THE CONSEQUENCES NEVER CARED ABOUT ANYONE ELSE
I would like to tell you that Lauren did the right thing, that she destroyed the digital photographs, that she saved herself the embarrassment of being seen naked with that sweaty palms pitch man expert Michael. I would like to tell you that, just as I would like to tell you that I like our protagonist, I don’t. I don’t know if I am the only author in the world condemned to write about a character that I don’t particularly like and that hitherto remains the protagonist even as I have wanted to give Antoinette more life within these pages, because I like her better, I feel her better, I relate to Antoinette. Did Maria Shelly like her Frankenstein, cadaver resuscitated from death into leading protagonist? What of Bram Stoker and his Dracula, hard not to fall in love with a creature whose life is punctuated by blood, I must suppose that Oscar Wilde loved his Dorian Grey, but what a rot he was. Me, I despise Lauren. And now I can despise her even more, because she ended up delivering the photos to Ann.
Lauren could never really forgive herself or regain her respect after fucking Michael, how could she, it would be wrong to expect her to forgive herself, Michael is such a non character, non person, useless for any of societies’ objectives, and in some minute way, Lauren was aware of all that, and she was now aware that she had imprinted herself with his essence, because everyone we touch becomes a part of us, and everyone we fuck more so, and now, a bit of Lauren was in Michael, which might be bad or good depending on your perspective, but worse, a part of Michael would now forever be within her, through this universe, and through any other dimension where her essence would write her signature; there would be Michael.
Unable to come to terms with this absurd fact of the universe, Lauren sort of redeemed herself by allowing the delivery of the photos to Ann. Now Ann was not so idiotic as not to be aware at some level that Michael was a cheat and a louse as any man that wore socks while having sex naturally was; but the photographs presented a genuine problem, she could not deny it and still respect herself; all the other times the evidence wasn’t staring at her in the face, she would have honestly destroyed them and kept her chocolate factory, after all Ann was married to Michael because she did not want to look at life, you could only marry a Michael if you could only look the other way, Ann was always looking the other way; but this time, she knew that someone wanted her to see those photos, that someone would always be saying “Here look at these, this is your husband, LOOK, Look!” and when someone is telling you to look with all that intensity, you just can’t keep looking the other way. Ann left Michael.
While I am giving you the bad news I must as well tell you now that Michael did not take it well. You might say “Why would you expect him to take it well.” Because he did not love Ann, she might have been no more than a sock he used once a month, so I kind of thought he would just go to a hotel and sleep off the inconvenience of having lost both his job and his wife within forty nine hours. When Michael got home however, the only thing that was there of Ann’s was Michael in his compromising pictures, with Lauren seemingly enjoying the non orgasmic affair. Michael should have taken the contortionists look in Lauren’s face as a compliment to his manhood, instead he had it clear like a hammer to the head, that Lauren had conned him. Instead of getting himself a whiskey, which is what I would have done, he yelled, “I’ll fucking kill the bitch!” He may have repeated that many times more, through his long day and night at the house, but I don’t know, and you don’t know, because we left, we went to catch up to Habakkuk and his doings.
Just when you think you know a person something happens to let you know that you don’t know anything about that person. We are in a whorehouse, Habakkuk is here, he is fucking a whore. The act doesn’t merit description, he is there, he doesn’t make any noise, it is very obvious he is perspiring, he doesn’t want to touch her, he is touching her, his kisses faint through her thick flesh, she has huge thighs, disconcerted nipples, one of her breasts hangs lopsided, just like one of her large dark eyes, she had a generous portion of make up, underneath is her flesh trying to breath, and so the makeup cracks like earthquakes fault running from her face throughout her breasts, which also sparkle because she has sprinkled herself with star dust, her red shoes are on the floor, her bra somewhere lost in the stained sheets; Habakkuk diligently seeming to satisfy himself, pumping away, the whore bursts into tears, screams, she bites her own hand to quell her screams, afraid that they will come rescue her from this magnificent mastodon, finally Habakkuk too comes, and his body immediately stiffens, he refuses any of her caresses, lays there next to her stiff like a coconut that won’t crack but has been cracked! Stiff.
You can tell from the whore’s expression that she hopes she gets pregnant from this, Habakkuk is probably thinking that he has caught aids, but most strange, he had refused to use a condom, had had to pay forty three dollars extra for whore’s dangerous inconvenience, and now she was attempting to caress his hair, and hoping that she was pregnant with his child. It wasn’t until Habakkuk got up, silently dressed, and walked out without saying a word, not a one word, it was only then that the whore remembered that she was a prostitute, and that nothing had changed. She didn’t cry, she stayed on, comforted by the wet bedding, and somehow knowing that wherever she went in the universe, her signature would have a little of a prophet in it.
While prophets are good at the foretelling of magnanimous events, they are rarely very good with everyday life. By helping Lauren, Habakkuk had become a basic human being, he had reduced his metaphysical signature and his stature was more that of a common man, he of course knew this and when he slept with the whore he knew that he was sacrificing his goat. Prophets call their penises goats because they know that they will never use them, and that if they do fornicate it is a sacrifice and not a ritualistic sacrifice, but a carnal sacrifice which has no merit in the metaphysical stock exchange. The whore was a suicide pill for Habakkuk at the metaphysical level, he would never obtain higher origins, he would never visit the saints; he was about to become Moses, aware of the promise of the divine glory, but never would he experience it; he had sentenced himself to a metaphysical free zone, slowly over the coming months, he would grow more earthbound, where he might even reach such carnal levels as to like American football, eventually though the rot would consume him, the prophet saw himself, on the streets of New York, searching the garbage cans for bagels or doughnuts, he would not be wrong, you may know it now, perhaps the only prophecy which hitherto we can count to come true. See him there, in an alley, next to a garbage bin, dead, with a coke bottle holding his hands clenched.
And this is why I despise Lauren, and maybe you are getting the picture too, Michael and now Habakkuk.
Before visiting the whore, before that dismal and tragic event, Habakkuk had consulted his spiritual adviser. Lola. Lola was a fat lady with all the charm in the universe pounded thick inside of her. Lola was flamboyantly colorful, her gestures were always earth moving trucks and she read the Tarot for everyday common folk, that never really got any of her readings, and life never quite turned out the way she meant for it to turn out because her paying customers did not know that you could not buy your fortune, nor can the future be divined through the interaction of a paying customer and a fortune teller. Money was a grounding force, money cashed in the future NOW. But it would be wrong to expect Lola’s customers to comprehend that, and it would be even more wrong to expect Lola to tell them, Lola was here to help a few prophets with her localized energy gifts, her paying customers were how she paid the rent in this dimension, she wasn’t kidding herself and her true friends knew it, and Habakkuk was a true spiritual friend, and while he had far surpassed her mystically and metaphysically, and had certainly been much closer to being a Buddha, in the near, here, his eternal curve didn’t materialize. Lola guided our blind prophet well throughout the years, she had predicted Lauren’s entrance, she had predicted the five dead parrots, and she had told him that he needed to find the sacred statue. And now, when he needed to find the Pink parrot killer, she told him he would have to go to the whore with the red shoes.
To the unaware of some of the weirdest laws in the universe, this could only mean the possibility of a venereal disease and/or sex without the inconvenient psychological entanglements of a relationship; to Lola and to Habakkuk it meant the loss of his virginity. Prophets and mystics in order to reach the height of their spiritual prowess and to admit within themselves the cosmic so that they may reach full awareness must absorb their entire essence in carnal abstinence. The energies which carnalize the here and now are extremely tense and constantly rub with everything else in order to excrete the material, in order to walk among everything one must extract oneself from the tensions, and this mandates a definite proclivity towards maximum abstinence. Habakkuk for instance, performed a strange ritual, the entire purpose of which was the absorption of his semen by mentally inducing it to ascend through his spine ending in essence on his frontal lobe. But now Habakkuk would not be able to do that anymore, his essence would be stained with that of the whore with the red shoes. Understanding his destiny from there, at least in part, Habakkuk kissed Lola on the lips so that their rich saliva’s could contravene, and, enriched with each others fluids, they parted aware that they would never see each other again; and knowing that the only person who could change that was Habakkuk, wasn’t going to change it. Why was he doing it? Why for Lauren? Why!!
Whores are common creatures throughout the history of the universe, there are whores everywhere, part of their frequency rate factor is due to the Akashic records, whores channel weaker energies for the medium to collect, whores hold weaker energy like an oven keeping something warm, until someone comes to pick it up, the someone can be a source that delivers the awareness of the collected weaker energies to the Akashic records, or it can be very low earth energy awareness that is meant for local but common consumption. A whore holds all the human energies of all the men that have entered her essence, and within those male energies are all the feminine energies that they have copulated with, and even some registration of massive platonic energies, and the whore medium passes these on to those that touch them, creating a greater sense of the disparate communities via the accumulated energies, of scum or wisdom that pass their way. The only way to get to Pink, was through whore energies because Pink was a pervert. Habakkuk had gone to the whore with the red shoes to collect Pink’s essence, this he did because only the one that killed the parrots, knew what they were going to tell Lauren.
Lauren could never really forgive herself or regain her respect after fucking Michael, how could she, it would be wrong to expect her to forgive herself, Michael is such a non character, non person, useless for any of societies’ objectives, and in some minute way, Lauren was aware of all that, and she was now aware that she had imprinted herself with his essence, because everyone we touch becomes a part of us, and everyone we fuck more so, and now, a bit of Lauren was in Michael, which might be bad or good depending on your perspective, but worse, a part of Michael would now forever be within her, through this universe, and through any other dimension where her essence would write her signature; there would be Michael.
Unable to come to terms with this absurd fact of the universe, Lauren sort of redeemed herself by allowing the delivery of the photos to Ann. Now Ann was not so idiotic as not to be aware at some level that Michael was a cheat and a louse as any man that wore socks while having sex naturally was; but the photographs presented a genuine problem, she could not deny it and still respect herself; all the other times the evidence wasn’t staring at her in the face, she would have honestly destroyed them and kept her chocolate factory, after all Ann was married to Michael because she did not want to look at life, you could only marry a Michael if you could only look the other way, Ann was always looking the other way; but this time, she knew that someone wanted her to see those photos, that someone would always be saying “Here look at these, this is your husband, LOOK, Look!” and when someone is telling you to look with all that intensity, you just can’t keep looking the other way. Ann left Michael.
While I am giving you the bad news I must as well tell you now that Michael did not take it well. You might say “Why would you expect him to take it well.” Because he did not love Ann, she might have been no more than a sock he used once a month, so I kind of thought he would just go to a hotel and sleep off the inconvenience of having lost both his job and his wife within forty nine hours. When Michael got home however, the only thing that was there of Ann’s was Michael in his compromising pictures, with Lauren seemingly enjoying the non orgasmic affair. Michael should have taken the contortionists look in Lauren’s face as a compliment to his manhood, instead he had it clear like a hammer to the head, that Lauren had conned him. Instead of getting himself a whiskey, which is what I would have done, he yelled, “I’ll fucking kill the bitch!” He may have repeated that many times more, through his long day and night at the house, but I don’t know, and you don’t know, because we left, we went to catch up to Habakkuk and his doings.
Just when you think you know a person something happens to let you know that you don’t know anything about that person. We are in a whorehouse, Habakkuk is here, he is fucking a whore. The act doesn’t merit description, he is there, he doesn’t make any noise, it is very obvious he is perspiring, he doesn’t want to touch her, he is touching her, his kisses faint through her thick flesh, she has huge thighs, disconcerted nipples, one of her breasts hangs lopsided, just like one of her large dark eyes, she had a generous portion of make up, underneath is her flesh trying to breath, and so the makeup cracks like earthquakes fault running from her face throughout her breasts, which also sparkle because she has sprinkled herself with star dust, her red shoes are on the floor, her bra somewhere lost in the stained sheets; Habakkuk diligently seeming to satisfy himself, pumping away, the whore bursts into tears, screams, she bites her own hand to quell her screams, afraid that they will come rescue her from this magnificent mastodon, finally Habakkuk too comes, and his body immediately stiffens, he refuses any of her caresses, lays there next to her stiff like a coconut that won’t crack but has been cracked! Stiff.
You can tell from the whore’s expression that she hopes she gets pregnant from this, Habakkuk is probably thinking that he has caught aids, but most strange, he had refused to use a condom, had had to pay forty three dollars extra for whore’s dangerous inconvenience, and now she was attempting to caress his hair, and hoping that she was pregnant with his child. It wasn’t until Habakkuk got up, silently dressed, and walked out without saying a word, not a one word, it was only then that the whore remembered that she was a prostitute, and that nothing had changed. She didn’t cry, she stayed on, comforted by the wet bedding, and somehow knowing that wherever she went in the universe, her signature would have a little of a prophet in it.
While prophets are good at the foretelling of magnanimous events, they are rarely very good with everyday life. By helping Lauren, Habakkuk had become a basic human being, he had reduced his metaphysical signature and his stature was more that of a common man, he of course knew this and when he slept with the whore he knew that he was sacrificing his goat. Prophets call their penises goats because they know that they will never use them, and that if they do fornicate it is a sacrifice and not a ritualistic sacrifice, but a carnal sacrifice which has no merit in the metaphysical stock exchange. The whore was a suicide pill for Habakkuk at the metaphysical level, he would never obtain higher origins, he would never visit the saints; he was about to become Moses, aware of the promise of the divine glory, but never would he experience it; he had sentenced himself to a metaphysical free zone, slowly over the coming months, he would grow more earthbound, where he might even reach such carnal levels as to like American football, eventually though the rot would consume him, the prophet saw himself, on the streets of New York, searching the garbage cans for bagels or doughnuts, he would not be wrong, you may know it now, perhaps the only prophecy which hitherto we can count to come true. See him there, in an alley, next to a garbage bin, dead, with a coke bottle holding his hands clenched.
And this is why I despise Lauren, and maybe you are getting the picture too, Michael and now Habakkuk.
Before visiting the whore, before that dismal and tragic event, Habakkuk had consulted his spiritual adviser. Lola. Lola was a fat lady with all the charm in the universe pounded thick inside of her. Lola was flamboyantly colorful, her gestures were always earth moving trucks and she read the Tarot for everyday common folk, that never really got any of her readings, and life never quite turned out the way she meant for it to turn out because her paying customers did not know that you could not buy your fortune, nor can the future be divined through the interaction of a paying customer and a fortune teller. Money was a grounding force, money cashed in the future NOW. But it would be wrong to expect Lola’s customers to comprehend that, and it would be even more wrong to expect Lola to tell them, Lola was here to help a few prophets with her localized energy gifts, her paying customers were how she paid the rent in this dimension, she wasn’t kidding herself and her true friends knew it, and Habakkuk was a true spiritual friend, and while he had far surpassed her mystically and metaphysically, and had certainly been much closer to being a Buddha, in the near, here, his eternal curve didn’t materialize. Lola guided our blind prophet well throughout the years, she had predicted Lauren’s entrance, she had predicted the five dead parrots, and she had told him that he needed to find the sacred statue. And now, when he needed to find the Pink parrot killer, she told him he would have to go to the whore with the red shoes.
To the unaware of some of the weirdest laws in the universe, this could only mean the possibility of a venereal disease and/or sex without the inconvenient psychological entanglements of a relationship; to Lola and to Habakkuk it meant the loss of his virginity. Prophets and mystics in order to reach the height of their spiritual prowess and to admit within themselves the cosmic so that they may reach full awareness must absorb their entire essence in carnal abstinence. The energies which carnalize the here and now are extremely tense and constantly rub with everything else in order to excrete the material, in order to walk among everything one must extract oneself from the tensions, and this mandates a definite proclivity towards maximum abstinence. Habakkuk for instance, performed a strange ritual, the entire purpose of which was the absorption of his semen by mentally inducing it to ascend through his spine ending in essence on his frontal lobe. But now Habakkuk would not be able to do that anymore, his essence would be stained with that of the whore with the red shoes. Understanding his destiny from there, at least in part, Habakkuk kissed Lola on the lips so that their rich saliva’s could contravene, and, enriched with each others fluids, they parted aware that they would never see each other again; and knowing that the only person who could change that was Habakkuk, wasn’t going to change it. Why was he doing it? Why for Lauren? Why!!
Whores are common creatures throughout the history of the universe, there are whores everywhere, part of their frequency rate factor is due to the Akashic records, whores channel weaker energies for the medium to collect, whores hold weaker energy like an oven keeping something warm, until someone comes to pick it up, the someone can be a source that delivers the awareness of the collected weaker energies to the Akashic records, or it can be very low earth energy awareness that is meant for local but common consumption. A whore holds all the human energies of all the men that have entered her essence, and within those male energies are all the feminine energies that they have copulated with, and even some registration of massive platonic energies, and the whore medium passes these on to those that touch them, creating a greater sense of the disparate communities via the accumulated energies, of scum or wisdom that pass their way. The only way to get to Pink, was through whore energies because Pink was a pervert. Habakkuk had gone to the whore with the red shoes to collect Pink’s essence, this he did because only the one that killed the parrots, knew what they were going to tell Lauren.
posted by Ricardo Correa at 9:56 PM
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