sewers, drowning in an inundation of foreign bigoted slave-minded dirty-colored filth…

A hiccup. A recounting, maybe…? She was of two minds. I’m being unfair…? How much of the rage spite…? A verse. How apropos… “Odi et amo… Quare id faciam, fortasse requiris… Nescio, sed fieri sentio et excrucior.” Hating and loving — ask me why — the fuck if I know — but it hurts me, excruciatingly, ferociously…

Presages of floods where all is shit and cadavers… The Egyptians had it already pat… Didn’t they… Waiting for the Duad. Saw it coming, and now’s here, much nearer of course, 5,ooo years in the offing, concocting, machinating — time to burst, the river, the Duad, a torrent of corpses and turds…

The feted lummox downstairs a bigger turd, the floater that broke the commode’s back — first shot for the all-around revolution — start overflowing, all the toilets of the world…

She pulled the chain. Washed her face. Came out of hiding.

Still… The soul-rending chuckles and guffaws downstairs. The humorless clowns. She unmissed, totally ignored. Could as well get back home…? Or rather, what, get drunk…?

He heard somebody climbing up… Sobbing…

—Suze…!

—Coralline…!

—What’s the matter…? Is it aching…?

—No. It’s not that…

An awkward moment… Each asking herself of the other: Who is she, really…? Pivoting between centers of reference, lost at the unsettling peripheries, their personas off-the-mark, gone awol… No watchmaker of the vastnesses to guide their steps up the Tao of it. No heads nor tails along the baffling itineraries spanning the globe… So easy at home, but here…? Each, before, a referee of the spheres, maybe celestially musical, their cool conductor — a woman of parts, always at the center of the compass — the pinprick — all revolving around her — with inexhaustible energy, with the vision of a lynx, the snappiness of a crocodile’s mouth, and so on… But now, in front of the other… The other, again, as hell incarnate…?

—Come, I’ll show you a place where one is let be, unperturbed… An old bathroom for a dead maid…

Coralline helped Suze to the same concealed spot where she’d just had her cleansing cry. She shut the door. Suze gratefully eased herself over the commode. She pissed, a long pregnant jet which splashed for a while. Such an easy ability for comfort so easily acquired. So well together… Cupid’s warm arrow at work. The two women sudden friends… It was night-time, time for confidences. The shallow beach not much in yonder made of fine mud, the mud of tiny particles, millions upon millions of beings without qualities, their shells, their quasi-human skeletons…

“Are you craving for any food in particular…? I could go and fetch it in a jiffy. Mussels, oysters…? I know a path to the kitchen, unblazed.”

“Don’t leave me alone.”

They embraced. Enveloped in intimacy. The nice smell of both of their excrements lingering…, always the beautiful smell of the love-one’s feces…

Coralline kissed Suze’s tears. Salted, delicious, beginning to dry. Suze kissed Coralline’s mouth. Ripe taste of quinces slightly cooked.

“What happened…?”

“That awful Chink!”

“Chuck…?”

“Chuck, yeah, whatever, the mean malicious cripple.”

“He’s not the proudest proof of civilization, that we can be sure of. And after his accident, his malignity and deviousness increased, by a thousand fold at least. Chin in chest, cackling… Flocculent, costive, bleating, flatulent, scratching his crotch, cheering at the worst moment, checking the feel of your underwear even in front of strangers, no fear of scandal…, he says, Crinoline…? Popeline…? Silk…? Aerogel…? Nanocarbon…? Elephant hide…? His lax morals emerging like lymphs and pusses with the suppurant wounds at his useless legs.”

“It’s true, he came crawling with his monstrous chair just to squeeze my cardigan… And then he asked, Had I been fucked by an elephant or what… And started ranting against the heavenly dignified pachyderms… The heresies!”

“I know, he’s so offensive! A fascist, always glibly bickering beyond the pale with would-be partners of his. Of course, with his injury he feels safe, unattackable, he deems.”

“What do they feed you, you dwarfish cow…? — he wanted to know, and I never had seen him till tonight. Such barefacedness! Do you chew the cod with meadow fescue…? Farty to hell, not a fact…? Fucking elephants, the stink! (He says.)”

“So vicious!”

“I took a stance… I said, Let’s not veer into the abominable, my boy, let’s no be so shabby… He said, What’s the matter, can’t take another’s theologumena…? I said, The hell’s that…? Is that Chinese…? He said, One’s opinions about the gods…? I said, What have the gods to do with it…? He said, You obviously one of those idolaters, a worshipper of Ganesha, that’s why you let yourself be poked by an elephant…, were you tight that night…? (He joked.)”

—So cheap, always so cheap!

—Damned Chinese, not a funny bone in them; so unfunny!

—Oh, Suze, I know where they hide a plint, you know, a table for massage…? It would sooth you so! The porters and chambermaids of this house use it, I know, I surprised them once in an orgy of sorts. All ugly people, of course…

—But the uglies have to have some fun too… I know what you mean. But don’t leave me alone, please, Coralline.

They were mixed in a single unity of emotion and affection for each other, and compatibility. All so elegant, though. No turbidity, no turpitude of the imbecilic trumpeter announcing to sundry and all his wares of misery. Both the women plumpish, fleshy, a slight surplus of fat under the skin, cushiony, a delight to bump into in a slight pumping rhythm…

As often those last days, penumbrae of pain from Suze’s tummy. A crimson parallelogram which Coralline primly clutched, massaged. “My sweet poteen, you my putty, me your Pygmalion…”, undefiled, clenching each other. Both their clamped together bodies shedding in-between their mucous seeds…

They dried up. Their recrementitious, superfluous secretions transferred to the spongy towels. And now they sat up over the thick slightly pissed carpet.

—Man, all that twisted gnarled yarn of nasty remarks against them… Why does he hate so much the stately noble animals…?

—The Chink…? He had his legs crushed by one of them, a she-elephant crazy for love. It was his predestination.

—We, the Bellvitges, our family animal is the elephant. Prominent on our family crest.

—Family crest…? Are you royalty…? Of course, I knew Thailand’s is a kingdom, but I didn’t suspect…

—We are nobility, yes.

—Wow! How fun it all must be!

—Well, there are some inconveniences, how do you call them, hassles, botherations… A few heads lopped off with every palace rebellion… Down along the paths of history, the slain, the slaughtered… Uncountable… The ship of state floundering… But then all is stabilized. Some general pawls the capstan… The ship is back in business… Gliding smoothly, swollen veils in the zephyr… The palace balls flourishing again… Pert brazen demoiselles in their viridian dresses and sparkling diamonds…

—How envious am I of all the glitter and brilliancy of it…!

—Then there are the fires… Cyclical, epochal… Like the cyclonic rains… What a silly excuse to intrude…! Here they come, the commoners, the fucking firemen, with their big-big hoses, and thick-thick dicks, sallow, infirm, never erect… And so noisome, and noisy. And useless, gaily proud, uniformed turd-sausages in the shitty tin-can trucks... The fire meanwhile catching in the notches of bygone eras, carved in every hidden place of the many vintage pieces of archaic furniture by princes and princesses enamored…

—How romantic, eh?

—You don’t know the half of it… Listen, the clammy slubberdegullions climbing to the chambers of us young things, we daintily trying to keep afloat with so much water thrown in… You would think the rude minions would turn tail with a craven apology… None of it. They tear past the curtains and the canopies… They shred out flimsy garments… They rape you outright, without attempting even a rapid-fire pantomime of courtship… They contaminate you with every sort of coarse distemper, vd’s galore, the crabs, the claptraps, the clap… And not a word of condolence, or of good-bye, the selfish brutes, now shriveled, shrunken, their braguettes full of flies, their flies, yes, oozing with the sweet spent liquors… And the fires collapsing the roofs…

—You must invite me to the palace some time…

—Next summer you are coming with us! Well, you know, your dear company, it shall be such a relief. Dick’s such a an unsophisticated drip!

—Isn’t he though! Such a wondrous nobody, and no clue as to what a woman needs…!

Adrift in their charmingly pungent ship upstairs, they seamlessly navigated the opposite fluxes crossing and re-crossing the stillness of the night… They had almost fallen asleep, when up to their slender lair the shouts of the harbingers of annoyance reached their recollected ears…

People were shouting all over corridors and stairs: “—Suze! Suze!”

“We’ll have to appear, regretfully…” Coralline came aground, the pawl touching bitter reality, their ship sadly stranded.

“…let me go first…” Suze the Thai, the dear honey who had driven Coralline to such heights of bliss, lazily said. Gasping and panting. Efforts of incorporation, with the big weight weighing her down.

Sacrificial almost, she gave herself up, emerged to the storm of the stupid guests, old Argonaut with all the thrills left behind. “You-whoo…! I’m here. Just resting a bit. Too tired, with the baby and all.”

Coralline waited, vaguely dreaming maybe of heroic firemen who drove their pawls home, catching the notches indeed, surpassing them by far, into the fathomless recesses of sensation… With Dick’s paltry dick no match at all… Not figuring even as an item to include in the figuring of who’s the best explorer… No badge for him whatsoever. A prick of a dick, Dick.

Then she also realized nobody had called after her, nobody, it seemed, missing her share of comparted humanity — it used not to be so before — how unimportant she’s becoming — the illness, her depression discarding her already from the world of the living… A mere individual in the flock now felled by the claws of the hawk — no matter, a new neighbor replacing her in the mind of those used to be conscious of her existence as of somebody else — Nina maybe flirting with Marietska — Bobby courting a young inexpert Thai, trying to hire her for a month of accelerated learning — Maximine busy catering, and betraying who else…? — everyone’s forgotten the old sputnik, as if she never had been there, flying with the rest, caroming about, in flight, involute, evolute, volute…, acrobatic as the best of them…

But it must be alright. Life like this. You are counted when you count. Absent, you’re miscounted, discounted, and everyone gone somewhere else, to something else…

And yet hope renascent, nifty, self-propelled… A flier with helicopter wings, whose verticality amazes even herself… Extricating herself from the mud. Uprooted, aloft… For now she has a nicely pliable accomplice inside the very venter of the beast. Promises in abundance. A new love a-booming too.


19.

Never so well

Never so well
nyac!

more more

Inosculated

Inosculated
anyocs de nyacs!

who the 'ell?

La meva foto
C.R. Morell his paltry efforts,

stats: