#BECAUSE it is jeremy being a shell of a human being that has brought him to this point.
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Everlife chapter 16
Today's review might be difficult for some; reader discretion is advised
Click to see the rest of the snark & image descriptions
Chapter 16
“If your man cannot break Miss Lockwood, then we will kill the humans infected with Penumbra. Those who exhibit the traits of an Abrogate.”
What, does he not know the names of his own people, and yet he knows mine?
Not to play the literal devil’s advocate here, but why the hell would he know the names of random peons, vs the one girl who’s trying to bring about his downfall?
“The Grid,” Victor says. “Her friends. They love each other.”
They say that the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes that day!
“Say goodbye to your PB&J.” At his confused look, I add, “One day I’m going to knock your penis, brain and jaw right off your—”
What the fuck.
WHAT THE FUUUUUCK.
Again I see a dark-haired little boy, but this time, the image has nothing to do with Killian. This boy is no more than ten years old, perched at the edge of a bed, trembling. Like Zhi, he has dark eyes with a ring of ebony around the edge.
Realization: Not like Zhi at all—the boy is Zhi.
Tears slip down his cheeks, but he’s careful to swallow his whimpers so that he never makes a sound. There’s a cut on his lip, and drops of crimson blood drying on his chin, proving he’s human. There’s also a knot in his jaw.
His father paces in front of him, his fisted hands smeared with crimson. His blood, as well as his son’s. The last time he punched, Zhi’s teeth cut into his knuckles.
“We are Troikans,” his father snarls. “Your visit to the Myriadian center has shamed us. Our loyalty will be questioned now. How could you do this to us?”
Here’s the thing: nobody fucking cares about this. Please move the fuck on.
Victor stalks to me, leaving his Shell behind. He is pale and sickly thin, with tiny nubs growing at the ends of his arms.
I’m sure that the author intended for this to be read in a body horror kind of way. But the only thing that I’m thinking about is Deadpool’s “Like KFC spork” baby hands.
Tomorrow, when—if—other Abrogates arrive, I’ll be ready.
Chapter 16 summary: They torture Ten for days. However, even the narration seems bored with the entire thing, which is frustrating because it’s like… YOU WROTE IT!!
Finally, Ten tries to tell Archer to pull back his internal support. He refuses. And then she hears from Jeremy, who fills her with so much love that the love turns into light and strengthens her.
Ambrosine orders her to be moved, but as Zhi goes to grab her, Ten is filled with some of his memories. Of his father smacking him around and generally being a really terrible parent. And the take-away from it is supposed to be that Ten saw all of this, felt sympathy and sorrow for the man who’d been torturing her for days, and that sympathy somehow weakened him. But the only thing that I’m getting is like… That you can only bring down your enemies if they have some kind of TRAJIK backstory. Not if they’re simply terrible people. So the entire thing is honestly kind of dumb.
But anyway, Ten decides to test this theory and throws love at Victor when he tries to attack her, and this randomly stops him. And I don’t know how this managed to go from bad to worse, but here we are.
The chapter ends with Ten randomly lording over Victor that Archer was brought back from thirdlife.
#everlife#everlife series#bookblr#readers of tumblr#book review#scifi#dystopia#ya novels#romance novels#religious imagery
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Humans are Space Orcs, “Medal of Honor.”
Ok that second to last part was hard to write, damn. Anyway read to the end to get an idea of where the next arc is going :)
A gentle breeze cut over the open field outside UNSC headquarters. Blue UN flags whipped lightly in the wind, and the sun shone down, though its rays beat against a crowd of somber figures all dressed sharply for the morning, men and women alike.
Camera crews had set up just off to the side of the stage, where Admiral Kelly stood in her dress greys along with white gloves and cords at the shoulder, her hands resting against the lectern as if searching for support somewhere.
“And it is with great regret that I must report Commander Vir of the UNSC Missing in Action.”
This was not news to the assembled crowd, so there was no gasping, no cries of alarm, only solemn silence.
“Commander Vir was…. a … a true representative of what it means to be human, and what it means to be a member of the UNSC. He was brave, loyal, diligent, and, from personal experience, I can vouch for his character as one of the best men I have ever known. He was a man who…. Wasn’t afraid to be himself, kind, trusting, and fun-loving. There were at times were members of the UNSC wondered if he was ready to command a ship. There were times when we questioned whether he was even capable of leading, but it is more than safe to say that Commander Adam Allen Vir has proved himself without a doubt. Two nights ago, the U.N.S.S Harbinger was set upon by a burg surprise attack. Commander vir took charge of the fleet admirably, though sources and footage report a linking of 40 kree satellites that created some sort of…” She paused here, “We aren't entirely sure, a black hole, or wormhole, or warp, tunnel. Commander Vir’s ship was caught in the pull.”
Kelly straightened up, “And in an act of great honor and selflessness, commander Vir initiated the shatter protocol. Because of his efforts, the rest of the harbinger crew made it out alive with only three casualties, and one life pod still missing in action. The ship itself will undergo reassembly at the Europa station. “ More flags flapped, and behind her on the stage, five other Admirals, the secretary of intergalactic affairs, the GA representative, and the UN President sat heads bowed slightly.
“Commander Vir, remained in command until his signal was lost. Efforts are currently being made to determine what the device did, so we can definitely determine what happened to Earths favorite hero.”
She turned stepping back a little as the UN president stood and walked forward clearing his throat two assistants walking behind him off to the side of the stage a man was brought up. He wore a well worn-but finely tailored suit, though is eyes were red. The UN president straightened his back and turned to look at the man as cameras flashed , “After deliberation with the UN council and members of the GA, we have determined that Commander Vir’s actions in battle are of the highest degree, and would thus award him the UNSC Medal of Honor.” The two assistants Flipped open the two identical cases as pictures snapped, and the boxes were eventually handed over to Jim Vir who took them in shaking hands.
“The UNSC and the GA thank your son for his service, and we will do everything in our power to get him home…. No matter what.”
The man’s face remained stoically flat, though in the bright light of the sun golden tears rolled down his cheeks, and dripped onto the velvet interior of the case. He was led from stage as admiral Kelly returned to her feet, “The burg have harassed and harried the GA and the UNSC almost since inception. Their actions over the Kree home world are reprehensible, and as of now the GA has declared open war on the Burg, a decision that the UNSC unanimously supports. We will not bow before tyrants, and it is now that we ask young men and women of earth, of Mars and of the colonies, tot take up arms like commander Vir in defense of earth, and in defense of the galaxy. Let us not, allow his sacrifice to go meaningless.”
***
“No, he’s not dead!”
“Mrs Vir.
“He's not dead! I would know if he's dead, and I know he’s not dead!”
Maverick stood in the center of the Vir family living room her hands clasped before her. This was her least favorite duty as ship chaplain, but she hadn’t wanted anyone else to do it.
Martha Vir walked in a tight circle ringing her hands.
“Ma’am.”
“Don’t you ma’am me! We should be out there looking for him! He could be sick or hurt or or…
“Ma’am, the UNSC is doing everything in their power. As of now he is only considered Missing in action, not dead.” She reached out a hand to rest on the woman’s shoulder but took it back at the last moment, “Things are not without hope.”
Across the room Jim Vir stood staring out the window back hunched head bowed. His hard calloused hands were balled into fists at his sides.
Jeremy sat on the couch looking dumbstruck shaking his head, “no…. No i’m sure hes alright, that bastard could survive anything he…. Hes like that, our little brother.”
Across from him David stood with his partner Jordan. David’s cheek twitched hard eyes filling up with moisture that he tried to hold back as he looked up at the ceiling. David wrapped his arms around him, and as soon as that happened David broke dropping his head into one hand body shaking silently.
Maya sat shell shocked in her father’s favorite chair .
There was silence for a long moment and then, “This is bullshit!��� Everyone turned to where Thomas had stood knocking over a chair in the process. His scruffy hair was in disarray, “This is some fucking bullshit!”
“Thomas!”
“No! Don’t THOMAS me, this if bull- shit! You should be out there looking for him! Because he's fucking alive, so fuck you and, and all of your stupid….” His voice cut off, and he stood there mouth opening and closing for a moment before he turned and raced out the door slamming it behind him as he went.
Everyone was silent.
“I’m sorry about Th-”
“It's ok…. I get it, and I feel the same way.”
Outside Thomas paced around the front yard before sitting on the front step head in his hands.
Sobbing quietly.
***
Cannon had to pry open the door from the outside. The frame had been warped and bent at some point, and that made it difficult to get inside. His heart was pounding as the other marines worked to help him. Jamming his spear into the crack, and with all four of them resting their body weight on it, they were just able to pop the seal.
There was a sharp hiss as the interior of the compartment pressurized to the air around it. Cannon rammed his shoulder into the door once twice, and then finally it popped inward the warped damage to the inside fixed enough for the door to slide open.
Deep blue light filtered in from the docking bay of captain Koslov’s ship and into the interior compartment falling on a figure kneeling at it’s center.
Cannon went to rush forward hands outstretched to the figure but paused in horror. The room was covered in blood, orange like the rising sun over Anin. A broken steel spear shaft lay on the ground snapped in half like a stick over a child’s knee. At the center of this carnage, She knelt blue carapace marred with blood hands twisted into claws torn and bleeding The metal about the room had been dented beyond repair, long scratches marred the metal.
“Sunny,” He whispered softly
When no answer came, he stepped forward into the room and walked over, slowly kneeling down before her.
Both sets of her hands rested on her legs, and her head was bowed eyes closed.
He reached out resting a hand over hers, “Sunny?”
Slowly her eyes opened, and she tilted her head up to look at him. Little droplets of blood speckled her face though the expression was completely dead, dead mostly but for the burning rage behind her golden eyes. He sat back in shock.
He had only ever seen that look on one other person in his life.
On the face of General Cosma after the death of their father.
“I’m going to kill them all.”
***
KIA
Olivia Wild - Engineering
Chris Hallis - Marine
Trevor Lane - Pilot
MIA
Adam Vir
Dr. Krill
***
Waffles waited on the tarmac at Fort Harmony airbase, and waited, and waited. She stood, walked around for a bit, then sat down.
She waited resting her head on her paws and staring up at the sky.
She waited as the sun grew high into noon and then sunk downwards towards the distant ocean. She could smell it on the air, a salty tang.
She waited as the sun dipped towards the horizon.
Waffles stood picking up the dusty white captain’s cap in her mouth and walking over to a patch of grass where she sat and continued to wait. The smell on the hat was still strong. Off in the distance engines roared, and she perked her ears up, standing on the tarmac and watching as an F-90 darkfire rolled down onto the field. Her tail began to wag and she broke into a trot towards the taxiing plane. Her body wiggled and her nose twitched with excited sniffling.
The canopy opened, and waffle’s tail dropped sagging towards the hot tarmac that burned her paws a little. She let the dusty cap drop from her mouth and onto the hot surface flopping down beside it, her nose resting where, with every breath, she could smell the familiar scent.
She whined quietly, looking up as a figure walked forward over the tarmac.
It was a distantly familiar smell but not the one she wanted. Chief Palmer stopped next to her and knelt down, running a gentle hand over her ears. His voice was soft, “Still waiting, huh girl?”
She beat her tail half-heartedly against the ground.
He stood, “Come on girl, lets go inside.” She didn’t move
He whistled, and her ears twitched, but she didn’t come. He sighed and walked over sitting next to her, “Well, maybe we can wait together for a little bit. It grew dark as they waited, and he stroked a gentle hand down her back.
After a bit, he reached over gently pulling the cap from under her snout. She lifted her head, “Promise I’ll give it back.” he said taking a moment to dust the dirt from the white top before handing it back.
‘“I have to go ok.” He said standing, “But I understand you have to wait.”
She whimpered softly. He bit his lip and turned away wiping at his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
The sun sunk lower, lights flicked on over the tarmac. Men in orange vests passed by patting her on the head and whispering soft things to her as they did. One man came by with a blanket, draped over her form the cold.
A figure in white billowed behind her its strange human voice inside her head waiting with her.
The night got colder, and Waffles looked up at the sky whimpering softly at the stars, waiting, still waiting.
***
The inky blue sky was alight with fire as debris rained down from above. Animals raced over the sandy dunes across an inland sea in fear and shock as great pieces of metal crashed to the ground with fiery explosions.
A small metal ball with the lines. LIFE POD 37 on the outside crashed towards the sea.
Overhead the night sky was dominated by the glowing rings formed about the planet, and the glowing orbit of Seven moons, some barely pinpricks against the night.
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Covert Operations - Chapter 107
SYNOPSIS: The fact that both of their operatives are injured at the moment poses several pressing problems for Madeline and Operations. So, the two Section leaders make their way to Medical to check on Jamie’s status and talk with his doctor about his prognosis. When Jamie is operated on to remove the bullet lodged in his shoulder Madeline gives the surgeons an ultimatum. Meanwhile, sometime later, Murtagh and Fergus also visit Med Lab to see their friends only to find that Jamie has been taken into surgery.
Chapter 106 and all other previous chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations
THANK YOU. I appreciate everyone who has taken the time to read, like or reblog my story, and particularly for leaving your thoughts.
CHAPTER 107
Dougal Mackenzie’s gait was pronounced as with Madeline they walked away from a shell shocked Murtagh Fitzgibbons and made their way towards Medical. The scene that had just transpired had been most unexpected on many levels and Section’s leader was still smarting from Murtagh’s reluctance to accept his gesture of more time for his debrief. His munitions’ expert obviously expected there were strings attached. It wasn’t often that he showed any compassion and it had obviously sent him into a loop. Consequently, Operations looked forward to reading Geillis Duncan’s report as to the older operative’s performance as well as his account of the mission also. Having two different perspectives on what had happened would be most enlightening. In fact, depending on the outcome, it may very well influence any decision as to Murtagh being utilised in the field again in the near future.
His second concern was reluctantly for James Fraser’s status. His rapid decline had been out of the blue. So, what had really happened to him? How and why was he shot? Reading Jamie’s debrief when he was able to write it, may shed some light onto what had actually transpired but given his condition that could be in several days. Perhaps it was just a lucky shot by a hostile that had unfortunately had maximum effect. Thinking back over Jamie’s actions, Operations was not surprised by his operative’s reluctance to show that he was badly injured in any way. The Level 5 operative always gave the impression that he was impervious to frailty when his own wellbeing was brought into contention; however, the injury was obviously much worse than anyone had ever imagined or that he indeed was letting on.
However, Fraser’s main concern had been for Claire Beauchamp. Operations scowled.
Madeline and he knew of his weaknesses for his partner and he’d demonstrated that openly in the way he’d acted tonight. Still, it was a major concern of theirs that this relationship would affect Jamie’s performances in the field. They expected nothing short of perfection from their Level 5 cold operative. They couldn’t let anything or anyone interfere with their plans for him. Hence it was something they needed to monitor more closely but right now they wanted to check on his condition. Despite their differences with Jamie over the years his value as an operative remained strong. They could ill afford to lose him right in the middle of a crucial mission.
Madeline too was debating with her own mind’s counsel.
The fact that Jamie was injured and may take time to recover as well as Claire’s need for rehabilitation posed several pressing problems for her and Dougal. Section One had come so far in tracking down the Rising Dragons triad members and she knew it would not be long until Sun Yee Lok was himself captured and brought to justice. However, there would be the added problem with Claire if Jamie didn’t pull through … they may well have a blithering mess on their hands with her. Would she be able to recover from his death? … She didn’t need to answer that question, she already knew the answer.
There were no two ways about this … There was only one scenario that was feasible and she would accept no other.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Both leaders of Section were mulling over in their minds a contingency plan if indeed Jamie didn’t make it through the operation yet neither of them wanted to voice them out loud. Madeline however, did broach the subject that was uppermost in her thoughts.
“What are you going to do about the Rising Dragons’ mission Dougal?”
He looked at her and raised his eyebrow in query. “What do you mean?”
She said only one word. “Jamie.”
“What? ... If he dies?” ... Why don't you tell me?”
“James Fraser is strong. He won’t die,” was her pragmatic reply. “Besides, I have faith in the medical team.”
He smiled at her optimism. “I can see that you’ve made up your mind Madeline.”
“He’s too valuable to Section at the moment. He'd be too hard to replace.”
Operations looked at his second in command for a minute reflectively, “Yes, there aren't many like him.”
Echoing his sentiments on their Level 5 operative, she confirmed his qualities. “He’s good. He and Claire together are quite good.”
“They’ve performed well on this mission so far ... we can ill afford to lose him.”
“Yes ... then there would be the added problem of Claire if we do.”
“Exactly. The odds still aren't good, are they?”
“No ... I don’t think so.”
“But if there is one chance in three that he will survive?”
“Then it’s good odds.”
“I want Fraser to live. I am human after all.”
“Really? Are you sure it’s not because we are so close to capturing Sun Yee Lok?”
Aggrieved by her off-the-cuff comment Operations stopped walking and looked at his second in command. “Are you saying I have ulterior motives?”
“No.”
“Oh … then I obviously lack compassion!”
“No ... you lack the good judgement that comes from having a small dose of it Dougal.”
“What about the compassion I’ve shown from time after time? Let me guess: you want to make a point.”
Not necessarily ... but compassion is a weakness you have continually frowned upon in Claire ... yet you showed some to Murtagh this evening. Did you mean it?”
“Of course I meant it!”
“You’re a ruthless man, Dougal Mackenzie. And that's good. It’s good for Section One and all the operatives to know where you stand. You do your job with clarity and I respect that. But you threw Fitzgibbons for a loop. It may take him a while to come to terms with that.”
Operations grinned complacently. “I like to keep people unbalanced.”
“True … but don’t shoot the messenger. I think it’s a good thing for the reasons you’ve said.”
“Good ... well what are we arguing about then?”
“I don’t know ...” Madeline gave him an enigmatic smile. “Jamie and Claire?”
“I want to know how his condition will affect them and in turn us.”
“Jamie is not a threat to us at the moment, on the contrary he is vulnerable and it appears as if his condition is touch and go at the moment.”
“But he could be.”
“Not if we play our cards right. Fortunately, even the best have weaknesses. We must not misjudge him for it will result badly for us.”
“And we wouldn’t want that … would we?”
“I’m sure we’ll keep on top of it.”
“I expect nothing less of you Madeline.”
“It will be a while until both of them are back to their peak condition, so if Jamie pulls through they will need some downtime to recuperate. We can plan our next course of action then.”
“So be it. We've been through worse.”
Operations smiled and nodded at Madeline then they continued on towards Medical.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
The two leaders entered the Infirmary and immediately made for the area where they saw curtains drawn around two cubicles.
“How are they doing Dr Foster?”
“Not so good ... especially James Fraser. He’s fading in and out of consciousness but we're put him through every conceivable test we can.”
“Is there a problem?”
“Jamie’s X-rays show that the bullet is lodged in his chest. There are also fragments of bone as the bullet shattered his clavicle,” the doctor replied in answer to their question.
“I see.”
“How did this happen?”
Jeremy Foster glanced anxiously at the two leaders. “It appears he was shot from an acute angle, probably from above. The bullet entered the shoulder and passed through to lodge in the chest area. He’ll need immediate surgery to remove it ...”
Judging by his worried look they suspected the physician was holding back information. “Is there something you’re not telling us doctor?”
“Jamie’s lost a lot of blood … he’ll need to be transfused during and possibly after the operation but …”
Madeline and Operations gave each other a quick glance then interjected before he could finish. “Do you have enough supplies on hand for a blood transfusion?”
“We have a few units of Jamie’s blood left, but if he needs more than we have in stock we could be in trouble.”
The situation could become grim and Doctor Foster knew it. There were no guarantees that Jamie would need less blood units than they had available. It was better to have an abundance than a shortage especially if the Level 5 operative had complications from the surgery. He forged ahead and broached the subject area even he had no knowledge of.
“We’ll need to know the donors of his blood type so that arrangements can be made for them to donate blood if it’s required.”
“That Intel is classified … you’ll have to work with the supplies you’ve already got.” Operations stated categorically putting a stop to any further conversation on the matter.
Jeremy Foster tried to interject, “But …”
“Operations and I will make those arrangements if and when they are needed.”
Madeline was adamant in her statement that only they would disclose that information if it was essential or indeed necessary. They had a reluctance to share with Dr Foster the intricacies of Jamie’s blood type and had made the decision to have his details suppressed. Except for the head surgeon, Medical personnel were on a need-to-know basis, and if Med-Lab had enough units of blood to see them through then so be it. Classified information about their key operatives was classified for a reason. Should Intel leak out to their enemies that James Fraser had a rare blood group or any intel about his DNA then he could be in a vulnerable position. This Intel could be used against him should he be captured; hence they couldn’t risk him being compromised in any way. However much they may regret their decision towards the physician, they stood by it. If the situation became dire then they would make contingency plans, but until then they would leave it as the status quo.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Knowing that Section’s leaders would not budge on classified Intel about James Fraser, his hands were tied. “Very well … I’ll inform Dr Khan. He’s been paged and is on his way.”
“Good. We’ll be in the observation room. Have him see us before he preps for any operation.”
“Yes sir.”
With that directive, Operations and Madeline left Medical for the surgical viewing area where they could observe the medical team in action.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A little while later, Murtagh and Fergus quietly approached the glass-paned doors of Medical and peered in through the panels, however, they were unable to see clearly, so when the automatic doors opened they entered and stood side by side and looked around. Their eyes strained to see if they could see either Jamie or Claire, but they were nowhere to be seen. It was evident though; that a flurry of activity was going on around them once they were inside the room. They could hear the sound of voices coming from some cubicles where the curtains were drawn. Edging closer, Murtagh and Fergus made their way to the partitions in which they thought the two operatives were obviously being attended to in the hope of eavesdropping to find out any information.
The sound of a curtain opening caused the two men to jump back as if caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Guiltily, they turned their heads and looked up. A Med-Lab doctor emerged with a trolley of medical equipment and monitors.
Murtagh was the first to speak. “Hey Doc … It must be pretty crazy back there.”
Caught unawares he looked up to find the two men standing there. “What! ... What are you doing here?” The doctor snapped as he looked at Murtagh then Fergus.
Innocently Murtagh replied as they followed him, “Come on Doc give us a break. We came to check on Jamie and Claire.”
“How are they?” Fergus added as they watched the doctor reorganise the trolley with a fresh supply of materials.
Knowing that Fitzgibbons had been on the mission to rescue Claire and where Jamie had been injured, he took sympathy on the pitiful twosome. “They’re both not out of the woods yet.”
Murtagh looked over to the shrouded partitions. His face had a far-away expression, thinking about what was happening inside the cubicles with his two friends. “Will Jamie be okay? The medics said he was barely alive.”
Dr Foster stopped what he was doing and replied, “Had it not been for your swift actions earlier we may have lost him.”
“Oh my god!” Fergus gushed out loud.
“Can we see him?”
“That’s not possible. The medics have taken him to surgery.”
“What? ... Jamie’s in surgery?”
“Yes.”
“Was there a problem?”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Digesting the meaning of his words, Murtagh eyed the doctor with an uneasy glance while preparing himself for the worst-case scenario. This couldn’t be happening. James Fraser was strong ... what had gone wrong? He was very worried. Beside him Fergus too was uneasy.
Jeremy Foster studied their expressions. He weighed up his options and finally came to the decision that telling them something was better than making them worry all night or more to the point staging a vigil until the morning. “As you know, Jamie wasn’t in a good condition when he arrived, but the medical staff moved swiftly to see that he got to surgery A.S.A.P.”
He then looked from one man to the other. However, there was something in the doctor’s eyes that made the older operative wary. “I see ...”
Fergus held his breath, then asked the question they were both thinking. “He’s not going to die, is he?”
Murtagh tried to assuage some of the tension. “Of course, he’s not going to die you dolt! This is James Fraser we’re talking about Fergus. But I guess if someone wants to die, one reason is as good as another. Personally, being in love always made me want to live … Jamie will want to live,” he added enigmatically.
Dr Foster had a slight smile on his face seeing the banter between the two friends. “No ... We’re doing our best to see that doesn’t happen. Dr Khan is performing emergency surgery at the moment to remove the bullet from his shoulder.”
Although his words were reassuring, when Murtagh looked at the doctor he realised that he was holding back. “You’re not telling us everything ... are you?”
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Madeline and Operations stood in the observation deck overlooking the Infirmary. Below them James Fraser was lying on a table surrounded by the operating team who were to perform the emergency surgery. As the two observed the medical staff’s preparation for Jamie’s operation their thoughts turned to when he had first come into Section ...
Madeline ever the strategist was pragmatic in her assessment of their Level 5 cold operative.
James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser brought into Section One 10 years ago, graduated training 9 months early; moved directly to Level 3. His continual ascent within Section was due not only to his tactical and strategic abilities, but his primal approach. He had always shown an otherworldly disregard for his own well-being. More than anyone else, Jamie had been true to the highest principles that define this organization.
She saw similarities in Jamie that paralleled her own ideals for there was nothing she would not do for the Section. His rise within the ranks was meteoric and well deserved. Jamie had been groomed as a potential leader, but ever since Claire’s arrival he’d changed. The changes were very subtle and not that noticeable but to her trained eye the relationship between the operatives was one that concerned her. Tonight, James Fraser had given her much to think about.
Operations’ eyes scanned the operating theatre too where Section’s best operative lay at the mercy of the medical team. Although Jamie and he had not always seen eye to eye, he was nonetheless proud of his skill as a cold operative. Time and again the younger man had pulled off the impossible on missions to reach the end game. His ruthlessness, ability and leadership qualities were to be commended but at the same time were cause for apprehension too for James Fraser was the penultimate Section One operative.
He was a born leader and one day he would run Section ... one day he would have Command and the power. They’d noticed that when he had power Jamie changed. He certainly revelled in it ... he liked it. Power could do that, even for a man as strong as James Fraser. But did he need power? He really didn’t have a choice to turn it down when he’d been offered command from time to time when he had to leave Section. Maybe Jamie’s need for power was part of his strength. All he had to do was wait ... it would come. He still had a lot to learn, but were they creating someone who may usurp their leadership before his time? He was a good leader. Operatives respected him and he was a man among men who was esteemed. In many ways James Fraser was better than they were. That in itself was a worry. He lived by the ideals of Section One but since Claire Beauchamp had become his material both he and Madeline had noticed a slight change in him. It had been building gradually and their collaboration on missions only fuelled the bond that had developed between them. The question was ... how much did it affect their performance? If Jamie was in any way reckless ... he would fail and his failure would destroy his career. He would then have no hesitation in placing Jamie in abeyance.
Dougal Mackenzie glanced over at his second in command. Madeline’s slightly raised eyebrow was the only indication that they may have been having similar thought waves. While they’d been observing James Fraser in the operating theatre the two Section One leaders had unwittingly opened a minefield of much food for thought.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Madeline and Operations turned when they heard the door open behind them. The head surgeon Dr Khan entered and approached. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes ... How’s he doing?”
“Not too good at the moment.”
“What’s the problem?”
“The bullet is deeper than we thought and the trajectory route is just millimetres from a vital organ. It is a more delicate operation than we first thought.”
“I see. And what is your prognosis?”
The head surgeon looked from Operations to Madeline and pragmatically answered their question. “I'm sorry, but he may not make it. He’s lost too much blood. He may not pull through. If we need to put him on life support, will you be making that decision?”
It was Madeline who responded. “I already have. I've decided he's going to recover. His will to live is very strong. Your will to save him has to be strong, too.” She paused. “I'll help you.”
Dr Khan took a while to digest what she was actually saying but he certainly caught the gist of Madeline’s underlying words. It was not until she continued that he understood the full implication of what she had spoken and he began to shake in his boots. Madeline then calmly pulled out a gun, cocked it and held it up against the surgeon’s head. A sudden fear and uncertainly crossed Dr Khan’s face as he waited for whatever Madeline would say next.
“Go back inside.” She took a breath before continuing. “Tell your colleagues to do the possible ..., then the impossible ..., and then the unthinkable, until he's out of danger. Because ..., when you're finished, Doctor ..., that room will contain either four living men ... or four corpses. Do you understand?”
He understood perfectly. Jamie Fraser was Section One’s best operative but he was still surprised at the length that Madeline had gone to in order to keep him alive.
“Okay.”
The surgeon left the observation desk in fear and trepidation and relayed the message to his surgical team. Collectively they cast their eyes up to the observation room to see the penetrating gazes of their leader and his second in command. They were under no illusion as to what the operating team needed to do. Madeline had given the doctors their ultimatum and if James Fraser didn’t pull through, they knew the consequences.
They needed to pull off the impossible. They needed a miracle.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued on Friday 20th
#Jamieandclairefanfic#jamieandclaireau#jamieandclairecrossover#outlander fanfic#the lallybroch library#covert operations#LFNoutlander
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It’s Personal - 18+ Only Please
AN: I do not own TVD or TO.
This story is mostly SMUT with some plot sprinkled in.
A couple of notes:
1. Kol’s not dead. Persistence completed Jeremy’s hunter’s mark. Klaus daggered Kol when it looked like he was going to get in the way. Rebekah took it out after she followed her older brothers to New Orleans. Kol left shortly after.
2. The events of graduation never happened, so Jeremy is still dead beyond the veil.
3. Elijah eventually cracked and shut everyone and everything out. He was still fighting for his family because that’s what he has always done and wants to have a goal.
He is alone in the study, and she is grateful for it since it means she doesn’t have to usher anyone out. She closes the door with enough force to alert him to her presence and straightens up when he spins to face her.
She sees it in his eyes, the barest flicker of awe; it goes as quickly as it comes and she is left staring into the dark.
“Elena,” her name drips from his tongue, no matter how high the walls he erects he can’t keep the syllables from coming out in a soft exhalation.
“Elijah,” she returns. It’s their way – or maybe it’s his way. She can’t help but remember how he had greeted her in the gazebo. Her name sounds nicer from his lips than Katharine’s does; that hard ‘k’ makes everything sound harsh and puts her in mind of the cruel vampire who shares her face; by comparison her name is a lover’s caress sliding from his lips to glide over the shell of her ear.
His question breaks her from her thoughts, reminding her why she is in the city in the first place because while her name is a soft whisper his eyes do not match his tone.
“What are you doing here?”
It’s harsh and cruel with the faintest hint of a cocky smirk, and she knows in that moment why the concern was raised. This is not the man she has come to know; this is the Original that ripped off Trevor’s head with a single savage blow; this is the vampire who tore the still beating hearts from her would be assailants’ chests without batting an eye; this is the Elijah who had been prepared to kill his own brother.
“I got a call,” she shrugs, “apparently you’ve ‘snapped’…” she walks the length of the room, examines the artefacts he keeps on the study’s book shelves, “… you’re ‘off the rails’… gone ‘postal’.”
She glances over her shoulder, sees the barest traces of amusement around the corner of his mouth, but it doesn’t reach his eyes; they are cold, calculating, shielded.
She’s still not sure why she got the call. There must be someone better equipped to deal with the situation; someone closer to him than her. They’ve barely spent any time together during their short acquaintance. She doubts that she has left the same impression on him that he has left on her.
“Who called you?” He stalks toward her.
Elena turns around and lets him cage her in against the shelves. Despite the rigid set of his shoulders and the distance behind his eyes she feels safe; he has never harmed her despite having ample reason to want her dead. She’s certain others have died for less serious offences than she has committed against his family, yet he has never hurt her; he’s gone out of his way to protect her.
There’s something predatory in his eyes, something heated in his stare; his gaze rakes over her features, lingering on her lips; she bites them, swallows, looks up. She can remember all too well the feel of his mouth, the gentle but insistent prods of his tongue: a kiss that had never been meant for her lips.
Would he be as gentle if he were to kiss her again? She supposes she’ll never know; he’s sworn to never feel for another doppelganger again, but the way he looks at her suggests he is not opposed to a second kiss, and perhaps a third and fourth.
Maybe he will. He doesn’t feel anything right now, anyway. She remembers what that was like; the only emotions that ever leaked through were bored annoyance and amusement.
“Who called you?” He repeats his question.
She realizes it’s been a beat too long since he asked the first time.
“It wasn’t Niklaus,” his eyes dance over her throat, lock on her carotid artery. It flutters under his gaze.
A vein darkens beneath his right eye and she wonders what he really looks like. She has seen Rebekah, Klaus and Kol, but he has always maintained his human features; even when he was starving after weeks in the Salvatore’s basement.
“Even if he knew to call you, he would know you’d never listen to him,” he wraps a lock of hair around his finger, rubs the silken strands with his thumb.
Her heart skips a beat. She knows his smirk is because of that. She decides to push his comment to the back burner and find out what he means by ‘knew’ later.
“It was Rebekah,” she tilts her head, feels his knuckles graze her jaw. Somehow during their Thelma and Louise moment they had struck up an uneasy alliance; it isn’t strong enough to be called friendship yet, but they have all of eternity before them to get there if they choose.
“Rebekah fled town months ago,” he cocks an eyebrow.
“She got a phone call,” Elena blinks. “She got a couple of phone calls, actually from Hayley. Plus Klaus and Caroline still talk occasionally. Also,” boldness overtakes her and she places her hand on his chest, “rumors are starting to spread.”
“What would those rumors be?” He drops his eyes to her hand.
It’s the strangest sense of déjà vu when she taps his chest, feels his heart pound. She’s back in the gazebo and half expects him to snatch her arm in an unbreakable grip.
“That I’ve gone ‘postal’,” he tests the word on his tongue, smirks and meets her eyes. “That I’m extremely and uncontrollably angry to the point of violence.”
“That was the rumor,” she nods, “but it’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” He twists his lips into a perversion of a smile.
“No,” she shakes her head, “it’s not. You’re not angry, Elijah, because you’re not anything. You turned it off.”
She doesn’t stop to question how she can tell. It’s in the eyes, the smirk, and the veiled indifference.
“Why?”
“You know nothing about me,” his eyes narrow. “How could you possibly know that?”
He backs up, shakes his head, but she doesn’t let him go. She curls her fingers around his tie. He’s amusing her; she knows it because there is no way she could hold him otherwise.
“I know,” she steps with him, follows his short retreat. “Why did you do it?”
“It’s easier this way,” he shrugs. There is no use fighting her because she knows.
“I remember that,” she blinks, “but is it really easier to not feel anything?”
“Yes,” he nods, “I’ve grown tired of being underestimated Elena. My emotions have made me weak.” He walks her backwards, pins her again to the shelf. “I’ve done nothing but care for a thousand years and all it’s brought me is heartache; my emotions kept me from doing what is necessary to protect my family.”
“Can you even care about them without your emotions?” She exhales, tips her head up to meet his eyes.
“I don’t care,” he narrows his eyes, tilts his head.
She recognizes that she’s in dangerous territory and that she must chose her next words very carefully. There are two possible ways that this will end – that she can see, anyway – either she will drive a wedge between him and his siblings, or she’ll push him back towards them and the humanity he is keeping at bay.
“They’re your family,” she pleads with her eyes; even in her darkest days she retained her love for her brother. Under everything she knew he still cared; it was just a matter of how deeply he had buried his feelings. “Can’t you feel anything?”
“I don’t need emotions to feel Elena,” his eyes darken.
There is a hunger in his gaze that stirs something in her. It convulses swells and sends a shiver through her. It’s all she can do to keep from arching into him when he catches the small of her back.
His eyes search her face, cold and disinterested but still hungry. There is a ravenous hunger in his gaze that thrills her as much as it scares her.
“You’ve embraced yours.”
“A couple of months ago,” she confirms. She almost parrots back his words: ‘it would be a shame if the world lost a soul as compassionate as yours’.
“Pity,” he hums. She thinks she sees disappointment in his face. “It could have been fun.”
“What could have been fun?” Her brows lower in confusion. An impish grin lifts his lips and puts her in mind of his youngest brother; Kol doesn’t remain on her thoughts long though because Elijah moves and even with her enhanced senses she nearly misses it.
His mouth connects with hers, slanting in a deep kiss that is so far removed from the gentle one he gave her in the gazebo. This – as Rebekah would say – is a proper ravishing, complete with a groping. His hands slide down her back, cup her behind and squeeze.
She gasps into his mouth. Pulling back to breath she sees the mess she has made of his hair and wonders when she ran her hands through it because the short strands are on end.
She tries to speak, but it comes out as a squeak. His answering smirk is infuriating and she hates that he knows how he can affect her.
She is dazed, and she remembers the feeling well. He took her by surprise in the gazebo – nearly making her flip her emotions back on.
His hands are still on her ass. It takes her a second to realize her shock was his goal from the start. Determination fills her, and she vows that she will not be the only one in his study wearing a thunderstruck look.
She wraps her hands around his neck, grasps the back of his head and plants her lips on his. The shock works to her advantage. She presses her chest to his, feels her breasts mold into a delicious new shape, and clutches him closer.
She pulls back after a moment. The surprise on his face thrills her, but he recovers fast and spins.
Elena blinks and clings to his shoulders to keep from tumbling over the arm of the leather sofa. His knee presses between her thighs and she knows that one little nudge will push her over the edge in more ways than one.
“Why did Rebekah send me?” She is breathing the words, scared to speak too loud and break whatever spell has descended on them.
“Perhaps my sweet sister wants me to kill you,” he lifts one hand, cups her cheek. “Shall I?”
“That’s not it,” she shakes her head.
Something flickers in his eyes – it’s a secret he’s still holding on to. She wants to know what it is.
Elijah pushes his knee up and she gasps, biting back her moan.
She closes her eyes and doesn’t open them again until she feels his fingers popping the button of her jean shorts. He teases the edge of her panties, but hesitates. She thinks it’s a thousand years of habit rearing it’s head; he may have flipped the switch on his emotions, but his manners have remained.
She briefly considers telling him no, pushing him away and leaving, but she would be lying if she says she’s not curious. A year ago she might have even claimed that he wasn’t in his right mind, but that was before she turned off her own humanity. She knows what it’s really like; he’s drunk and sober at the same time. He knows exactly what he’s doing. It might not have been something he would have thought of before, but she knows it’s something he wants. That’s how it works without humanity – you decide what you want and take it by whatever means necessary. She considers walking away, but the truth is that she wants it too, and she’s not attached to anyone.
She’s curious, and tells herself that if he’s with her than he’s not out slaughtering people without reason, so she nods and spreads her legs a little farther apart. It has nothing to do with the ghost of emotion in his eyes.
He smirks and she knows exactly what he’s found. She can feel the wetness as he trails his fingers through it finding her clit. He circles the tiny pearl and her knees buckle.
She bites her lip, wanting to hold back as long as possible, but he’s had a thousand years to hone his skill and knowing her doppelganger means he knows her body; he might even know it better than she does. He certainly knows just the spot to curl his fingers and the perfect pressure to apply to her clit. She twists, trying to relieve the agony of the building pressure by further impaling her body on his fingers, but he’s stronger than she is and is in a teasing mood. It’s a default setting for the humanity free.
She feels his eyes on her face, knows he’s watching the exquisite anguish that is playing over her features. She thinks she knows what he’s waiting for, but she’s not about to give it to him.
She lifts her hands and tugs him closer by his tie, kisses him with abandon, plunging her tongue into his mouth while pulling the silk from around his neck. She makes quick work of his black dress shirt and tries to push it off with his jacket before she remembers that he is inflicting the sweetest of torture on her body. She hates the whine that escapes when he removes his hand from her panties and lets the fabric drop, pooling on the floor.
Her eyes roam his chiseled chest; if she wasn’t already soaked the hard plains of his body would have done the trick.
He tilts his head and sets his wet fingers on her bottom lip. He stares, transfixed, as she opens her mouth and cleans her juices from his hand.
She can see the veins pulse beneath his eyes.
“Do you have any idea what you’re getting into?” He pulls his hand from her mouth, runs his finger along the neck of her blouse. “This city isn’t safe. You shouldn’t have come here, Elena.”
“How could I not?” Her voice is breathless. She wonders if she’s imagining the concern in his voice. “You would have come for me,” she raises her eyebrows in challenge, “wouldn’t you?”
His answer is to tear open her pink blouse and attack her throat with bruising kisses. She takes the assault as a yes – or as much of a yes as she’s going to get – and steps out of her jean shorts.
Her ruined shirt falls away and she’s left before him in her mismatched underwear. She doesn’t get time to feel embarrassed before he rips the blush lace bra away and spins her around. She feels the bulge pressed against the curve of her behind.
He dips his head, sucks at her hammering pulse and palms her full breasts, tweaking the hard nipples.
“Elijah,” she groans. There is an ache between her legs that demands satisfaction. It increases when she feels his fangs scrap over her fluttering vein.
He tweaks her nipples, nibbles on her throat and then pulls away. She can hear the sound of his belt being undone and reaches to help him, but he captures her wrists before she can turn and ties them with what feels like his discarded tie.
She could get out of it anytime she wants, but the thought of being at his mercy turns her on more than she wants to admit in that moment.
He slaps her ass. She gasps.
The hand between her shoulders urges her forward. She bends over the arm of the couch, shivering when he slides her panties down to the middle of her thighs. Shaking her hair over her shoulder she is able to see the pure lust in his eyes and gets a glimpse of his cock: long, thick and hard. She wants to sink to her knees, take him in her mouth and make him groan but she’s not in a position for that at the moment.
“Is all of this for me?” He traces her dripping center with the tip of his erection.
It’s not a dangerous question and doesn’t involve begging so she nods against the leather. Her non-verbal answer earns her a slap; the sting brings a flood of moisture to her center.
“Yes,” she breathes.
“What was that?” She can hear the smirk in his voice and repeats her answer louder. “Not thinking of your precious Salvatores?” She shakes her head. “I apologize, Elena, I’m a little out of the loop. Which brother are you betraying this evening: Stefan or Damon? Or are you channeling Katerina now and betraying both?”
Her eyes grow wide. It’s a combination of the accusation and forward thrust of his hips. For a moment she can only sputter as he bucks into her from behind with powerful strokes.
“Neither,” she grunts after a particularly brutal thrust.
At first she sticks to the leather, but then the sweat forms and she slides. She tries to thrust back, but the angle she’s at makes it difficult, and even if she could she doubts she could match his pace. She thinks that maybe he could tear her apart if he wanted to, but knows he won’t.
She’s desperate for something to hold onto, for some type of leverage. She doesn’t really know what she’s doing until she hears the rip of silk.
He curls his fist into her hair and pulls her up. Attacking her neck with savage kisses he snaps his hips faster and uses his free hand to rub her clit; he pinches and rolls until she can’t take anymore and cries out. The ecstasy washes over her, drawn out by his continued fucking.
She writhes and wriggles and eventually comes down. Using every ounce of strength she has she pushes him away and flashes across the room, shoving him into his desk chair. She shimmies out of her panties and straddles him before he can move, sinking down until he is buried in her body again.
She rides him, her vampire stamina allowing her to recover from her first orgasm quickly. The shift in position lets her control the speed and angle, and this way she can see him. She can see the strain in his jaw and the struggle to conceal his vampire features; there is a small ring of red around his eyes, and a couple of pulsing veins accompany every other beat of this frantic heart.
It almost makes her laugh; he has abandoned his emotion, but he still clings to the control he spent a thousand years perfecting.
He lets her take control until she’s pushed herself through two shuddering orgasms before standing and laying her out across his desk. He hooks her legs over his arms and slams into her.
It doesn’t take long before she starts to writhe on the desk top, twitching around his length. She loses track of how many times she comes and for a while is aware of nothing else but the intensity of her pleasure until a fast wind brushes her flushed skin.
She opens her eyes and sees that she is on the couch again. She wraps her legs around his waist, moaning as his thrusts change, shifting from fast and shallow to long and deep.
There is something in his eyes that flickers behind the flood of red; it goes back and forth as he stares into her lidded gaze.
She arches her back when his thumb lands on her clit. She has come so many times that the orgasm borders on painful.
She lifts her head, nips his throat.
He groans, bends and teases her fluttering pulse with his razor sharp fangs.
She tilts her head, a silent invitation, and ignores the voice that says it’s meant to be personal. Nothing has ever felt so right to her.
His hesitation surprises her. He hovers over that artery for what feels like eternity, inhaling the rich combination of blood, sweat and arousal clinging to her skin.
She grasps the back of his neck and urges him closer, using her free hand to move her hair aside.
“Elena.”
Her name drops from his lips: a lover’s whisper in the dimly lit room. It’s the only precursor to his teeth sinking into her throat. She doesn’t think before reciprocating in kind. She doubts her bite is anywhere near as neat as his, but it does the trick.
An array of emotions flood her, exploding over her tongue: passion, anger, and something else she’s not ready to name yet – not while he’s like this, not while he can crush her heart with his indifference.
His pace stutters. She feels his abdomen clench against her stomach, and traces the straining muscles in his lower back. For one brief moment he relaxes completely in her arms. They lay like that for a bit until she feels him shake under her hands.
There is something wet on her neck and she knows that it’s not blood.
She doesn’t have the heart to pull away from him so she lets him roll over and hug her to his chest. She gets only the briefest glimpse of his face and the moisture in his eyes, but says nothing about it.
She can feel his heart beat fast against her back and holds his arm for balance and security; the couch is narrow, but wide enough that she has an inch of space between her and the sudden drop to the floor.
She waits until his breathing levels out, passing the time by licking the remnants of his blood from her lips. She’s more relaxed than she has been in months; the last time she felt so close to carefree was when she had turned off her humanity – except she’s not carefree.
Her problem is that she cares too much; she always has.
“What happened?” She runs her thumb over his knuckles.
“Why do you care so much?” His voice is strained. She’s never heard him sound so broken before.
“I care, Elijah,” she grips his hand.
“Even after the Katerina comment?”
She stiffens in his arms. It’s momentary, but he knows he’s struck a nerve. That had been the very reason he brought up the comparison in the first place, hoping it would drive her away before he gave in to his base desires.
He knew he was wrecked the moment she said he would have shown up for her because she was right. Emotions or no emotions, he would have raced to the ends of the earth if he thought she was in trouble.
There had been no turning back at that point, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to push her away. He had done his level best to avoid meeting her eyes during the romp he had been intent on keeping a passionate fuck and nothing more. There was a light in her eyes that always drew him back.
“I owe you a smack for that,” she says, twisting to glance over her shoulder, “and for ripping my clothes to shreds.”
“I did no such thing,” he scoffs, amusement evident in his tone.
“My bra and blouse are ruined,” she nods to the end of the couch.
“Unnecessary pieces of clothing,” he glances at the pink material.
“I can’t exactly walk out of here without them,” Elena rolls over so she’s facing him. He catches her before she can fall backwards. “I’d call that extremely necessary.”
“Maybe I just won’t let you go,” he traces the line of her jaw with his eyes.
“Maybe I’ll steal your shirt,” she counters.
“I’m rather fond of that shirt,” he tightens his hold on her waist.
“It’ll look much better on me,” she smirks.
He frowns when she disappears from his arms and sits up in time to see her rise from her crouch. The black silk hangs off her shoulders, skimming the middle of her thighs.
He finds that he has to agree. The shirt looks much better on her, especially with the knowledge that it is the only thing she is wearing.
“You didn’t answer my question,” she twists her daylight ring around her finger.
“It’s not important,” he shakes his head. Taking her wrist he pulls her down on the couch.
She follows his guiding hand and sits, draping her legs across his thighs.
He runs his fingertips along her leg from ankle to inner thigh and feels the shiver race through her body.
“You shut it off Elijah,” she makes no move to stop his fingers, “that’s pretty important.”
He’s not sure how to tell her what transpired. He doesn’t know how to explain the utter betrayal of his brother’s dealings with the werewolves, or about the lost cause that was New Orleans.
He looks at her through his eyelashes.
How does he tell her he can never feel nothing in her presence?
He can still taste her blood in his mouth. The plethora of emotions hits him again. He doubts she knows what blood sharing really means, or that the feelings flooding her bloodstream do not belong to her. She’s probably not even suspicious since he tasted his own suppressed feelings in her blood.
“Elijah?” She catches his hand, squeezes his palm.
He wonders if she knows he feels again. He doesn’t wonder long because of course she knows. She might have known before he did.
“I’m so tired, Elena,” he closes his eyes.
She waits, a constant pressure on his hand urges him to continue. It’s a moment before it pours out of him. Everything he’s concealed over the last six months.
“We are forever bound to those with whom we share blood,” he finishes, stares up at the ceiling.
“You can’t choose your family,” she glances down to their joined hands.
“No,” he agrees, “but that bond is always there; it can be our greatest strength, or our deepest regret.” He looks at her then, wonders who she is thinking about: Jeremy, her greatest strength, or Katherine, her worst regret.
“Are they your deepest regret?” She lifts her gaze.
“No,” he has never been able to lie to her.
“Then what is?” She frowns.
And there it is: the million dollar question. One of the many reasons he had flipped the switch was because of that question, because he had thought she would never reciprocate his feelings; he would have rather felt nothing at all than the sting of her inevitable rejection.
“You,” he exhales, meets her eyes and holds her leg; his thumb finds the dimple in her knee. “I owe you an apology.”
“For what?” She frowns.
“Many, many things,” he sighs, “but right now I’ll focus on the most recent offences.” He starts rubbing her leg again. “I threatened to kill you.”
“I’m used to death threats,” she shrugs, “you’re hardly the first Original to issue one.”
“I compared you to Katerina,” he shakes his head, shame prickling at the back of his scalp. He knows he’s hardly the first to do that either, but that just makes it all the worse. “You’re nothing like her. You can’t even act like her.”
“I fooled you,” she murmured.
She tries to play it off with a smile, but he knows it’s a fact that’s bothered her for a long time. He stops tracing her leg and grasps her chin.
“No,” his thumb catches her bottom lip, “you didn’t. I knew the second I saw you in the gazebo.”
“But you…” he can see the confusion in her eyes.
“Took advantage of a situation I never should have,” he slides his hand into her hair, “I’m sorry.”
“I’ll tell you what,” she tilts her head, “promise to never turn it off again and I’ll let it go.”
He can’t stop the smirk that plays over his lips.
“Are you negotiating with me?”
“That’s kind of our thing.”
“Oh,” his tone stays teasing, “I thought it was backstabbing and betrayal.”
“That is the basis of my relationship with Rebekah,” she shakes her head, “but you and me…” she motions between them, “… we always seem to come back to this.”
“Unless I’ve been experiencing blackouts I’m pretty sure this,” his free hand slides beneath the hem of his shirt to tease her inner thigh, “is a first.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” she lets her legs part for his wandering fingers.
He does know it. They always seem to find a way back to each other for a negotiation that – nine times out of ten – results in betrayal; he wants this to be the tenth.
“I have a counter offer,” he meets her eyes, “I won’t turn it off, and you stay around to ensure I keep my word.”
“You’re humanity sponsor?” She cocks an eyebrow. “I do trust you to keep your word Elijah.”
“Maybe I just want you to stay.”
He hopes his emotions show in his eyes. He hopes she can see.
She shifts, tilts her head and watches him closely.
“Why did Rebekah call me? Why did she send me?”
He knows why. He knows the precise reason Rebekah chose Elena to come on the hunt for his humanity. His little sister is perhaps the most perceptive woman he has ever met. No matter the lies he told she could always see through them, through him. Rebekah has known the truth since he saved Elena before the ball.
“She has eyes,” he runs his finger over her jaw. “She sent you because, unlike my brother, she knows how I feel about you. She knows that it’s impossible for me to feel nothing in your presence.”
She moves up and holds his wrist, trapping his palm against her neck.
Even confused there is a light in her eyes that warms him and speaks to his soul, or maybe it’s a by-product of her blood on his tongue, her emotions flowing through his veins.
Leaning forward he brushes his lips against hers in a gentle kiss. There is a trace of blood on her tongue that ignites his senses.
He rests his forehead against hers and exhales.
“I love you, Elena,” he hears her breath catch and maybe it’s selfish, but he can’t stop now. “I have been in love with you for so long; I think it started the day you gave me back the dagger.”
“You couldn’t have told me this sooner?” Her breath shakes.
“You were a little preoccupied,” he plays with a lock of her hair, “and rather adamant on remaining human. The last thing you needed was my admission, and then you transitioned and… sire bonds don’t form without a reason… without feelings.”
“Trust me,” she sighs, “those feelings are gone.” She sees the confusion in his eyes. “I told you it was because my brother was dead,” she bites her bottom lip, “that was only part of the reason.” She lowers her chin, stares at the hand on her leg, rubbing small circles into her skin. “I was freaking out… inconsolable and Damon… he… he used the bond to make me turn it off.”
He grits his teeth, swallows his strong desire to leave and find Damon Salvatore so he can tear out his spine and make the cocky vampire truly spineless.
“I… I killed someone, and that’s on me, but…” she chews her cheek.
He cradles the back of her head, lowers her cheek to his shoulder and lets her release a few silent tears. His other hand leaves her thigh to press into her back.
“I should have gone back for you,” he breathes against her hair, “I never should have left you with them. I didn’t know any of it until I went back to Mystic Falls.”
“How could you have?” She shakes her head. “You were there when I needed you. I wasn’t exactly grateful at the time, but…”
“I think we both needed someone to talk sense into us,” he murmurs. “You were right, I was an idiot.”
“You weren’t an idiot, Elijah…”
“I was attempting to use a stand in for something I couldn’t have,” he chuckles, “that sounds idiotic to me.”
She swallows and smiles. He can feel the way her lips tip up against his chest.
“Okay,” she flattens her hand over his heart, “just remember that you’re the one who said it, alright?”
“I think I can do that,” he smiles.
He hears her heart beat slow, relaxing into a peaceful state. In a thousand year he has never heard anything like it and wants to listen to the steady beating for the rest of his life.
“Elijah…” she trails off, unsure of herself, and not quite ready to voice her feelings. “I…”
He uses a finger to tip up her chin and kisses her: soft, slow, promising.
“It’s alright,” he pulls back, his breath fans over her chin. And it is alright. He knows how she feels even if she’s not quite ready to say it; he’s tasted it in her blood and sees it in her eyes. He has endless time to wait.
“Will you stay?”
The danger of the city is not forgotten, but he’s confident she can handle herself and when she can’t he’ll be there to keep her safe.
“In a house with a man who once killed me?” She cocks an eyebrow.
“In New Orleans,” he clarifies. “Niklaus will not harm you.”
He holds his breath, conscious of what he is asking her to give up: the life she once knew because he can’t leave Klaus. Until she had come he had entertained the idea of abandoning his millennia long quest for his brother’s redemption, but now he cares again.
She tucks her hair behind her ear. There is nothing left for her in Mystic Falls; it’s the town that took everything from her, including her life. New Orleans is a fresh start with a man who loves her, so she nods.
“I knew you cared,” he smirks.
“Maybe I just want to see Klaus fumble through fatherhood,” she counters, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
“That does promise to be amusing,” he agrees.
She giggles. The sound lights up his heart, and he’s certain he’s floating.
His lips trail up her throat until he reaches her ear. He nibbles with human teeth and smells a fresh wave of arousal rise from the apex of her thighs. There are so many things he wants to do to her, to do for her. He is about to flip her around and knee between her open legs when the door swings inwards with a crash.
“What the bloody hell is going on? I leave the lot of you alone for five minutes and you start a damn war.”
Elena yelps, grasps his shirt and holds it closed over her naked breasts. It’s a moment before Kol’s eyes land on her and grow round.
“To be fair,” Elijah rolls his eyes, glaring over his shoulder, “it was more than five minutes, and I’ve been trying to stop a war. What are you doing here?”
Kol’s eyes land on his brother.
“Rebekah called,” his gaze darts from Elena to Elijah, “said you turned it off.”
“Yes,” he drawls, “and now I’ve turned it back.”
“Clearly,” he cocks an eyebrow and turns his attention to his brother’s companion. “Elena,” he greets.
“Hey Kol,” she manages a small smile.
“I was sorry to hear about your brother.”
“Sorry to hear you were daggered.”
“Were you?” He scoffs.
“No,” she shakes her head, “you threatened to have Jeremy killed.”
“I’d have been content with ripping off an arm,” he glances around the room. “What happened to the desk?”
Elena glances to the left and feels a flush rise to her cheeks.
“Not that it isn’t nice to see you,” she grits her teeth, “but please get out; I’m kind of naked over here.”
“I’ve got no problem with that,” he smirks.
“Kol,” Elijah growls.
“Alright, alright,” he holds up his hands, “I’m going.”
Elena waits until the door is closed. She can hear him somewhere beyond the wood telling someone they ‘really don’t want to go in the study’. She ignores him in favour of his older brother.
“What happened to the desk?”
“I may have gotten a little… aggressive,” he smirks, pulling her to straddle his hips. “You seemed to enjoy it.”
“You broke solid oak?” She leans back to get a good look at his desk.
“Technically you broke off a chunk of it,” he nips at her throat, opens his shirt and drags his mouth down to her pebbled nipples. “Would you care to break some more furniture, or take a shower?”
He scraps her nipple with his teeth.
“That depends,” she closes her eyes and hums, rocking her hips. “Will we be breaking the shower?”
“That’s always a possibility,” he stands, wrapping her legs around his waist.
Tags: @rissyrapp20 @eternityunicorn @elejah-wonderland @elejahforever @morsmornte @xanderling @fandomrulesall
#elena gilbert#elijah mikaelson#elejah#klaus mikaelson#hayley marshall#kol mikaelson#rebekah mikaelson#mentions of klaroline#mentions of delena#mentions of katherine#oneshot
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So uh....I know this might not be the easiest but how about that trip to hell via the gate??
i’m guessing you’re talking about nova and seraphim’s first mission!
step right up–this one’s a bit of a doozy. and decidedly lacking in the aesthetics i had in mind when i first started it and morphed into something wildly different… hopefully the disappointment is more of a dull ache and less of a shooting pain.
there are also depictions of body trauma and other violence below the cut. proceed with caution.
“lillith gave me a briefing on the way down here but uhm–run it by me one more time.”
seraphim grinned, slipping on her forearm guard. she began, reaching up to adjust the goggles over nova’s eyes, “this particular part of the underworld is, to us, gate point seveny-nine point three. it’s not a part of our hell, per se, but it’s–look, it’s close, hit me up on a day off and i’ll explain the finer theological points. our job today!” seraphim pivoted on a heel, grabbing her bottle of body armor and swallowing the last of it with a backwards tilt of her head, “is to go free the prince. name’s kreuger. not a bad–uhh. well he’s not as bad as who’s overthrown him.”
nova swallowed, shifting. the armor was heavier than she anticipated, but lighter, all at once. not something she’d worn before on any previous run. it was a blood-rust red, matte finished, and was more streamlined than bulky. she figured it was because they’d have to be stealthy. move quickly. move unseen. the only thing heavier were the pistols that hung on their hips,fueled by a cell pack that gave off a faint green glow.
she also remembered drake and wyvern positively beaming the day before over the tech that currently cloaked their frames. “the place you’re headed’s not exactly human-friendly. think the mojave with a little more punch and a lot more poison. this–” wyvern tapped on the outer shell. “–will protect your skin, help regulate your temperatures so you don’t get overheated.”
“and this,” drake took the liberty of lifting a mask to his face, “will help you breathe. we’ve got goggles to match for eye safety ‘cause gettin’ ocular degeneration over a period of ten minutes once you get back is a mega bummer.”
“don’t you mean macular?”
“nah, this shit’s a lot worse, we gave it a new name.”
“oh.”
but seraphim’s gentle touch on her elbow brought her back. “it’s okay to still be nervous. from what i’ve heard, every time feels like the first time for the few couple of months that you’re jumping. but you’re with me, and lillith wouldn’t send me in with a rookie if she didn’t think you could handle it, which means i already think you’re a badass. we just have to work together, okay?”
nova smiled at the other agent’s earnest expression. she couldn’t help it.
this was an adventure that she’d been wishing for, for a long time.
“let’s go take ass and kick names. … wait.”
“close enough!” seraphim laughed as they walked towards the gate, glowing a faint blue around the outer rings. someone had put down stage tape at their mark. it clashed with the long, red rug that rolled out beneath the gate to the doorway.
“final safety check, equipment secure?” nova noticed wyvern’s voice had dropped a pitch. maybe this was his proper officer tone. she pushed down on her mask, her goggles, taking deep, deep breaths.
“equipment secure,” she answered him, turning back to meet his eyes at the console at the other end of the room.
“copy. initiating travel sequence. please remain still.”
(”dude we’re not talking over radio, do you still have to say ‘copy’?” “drake shut up!”)
and it sparked. that was the best way nova could think to describe it, even now. like seeing a heart pulsed back from the dead. then the tendrils of white light that branched out from the inner ring, like tentacles looking for each other, right up until they snapped forward, wrapping around the two of them. their feet remained rooted to the floor as they were surrounded by light, and then eventually, lifted.
everything was perfectly silently. that was the barrier building. all of the tethers tying them to their home timeline being carefully snipped, so they could be pulled in. nova glanced at seraphim, who just gave her a swift thumbs up, before there was a violent snap; to drake and wyvern: they were just gone.
but nova and seraphim landed roughly on their feet on rock that looked a bit too much like freeze-dried… well. nova picked her eyes up as soon as she could. didn’t want to look at it. her stomach caught. deep breaths, deep breaths, you’re fine, you’re fine…
but seraphim was hunched over, her breathing sort of staggered, just like hers was. “jeremy, do you have our signal?” her voice was a little weak, hoarse. a little muffled because of the mask. “… good. we’ll signal when we’re ready to be brought back. copy. … and remember to record the thunder game while i’m gone, i think we play los angeles or something. copy for real this time… hey, see, you made it!”
nova just stretched out an arm, which seraphim took, helping her take a few adjustment steps forward. and as nova walked, she was able to take in the landscape that surrounded them–and that seraphim’s gait was a bit stilted.
wasteland. that was the first thing she thought of. a sky the color of a rotted bone. mountains in the distance that weren’t wounded-colored but rather more like aged, rotted wood, jutting up from the cracked, jagged ground. something was coming down from the sky like a faint, soft snow. it was grey. and definitely wasn’t snow.
beyond everything was a faint red glow. like they were standing in a volcano’s mouth, and the rim was wide, wide around them.
“have you been here before?” nova asked, her tone hushed. the space here was oppressive, closing in, heavy. sort of like a sauna set too high, even with the armor. there was a beat before seraphim answered her.
“… a few times. i wouldn’t say i’ve been through the gate often, but i’ve been often enough to know that i really dislike being brought to places like this, and enough to know i really want us to go to gate point nintey-three point one after this. it’s a wonderful kingdom, el. haven’t been in a while. hope the princess is all right, she said something about a man named ganon before i left last...” her voice seemed to trail off for a second, before she coughed, shaking her head. “not sure why lillith keeps bringing me here. i’m not a prime candidate for jumping. … not like you.”
“not like me?”
the goggles were so reflective that all nova could see when she looked at seraphim’s face was either mask or a reflection of an alien horizon. an unholy horizon. “i may or may not have looked over your file before this. you have… i can’t remember the specific words they used. but you have something in you that makes you an absolute fit for this role. i’d called it god-crafted. a gift from the spirit. other people would call it other shit. but i said what i said.” seraphim nodded, like she was adding emphasis, before turning her face to look at the landscape. “okay. they sealed kreuger underneath the end of the palace–”
“the palace? hell has palaces?”
“my sweet little chicken nugget, all underworlds have more than we’ve been told. and to answer that question, yes. like… c’mere, look, look…” seraphim beckoned her over to a ragged cliff, which overlooked a valley that seemed to stretch on for eternity.
it was like a cradle full of darkness. the only light that existed seemed to be that of fires, torches. candles.
and in the center rose up something that towered over everything, something that–reminded her a lot of maleficent’s castle from sleeping beauty. weird.
“that’s where we need to go. if i remember from the last time i was here, i know a shortcut we can take, we just have to stay low and stick together. you good? … awesome. follow me. keep your eyes peeled. we don’t want to fire unless we absolutely have to, it’ll draw attention to us that, trust me, nobody will want.
“
* * *
it still took them hours to reach the palace. hiking through the worst kind of desert, dodging rogue demonic entities, hiding. seraphim discovered that their armor had built-in cloaking (”were you going to fucking brief us on this or did you just forget?” “… uhm.”) which made it infinitely easier.
it took nova–well, to be fair, she still hadn’t quite gotten over how they all looked. and none of them were the same. each demon was fairly humanoid in shape… except for when they weren’t. and each one had viscera showing where a body part was missing… except when they didn’t, and then proceeded to have way too many eyes or mouths or teeth than any being anywhere had the business of having. and the sounds they made when they walked. if she wasn’t going to ask cherub for something for her bath before…
“think dinosaur rules,” seraphim had whispered over her shoulder, crouched behind the corner of what nova thought looked a little like an adobe house (not even the ability to become invisible could quite break her out of sneaking behind everything). in fact a lot of the aesthetics of the city–could she call it a city?–reminded her a lot of taos, jemez springs. new mexico. “if they don’t see movement, they don’t see anything.”
“wait, didn’t someone disprove that?”
“lucky for us nobody told these assholes.”
as they snuck further and further into the heart of the metropolis, the aesthetics seem to… shift. from rustic adobe to more alhambra. if she could easily pick out things from her own world to compare all this too, then surely, it was tied to earth somehow, right? “uh, morgan…” nova began. she kept close to her side. the alleyway they were walking down was vacant. seraphim took the opportunity to stretch her neck, roll her shoulders.
“this place looks a lot like this catle in granada…”
“that’s because it–sort of is.”
and there was a bit of silence before: “… i’m guessing i should wait until we get back before i lay into you with questions about how the fuck that’s possible and what the hell that even means.”
“first bath, then a nap, and then i know this great brunch place not too far from the estate, i promise i’ll tell you everyt-!” her voice cut out abruptly and one of her arms shot out in front of nova, pressing her against a wall as something huge, hulking and smoking lurched in front of the opening of the alleyway. seraphim let out a long, shaky exhale.
“the only place worse than this is centralia…”
“where?”
“put it on our list of sleepover topics. it’s gonna be long. this place tends to do that. although it’s honestly not that hard to sneak through as long as you’re careful and you’ve got the right tech. you just gotta be smart.”
they both carefully started towards the end of the alley, sticking close to the wall. nova thought she could smell something… it wasn’t brimstone, not quite. but close. just as unpleasant. “speaking from experience?” it came out before she could stop it.
seraphim didn’t answer until they reached the end, motioning for nova to look upwards. the spire of the tallest tower looked a lot closer than it had an hour ago. they were getting close. “… yes. once. once is all it takes for you to learn. i had amy tattoo my left calf for a reason.”
* * *
it was only when they reached the actual outer wall separating the palace from the rest of the city did the vibe turn a bit more–gothic was an apt descriptor. the spanish vibes gave way to something more once upon a time, something more disney, and somehow it was worse than what they’d walked through. a glossy surface trying too hard to be romantic hiding something insidious underneath, like organs wrapped in plastic wrap.
there were vines of roses along the upper edge of the wall with thorns the length of nova’s palm.
seraphim stared up at the blossoms, “okay. climbing over the wall is a no-go. each of those packs enough poison to kill something three times our size. the front main gate in and out has about sixteen different layers of wards on it and as much as i love our basement boys, i don’t exactly trust their cloaking shields to withstand that this close to the throne room…” seraphim started taking one step, then another, eyes on the flowers, lost in thought.
and nova was, too, up until she remembered: “oh! wait, i have an idea.” she unclipped a small box the color of gunmetal from her belt over one of her back pockets. “i’ve been helping jeremy and joseph with this. we’ve had a few successful test runs, and i think now would be a good time to give it an actual field test.”
“well, shit, okay, you thought of an idea first so we’ll go with that. uh–what is it?”
and nova actually swayed a bit, like an excited child. “i’ll show you. but first, you have to tell me… if you could make a hole anywhere in the wall, where would be the best place?”
that was about the time that they heard shouting, too close to be comfortable. it was in a tongue deep, guttural, with a lot of clicking interspersed. “definitely not here. c’mon, i think i know just the spot.”
after about fifteen minutes of fast-paced creeping, seraphim stopped. nova could see the roof of something like a shack over the roses, which she no longer doubted were circling the entire place. “just on the other side of this wall is a part of the chambers for the staff. i’m positive that he’s under that, and that there’s gotta be a way down there. i don’t think they’d let him starve to death, he’s too useful alive.”
“awesome. okay, stand back, calibrating this is a bit tricky…” seraphim took a few wide strides backwards as nova tucked the nondescript box into the crook of her elbow, but quickly jumped when she realized the agent was doing so to remove her glove.
“ellie, wait, no no no–”
“i have to have skin-contact in order to activate it, i promise i’ll hurry. call it a sacrifice for the mission.”
as soon as the glove left her hand she very immediately realized that she wouldn’t have a choice. she’d been expecting a burning sensation, and that’s exactly what she got, but it still sort of took her breath away, for the first few seconds. it felt like something that you could almost get used to, if given enough time. almost. seraphim’s own covered hands went to the sides of her face. “oh jesus, okay, go do your thing sugar–”
with her thumb on the top of the box, and with her jaw clenched trying to fight through the persistent stinging, she traced a well-practiced pattern. for a moment, nothing happened. then from the end of the box shot out a circle of light, that landed on the wall in a perfect oval, like an outline.
“oh it’s so pre–”
seraphim didn’t get to finish. there was a sound like a large rubbing band being strung, almost like a bass guitar strum–and there was a perfectly cut hole in the wall.
nova was struggling to put her glove back on so she didn’t quite notice how seraphim had thrown her arms out and was just wildly gesturing to nova, to the wall, back to nova, back to the wall, “what the fuck. what the fuck. what the fuck. oh my god. that was awesome. holy shit. what the fuck did you just do. i just. oh my god. oh my god let’s go i have so many questions when we get back–oh. ellie, you all right?”
she was taking in breaths through her teeth, cradling her hand against her chest. “yeah. yeah. just feels like a really really re-he-eally bad sunburn.”
“well hang in there starkid, as soon as we find kreuger, he can take care of the rest himself. and ah, we won’t want to be here when that happens anyway. pray that nobody’s in here.” she brought up her pistol, “i know i said no firing, but–wait, was that your trigger hand?”
“uh–yeah.”
seraphim took the liberty of taking nova’s pistol of its holster and putting it in her uninjured hand. “as long as you don’t shoot me, this’ll probably work. probably. okay…” her voice lowered. “team break.”
* * *
lillith must have timed their jump on purpose, seraphim reasoned, or had some kind of premonition about how long it would’ve taken them to get to the castle, because right as she pushed open the shack door, there was a single, long gong from far above them. “what was that?” nova couldn’t get above a whisper.
“given that no one’s in here, i think it’s a feasting hour. all the help’s off serving that absolute fucking batshit son of a--” a huff. “we need to hurry and take advantage of this while we still can. the servants here are the only creatures i pity. … well. they’re at least on the top five.”
nova could see why. the room was rotting away in places, black, black, blacker, an absolute absence of color amidst what looked like concrete and wood. two sets of bunk beds, and the word ‘bed’ was generous. more like just four stone slabs large enough for an adult human attached at different heights to the wall. and that was all, except for a scrap of off-white fabric on the floor.
“but where do they go to the b–”
“trust me, you don’t want to know.” seraphim interrupted, peeling back the rug to reveal a trap door. she sighed, “i know this is the right way, but this seems too easy… you got us through the wall, i’ll be body insurance going downstairs, deal? cool.” she lifted the heavy door, grunting under the weight, revealing a very narrow stairwell that looked like it was carved out of brick. there was a dim light coming from somewhere they couldn’t see, just enough to make the stair landing visible. seraphim shook her hands, taking a deep breath. “here goes nothin’, wish me luck.”
she didn’t get very far.
seraphim put one leg out in space, aiming to awkwardly go down the steps, when her leg jerked hard to one side. she swore under her breath and grabbed nova’s arm, quickly pulling herself up to sit on the floor.
she had a needle roughly the same thickness as a knitting needle shoved through the top of her boot. blood was beginning to ooze from the wounds. “ohhhhkay. i don’t know what else i was expecting.”
“morgan–”
“this is fine.”
“morgan.”
“this is okay.”
“do we leave it in?”
seraphim swore again, this time with a little more enunciation. “no. i don’t know what this is made of and now it’s currently inside of me, so we’re just going to uhm–ellie you have to do it.”
“what?”
“ellie i can’t pull this out you have to do it, you gotta not hesitate and just go for it, i don’t have the g–FUCK.” nova wrapped a hand around one end of the needle and jerked it clean in the middle of seraphim’s rambling, replacing it as quickly as she could with her hands, adding pressure. there were a few moments where the only sound was seraphim’s ragged breathing, which eventually calmed, as she braced her foot against the opening to the basement. safe in nova’s hands. “… thank you.”
“don’t mention it… but what do we do now? is the entire area down there going to be like that?”
seraphim sighed. “probably. and we could stop and look for the way that the help disarms the hallway, or we could do it my way, which will take a lot less time…” she awkwardly shifted up into a squatting position on the floor, staring down into the dark. “and because we did the right thing and properly hydrated before the jump, i should be able to do this even with my gloves on… just gotta focus for a sec…”
seraphim took one huge breath in, and out. ignore the pain. ignore it. we’ll deal with it later.
she held her palm out flat, and then lifted it. as she did, spots all along what they could see of the lower level glowed a faint lavender shade.
nova’s eyes widened. were… were those all the traps that had been set?
seraphim raised her other hand, and tried to snap her fingers. no dice. she hissed, making an abrupt fist.
what followed was a soft cacophony of things breaking, falling, or shattering.
“morgan that was–oh!”
seraphim had yanked her mask down in time to vomit violently off to the side, rib cage moving erratically underneath her armor. it honestly didn’t make the room smell that much worse.
“are you–?”
“yeah, just uh–don’t ask me to do anything like that again for a few hours.”
“that was… amazing.”
seraphim threw her head back, laughing roughly. “yeah, we’re both pretty rad, now let’s–let’s go get this fucker so we can go home, i need to go to medical like yesterday.”
* * *
with the traps disabled, the going down was easy, and straightforward. they crunched over needles, arrows, and metallic shapes as they went. everything around them was like sod, with torches embedded in the walls.
nova tried not to think about that they looked like arms, eternally smoldering just bright enough to light the way.
“what, no labyrinth of endless twisting hallways? i’m a little disappointed.”
seraphim was trying to not limp but pain spread up her leg with every step she took. shit, shit, shit. she kept glancing to nova’s hand, hoping that she couldn’t see behind her goggles. “for one, they think that the traps will kill or maim anyone not authorized to be down here. for two, if they are authorized to be down here, why waste their time?” their voices were quiet. they hadn’t seen anyone else down here, but…
the torches stopped. and there was a long stretch of darkness before they came to another pair. nova grabbed a hold of seraphim’s arm, and she let her keep it there, up until they entered the rim of a dim glow by a wall of bars.
a cell.
“kreuger.” seraphim began, gently. “… kreuger.”
“hush–exorcist.” nova’s grip on seraphim tightened as he spoke. she had to twist back when she realized she’d almost buried her face in seraphim’s shoulder out of some kind of reflex. he sounded like… the buzzing of bees, the low growl of a monster, with a canyon beneath all of it. she hated it. “i hear you… who is this? this is not john.”
“no. it’s not. enoch has… left our little club, since we last saw each other.”
as seraphim spoke, voice laced with pain, kreuger stepped up to the light, although nova could see the backlight, inhuman reflection of his eyes before he got close to them. she wished he’d stayed away.
he did look human. almost. limbs a little too long, face a little too angular. his eyes were a solid pink, no pupils to speak of (where did the reflection come from, where did it come from?). he had horns, like a ram, that rose up and wrapped around his pointed ears in a tight spiral.
he… was hunched over. nova felt a little bad for him, then. somewhere in her chest. like you’d pity a vulture in a cage too small.
“good. i hated him.”
“you hate everyone, kreuger.”
“oh, now, dear lady morgana, be kind. i tolerate you, do i not?”
“you’re going to do more than tolerate me here in a second, we’re here to bust you out.”
“… bust me…?” but seraphim was too busy digging into a pocket by her kneecap, pulling out a small bottle. it was crystalline, marked with a cross. holy water. kreuger’s eyes widened in what might have been surprise. “… you are releasing me.”
“psellus is not the rightful ruler of this place. you are. and i don’t know the intimate details of the politics of this fucking shitshow but you can be damned sure that where we’re from we greatly prefer lawful evil to complete, uncontrollable chaos. now if you give me one second–” seraphim uncorked the bottle and kreuger quickly recoiled back away from his bars; the senior agent hobbled along the length of his cell wall. the metal seemed to dissolve as soon as the water hit it, and then there was nothing.
nova became very acutely aware that she was standing in the same room with what was essentially a demon king.
this was going to make a good story someday.
but as he started to walk forward, there was clanking. “… shit. water can’t cut through that.”
kreuger stood to his full height as soon as he passed where his threshold had been. he was easily seven feet tall, and dressed all in black, in–a suit. this guy had a taste for aesthetics, nova would give him that.
“everything in me is suppressed because of these chains. i do not know where psellus found them…” he had thick, chain link cuffs on both his wrists and around his ankles. it reminded nova of the same stone she’d seen on the ground where they had landed. they were massive. probably needed to be. her heart was in her throat.
“ellie, you still have your box from earlier?”
oh no.
“y-yes.”
kreuger smiled and revealed a mouth full of knives. well, fangs, but they looked like knives, for all intents and purposes. “oh how adorable! and she smells so good…”
“can you focus that circle into a point? that circle you made?” seraphim tried to make her voice as solid, as reassuring, as possible. because now nova was staring up at kreuger’s face and maybe trembling, and-well.
now she’d really see what she was made of.
“we–i can. yes.”
“okay. kreuger, you stay still, spread out like this. ellie, focus that thing to a point and cut through his chains.”
“you–you can’t magic them apart? like the traps?”
“oh that was you? excellent work, exorcist.”
“–thank you, your highness. and no, el, i can’t. that level of tinkering–if i tried that again this quickly there’s a good chance i’d rupture an organ. i’ve had lots of practice but there are still things i’m not able to do, not yet. ellie, look at me. … kreuger is not going to hurt you.” her face went to the king himself. “he needs us, and knows exactly what’ll happen if we don’t come home.”
“mmm, yes. how is our dear lillith.”
“she’s fine. ellie, if you would.” she stepped closer to her, muttering by her face. “i know that you’ve already burned your hand once today, do you think you can push through and do it again? if you don’t, then you’ll have to tell me how to do it.”
“no–no. i can do it.”
kreuger assumed a strange position, wrists and ankles spread apart. his gaze made nova feel naked in the worst way.
and seraphim watched with not a small amount of pure, unadulterated admiration as ellie readied the box, and removed her glove. she was even brave enough to glance at his face once.
“ready?”
“ready, little solider.”
solider. strange.
and it may have been to comfort her, or it may have been a warning, looking back, but as nova traced a different pattern over the top of the box–her skin feeling like it was being cut a centimeter at a time--kreuger began to talk to seraphim.
“oh lady, tell me–how has your spine been lately?”
“fine, besides the usual. why?”
“oh, no reason. i just know you wish for a certain thing.”
a heavy sigh. “not this again–”
“and you’ll get it. after… a few trials.”
another strum, like before.
kreuger was unbound.
and as soon as he was, the hallway positively lit up. the torches’ light was amplified as kreuger drew in a breath too big for human lungs, and a pair of wings, that hadn’t been there before, stretched and touched the walls with their span. “… thank you. darling little solder. darling little exorcist. i fear i am in your debt. tell me, how can i repay your kindness pending the slaughter of half of my kingdom?”
nova’s hands shook as she clipped the box back onto her belt, and she tried to focus on being able to tell wyvern and mothman how it preformed afield.
seraphim began, “we’ll call you. for now, we just need to get back to our land point so our crew can get us back.”
“oh, allow me.” without warning, kreuger put his hands on their backs, reaching around them. his limbs seem to elongate, to stretch, and nova thought to herself, hm, that’s strange, i’ve never had a hand on my back that was the entire length of my spine before.
seraphim tried to stop him, in her defense. “wait, no, kreuger, if you push us through then we’ll–”
too late.
drake, wyvern and longma let out high-pitched shrieks as seraphim and nova were launched, unannounced, from the gate’s mouth. they landed roughly on the carpet, hacking, grasping at their masks and goggles to breathe air natural and familiar to the lining of their lungs.
“holy shit! are you guys okay? what happened?”
nova blinked at the sight of the three faces looking down at her. she smiled to the tune of seraphim’s voice.
“we fucking saved the world. … also please call karen and aly we need them like, right now.”
#seraphim speaks#agent nova#agent seraphim#milky way saints#concerning the hellgate#featuring:#a lot of our basement crew like#technical officer drake#technical officer wyvern#technical officer longma#(and a few handles mentioned in passing.)#canon notes#society notes
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Insects Quotes
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• “Are you okay?” he says, still looking at me, and I feel my smile slip, fade, and the silence that falls over us then is so total I can’t hear anything, not the rush-hiss of my heart pounding in my chest, not the sounds all around us; insects, wind, and the distant clatter of others’ lives in houses built close but not too close because when we look out our windows we all like to pretend that everything we see is ours. But Ryan is not mine. – Elizabeth Scott
• a country encapsulates our childhood and those lanes, byres, fields, flowers, insects, suns, moons and stars are forever reoccurring. – Edna O’Brien
• A fly, Sir, may sting a stately horse and make him wince; but, one is but an insect, and the other is a horse still. – Samuel Johnson
• A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects. – Robert A. Heinlein
• A net set up to catch fish may snare a duck; a mantis hunting an insect may itself be set upon by a sparrow. Machinations are hidden within machinations; changes arise beyond changes. So how can wit and cleverness be relied upon? – Zicheng Hong
• A refuge is supposed to prevent what? The genes from flowing out of sight? This refuge idea won’t stop insects from moving across boundaries. That’s absurd. – Jeremy Rifkin
• A single swallow, it is said, devours ten millions of insects every year. The supplying of these insects I take to be a signal instance of the Creator’s bounty in providing for the lives of His creatures. – Ambrose Bierce
• A standard saying among fly fishermen is that trout spend anywhere from 80 to 90 percent of their time feeding below the water’s surface on the immature forms of aquatic insects. Some anglers are even more precise, but whatever the exact percentage , it’s safe to say that to fully appreciate any tailwater fishery you will have to learn the fine art of nymphing. – Ed Engle
• A stray fact: insects are not drawn to candle flames, they are drawn to the light on the far side of the flame, they go into the flame and sizzle to nothingness because they’re so eager to get to the light on the other side. – Michael Cunningham
• A tree is a thought, an obstruction stopping the flow of wind and light, trapping water, housing insects, birds, and animals, and breathing in and out. How treelike the human, how human the tree. – Gretel Ehrlich
• A worm tells summer better than the clock,
The slug’s a living calendar of days;
What shall it tell me if a timeless insect
Says the world wears away? – Dylan Thomas
• Ah, Meese has brought us her finest goblets! A moment, whilst Kruppe sweeps out cobwebs, insect husks and other assorted proofs of said goblets’ treasured value. – Steven Erikson
• All of nature talks to me – if I could just figure out what it’s saying – trees are swinging in the breeze. They’re talking to me. Insects are rubbing their legs together. They’re all talking. They’re talking to me. – Laurie Anderson
• Although you should respect venomous snakes and approach them with caution, most snakes you encounter in an urban environment are harmless and beneficial because they eat insects, mice and other rodents. – Robert Pierce
• An innocent bird is not innocent from the insect’s point of view! Only man can attain the rank of innocence through becoming a peaceful vegetarian! – Mehmet Murat Ildan
• An insect is more complex than a star..and is a far greater challenge to understand. – Martin Rees
• Around the steel no tortur’d worm shall twine, No blood of living insect stain my line; Let me, less cruel, cast the feather’d hook, With pliant rod athwart the pebbled brook, Silent along the mazy margin stray, And with the fur-wrought fly delude the prey. – John Gay
• As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. – Franz Kafka
• At seventy-three I learned a little about the real structure of animals, plants, birds, fishes and insects. Consequently when I am eighty I’ll have made more progress. At ninety I’ll have penetrated the mystery of things. At a hundred I shall have reached something marvellous, but when I am a hundred and ten everything I do, the smallest dot, will be alive. – Hokusai
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• Be able to recognize the dangerous snakes, spiders, insects, and plants that live in your area of the country.- Marilyn vos Savant
• Beasts, birds, and insects, even to the minutest and meanest of their kind, act with the unerring providence of instinct; man, the while, who possesses a higher faculty, abuses it, and therefore goes blundering on. – Robert Southey
• Because there is something helpless and weak and innocent – something like an infant – deep inside us all that really suffers in ways we would never permit an insect to suffer. – Jack Abbott
• Ben: “Gorog’s no assassin! She’s my best friend.” Mara: “She’s an insect, Ben.” Ben: “So? Your best friend’s a lizard.” Mara: “Don’t be ridiculous. Aunt Leia is my best friend.” Ben: “Doesn’t count. She’s family. Saba is a lizard.” Mara: “Okay, maybe my best friend’s a lizard. – Troy Denning
• Better to be an animal than a man, an insect than an animal, a plant than an insect, and so on. Salvation? Whatever diminishes the kingdom of consciousness and compromises its supremacy. – Emile M. Cioran
• Bird taxonomy is a difficult field because of the severe anatomical constraints imposed by flight. There are only so many ways to design a bird capable, say, of catching insects in mid-air, with the result that birds of similar habitats tend to have very similar anatomies, whatever their ancestry. For example, American vultures look and behave much like Old World vultures, but biologists have come to realize that the former are related to storks, the latter to hawks, and that their resemblances result from their common lifestyle. – Jared Diamond
• By ‘nationalism’ I mean first of all the habit of assuming that human beings can be classified like insects and that whole blocks of millions and tens of millions of people can be confidently labeled ‘good’ or ‘bad’…By ‘patriotism’ I mean devotion to a particular place and a particular way of life, which one believes to be best in the world but has no wish to force on other people. Patriotism is of its nature defensive, both militarily and culturally. Nationalism, on the other hand, is inseparable from the desire for power. – George Orwell
• By the River Piedra I sat down and wept. There is a legend that everything that falls into the waters of this river — leaves, insects, the feathers of birds — is transformed into the rocks that make the riverbed. If only I could tear out my heart and hurl it into the current, then my pain and longing would be over, and I could finally forget. – Paulo Coelho
• Cats are like insects. They should be left outside to clean up the garbage. – Michael Mewshaw
• Compassion is an emotion of which we ought never to be ashamed. Graceful, particularly in youth, is the tear of sympathy, and the heart that melts at the tale of woe. We should not permit ease and indulgence to contract our affections, and wrap us up in a selfish enjoyment; but we should accustom ourselves to think of the distresses of human, life, of the solitary cottage; the dying parent, and the weeping orphan. Nor ought we ever to sport with pain and distress in any of our amusements, or treat even the meanest insect with wanton cruelty. – Hugh Blair
• Each moss,
Each shell, each drawling insect, holds a rank
Important in the plan of Him who fram’d
This scale of beings; holds a rack which, lost
Would break the chain, and leave behind a gap
Which Nature’s self would rue. – Benjamin Stillingfleet
• Each particle of matter is an immensity, each leaf a world, each insect an inexplicable compendium. – Johann Kaspar Lavater
• English is full of booby traps for the unwary foreigner. Any language where the unassuming word fly signifies an annoying insect, a means of travel, and a critical part of a gentleman’s apparel is clearly asking to be mangled. – Bill Bryson
• Even within the most beautiful landscape, in the trees, under the leaves the insects are eating each other; violence is a part of life. – Francis Bacon
• Every blade of grass, every insect, ant, and golden bee, all so amazingly know their path, though they have not intelligence, they bear witness to the mystery of God and continually accomplish it themselves. – Fyodor Dostoevsky
• Every living being on earth loves life above all else. The smallest insect, whose life lasts only an instant, tries to escape from any danger in order to live a moment longer. And the desire to live is most developed in man. – Hazrat Inayat Khan
• Every man has the basis of good. Not only human beings, you can find it among animals and insects, for instance, when we treat a dog or horse lovingly. – Dalai Lama
• Everything is a hero: A lighthouse which gives light to us; weeds that provide shelter to little insects; a water drop which quenches a thirsty ant! Everything that helps us to live is a hero!
• Everything is determined, the beginning as well as the end, by forces over which we have no control. It is determined for the insect, as well as for the star. Human beings, vegetables, or cosmic dust, we all dance to a mysterious tune, intoned in the distance by an invisible piper. – Albert Einstein
• Everything is important. To the smallest insect, even the mouldering tree, the deepest stone in the drift. – Marlene van Niekerk
• For us, a pretty bird is a pretty bird; for an insect, pretty bird is an ugly enemy! – Mehmet Murat Ildan
• From inanimate object, to microorganism, to plant, to insect, to animal, to human, there is an evolving level of intelligence. – Bryan Kest
• From my earliest memories I was fascinated by animals. I would explore my backyard for insects and gaze at anthills until my elbows became sore. When I was 8, my mother bought me a book of North American birds and I’ve been keen on birdwatching since. – Jonathan Balcombe
• Garden: One of a vast number of free outdoor restaurants operated by charity-minded amateurs in an effort to provide healthful, balanced meals for insects, birds and animals. – Henry Beard
• Happy insect! what can be In happiness compared to thee? Fed with nourishment divine, The dewy morning’s gentle wine! Nature waits upon thee still, And thy verdant cup does fill; ‘Tis fill’d wherever thou dost tread, Nature’s self’s thy Ganymede. – Abraham Cowley
• Herein lies our problem. If we level that much land to grow rice and whatever, then no other animal could live there except for some insect pest species. Which is very unfortunate. – Steve Irwin
• Historical Re-creation, he thought glumly, as they picked their way across, under, over or through the boulders and insect-buzzing heaps of splintered timber, with streamlets running everywhere. Only we do it with people dressing up and running around with blunt weapons, and people selling hot dogs, and the girls all miserable because they can only dress up as wenches, wenching being the only job available to women in the olden days. – Terry Pratchett
• How describe the delicate thing that happens when a brilliant insect alights on a flower? Words, with their weight, fall upon the picture like birds of prey. – Jules Renard
• How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, how complicate, how wonderful is man! Distinguished link in being’s endless chain! Midway from nothing to the Deity! Dim miniature of greatness absolute! An heir of glory! A frail child of dust! Helpless immortal! Insect infinite! A worm! A God! – Edward Young
• How would you like to have a thousand brilliantly colored cliff swallows keeping house in the eaves of your barn, and gobbling up insects over your farm at the rate of 100,000 per day? There are many Wisconsin farmsteads where such a swallow-show is a distinct possibility. – Aldo Leopold
• Human beings ought not to draw in their antennae at every ungentle touch, like supersensitive insects. – E. T. A. Hoffmann
• I always liked the idea that America is a big facade. We are all insects crawling across on the shiny hood of a Cadillac. We’re all looking at the wrapping. But we won’t tear the wrapping to see what lies beneath. – Tom Waits
• I craved your warmth. I hugged myself, rubbing my fingers up and down. I guess people are like insects sometimes, drawn to heat, A kind of infra-red longing. – Lucy Christopher
• I do not see why men sheould be so proud insects have the more ancient lineage according to the scientists insects were insects when man was only a burbling whatisit. – Don Marquis
• I fear no man, no woman;
flower does not fear
bird, insect nor adder. – Hilda Doolittle
• I got a little studio in Chicago and practiced. I realized I had to earn some money. So I went to work for an advertising agency where my job was mostly drawing insects for a company that sold an insecticide spray. – Claes Oldenburg
• I had that trapped feeling, like some sort of a poor insect that you’ve put inside a downturned glass, and it tries to climb up the sides, and it can’t, and it can’t, and it can’t. – Cornell Woolrich
• I hate banana bread. It’s too suspicious-looking. I always thought the cooked banana looked like insect legs. – Elizabeth Berg
• I hated the words. Each one was like a big live insect in my mouth. – Glen Duncan
• I have always found thick woods a little intimidating, for they are so secret and enclosed. You may seem alone but you are not, for there are always eyes watching you. All the wildlife of the woods, the insects, birds, and animals, are well aware of your presence no matter how softly you may tread, and they follow your every move although you cannot see them. – Thalassa Cruso
• I listen to the summer symphony outside my window. Truthfully, it’s not a symphony at all. There’s no tune, no melody, only the same notes over and over. Chirps and tweets and trills and burples. It’s as if the insect orchestra is forever tuning its instruments, forever waiting for the maestro to tap his baton and bring them to order. I, for one, hope the maestro never comes. I love the music mess of it. – Jerry Spinelli
• I love insects. They are amazing. – Andrea Arnold
• I never kill insects. If I see ants or spiders in the room, I pick them up and take them outside. Karma is everything. – Holly Valance
• I personally feel that parachute files give a more realistic impression of an insect to the fish that views the fly, since the hackles are in the same position as the insect’s legs, and when tied with brightly colored hackles, these flies are easier to see on the float. A final advantage is that in rough water, a parachute-hackled dry fly will float longer and better than a conventional one – Lefty Kreh
• I tell you solemnly, that I have many times tried to become an insect. But I was not equal even to that. I swear, gentlemen, that to be too conscious is an illness — a real thorough-going illness. – Fyodor Dostoevsky
• I think it’s so archaic that cosmetic companies are still using animal by-products and insects in their products! It’s 2016, why is anyone still doing that? – Jeffree Star
• I think that the leaf of a tree, the meanest insect on which we trample, are in themselves arguments more conclusive than any which can be adduced that some vast intellect animates Infinity. – Percy Bysshe Shelley
• I think we are just insects, we live a bit and then die and that’s the lot. There’s no mercy in things. There’s not even a Great Beyond. There’s nothing. – John Fowles
• I thought the earth remembered me, she took me back so tenderly, arranging her dark skirts, her pockets full of lichens and seeds. I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed, nothing between me and the white fire of the stars but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths among the branches of the perfect trees. All night I heard the small kingdoms breathing around me, the insects, and the birds who do their work in the darkness. All night I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling with a luminous doom. By morning I had vanished at least a dozen times into something better. – Mary Oliver
• I wanted to know the name of every stone and flower and insect and bird and beast. I wanted to know where it got its color, where it got its life – but there was no one to tell me. – George Washington Carver
• I was really interested in collecting insects. – Satoshi Tajiri
• If all insects disappeared, all life on earth would perish. If all humans disappeared, all life on earth would flourish. – Jonas Salk
• If all mankind were to disappear, the world would regenerate back to the rich state of equilibrium that existed ten thousand years ago. If insects were to vanish, the environment would collapse into chaos. – E. O. Wilson
• If all the insects were to disappear from the earth, within 50 years all life on earth would end. If all human beings disappeared from the earth, within 50 years all forms of life would flourish. – Jonas Salk
• If we go on the way we have, the fault is our greed and if we are not willing to change, we will disappear from the face of the globe, to be replaced by the insect. – Jacques Yves Cousteau
• If we were to wipe out insects alone on this planet, the rest of life and humanity with it would mostly disappear from the land. Within a few months. – E. O. Wilson
• If you had an alien race that looked like insects, then they would build robots to look like themselves, not to look like people. – Kevin J. Anderson
• If you see a thing that looks like a cross between a flying lobster and the figure of Abraxas on a Gnostic gem, do not pay it the least attention, never mind where it is; just keep quiet and hope it will go away – for that’s your best chance; you have none in a stand-up fight with a good thorough-going African insect. – Mary Kingsley
• If you want to study one of these strange organisms, you had better have a good justification. It’s not good to say I want to study gene organisation in some obscure insect that no one’s ever heard about. – Thomas Cech
• I’m always very interested in breeding. Raising cacti is breeding. My lotus plant collection is breeding. The insects are breeding. – Takashi Murakami
• I’m writing a film called ‘Bug.’ It’s an original script, and it’s not about killer insects. It’s a thriller set in a high school. The bug of the title refers to a surveillance device. – Wes Craven
• In handling a stinging insect, move very slowly. – Robert A. Heinlein
• In my grandparents’ time, it was believed that spirits existed everywhere – in trees, rivers, insects, wells, anything. My generation does not believe this, but I like the idea that we should all treasure everything because spirits might exist there, and we should treasure everything because there is a kind of life to everything. – Hayao Miyazaki
• In my life outdoors, I’ve observed that animals of almost any variety will stand in a windy place rather than in a protected, windless area infested with biting insects. They would rather be annoyed by the wind than bitten. – Tim Cahill
• In my youth, I spent my time investigating insects. – Maria Sibylla Merian
• In summer the empire of insects spreads. – Adam Zagajewski
• In the future, I mean to be a fine streamside entomologist. I’m going to start on that when I am much too old to do any of the two thousand things I can think of that are more fun than screening insects in cold running water – Thomas McGuane
• In the vast, and the minute, we see
The unambiguous footsteps of the God,
Who gives its lustre to an insect’s wing
And wheels His throne upon the rolling worlds. – William Cowper
• In time they sank and decayed, and nothing is left of them except an occasional impression in stones, in stones now found in deserts and on high mountain peaks. Birdless forests block the sun in uninhabited lands. Insects swirl in the air. And then, in a majestic, bloodthirsty, and mighty heave, the spinal columns of the vertebrates rise as monstrous lizards and fabulous creatures; dragons flinging their fearful bellows up to a steaming sky… Slowly they become birds, birds as light as undreamt dreams. The searing roars become birdsong, whimpering flutes on warm nights. – Erik Fosnes Hansen
• Insect life was so loud that when you parked the car and got out it sounded as if you had suddenly tuned into a radio frequency from another planet. – David Samuels
• Insect politics, indifferent universe. Bang your head against the wall, but apathy is worse. – Don Henley
• Insect resistance to a pesticide was first reported in 1947 for the Housefly (Musca domestica) with respect to DDT. Since then resistance to one or more pesticides has been reported in at least 225 species of insects and other arthropods. The genetic variants required for resistance to the most diverse kinds of pesticides were apparently present in every one of the populations exposed to these man-made compounds. – Francisco J. Ayala
• Insects are my secret fear. That’s what terrifies me more than anything – insects. – Michael O’Donoghue
• Insects are not only cold-blooded, and green- and yellow-blooded, but are also cased in a clacking horn. They have rigid eyes and brains strung down their backs. But they make up the bulk of our comrades-at-life, so I look to them for a glimmer of companionship. – Annie Dillard
• Insects are what neurosis would sound like, if neurosis could make a noise with its nose. – Martin Amis
• Insects have their own point of view about civilization a man thinks he amounts to a great deal but to a flea or a mosquito a human being is merely something good to eat. – Don Marquis
• Insects leave (Madagascar periwinkle) Catharanthus roseus out of their diets. So, for that matter, do deer. The reason is that the plants are loaded with alkaloids so potent that they are the source of vincristine and vinblastine. These are drugs important in routines of chemotherapy for treating Hodgkin’s disease and certain forms of leukemia. – Allen Lacy
• Iris all hues, roses, and jessamine Reared high their flourished heads between, and wrought Mosaic; underfoot the violet, Crocus, and hyacinth with rich inlay Broidered the ground, more coloured than with stone Of costliest emblem: other creature here Beast, bird, insect, or worm durst enter none; Such was their awe of man. – John Milton
• Is it reasonable to suppose that we can apply a broad-spectrum insecticide to kill the burrowing larval stages of a crop-destroying insect … without also killing the ‘good’ insects whose function may be the essential one of breaking down organic matter and maintaining healthy soil? – Rachel Carson
• Is not disease the rule of existence? There is not a lily pad floating on the river but has been riddled by insects. Almost every shrub and tree has its gall, oftentimes esteemed its chief ornament and hardly to be distinguished from the fruit. If misery loves company, misery has company enough. Now, at midsummer, find me a perfect leaf or fruit. – Henry David Thoreau
• It began as this desire to do this science fiction movie about perhaps one of the last insects left that nobody’s done anything on, which is the cockroach – and truly one of the most frightening insects. – Michael O’Donoghue
• It skims in through the eye, and by means of the utterly delicate retina hurls shadows like insect legs inward for translation. Then an immense space opens up in silence and an endlessly fecund sub-universe the writer descends, and asks the reader to descend after him, not merely to gain instructions but also to experience delight, the delight of mind freed from matter and exultant in the strength it has stolen from matter. – John Updike
• It was the hour when gauze-winged insects are born that only live for a day. – Lord Dunsany
• It’s time to stop pretending I’m ok with things I’m not ok with like all insects and Foster the People. – Greg Behrendt
• It’s very easy to make insects move. Because they do move mechanically without the rippling of flesh as you mentioned. They move more like real tinker toys and you can make models of them quite easily. – Michael O’Donoghue
• I’ve always gone with Kafka’s model of establishing the world from the first line, as in Kafka’s famous line from Metamorphosis, “Gregor Samsa woke up from uneasy dreams to find himself transformed into a gigantic insect” (or beetle or cockroach, depending on the translation). I have to have that first line before I can go further. – Laurie Foos
• I’ve become a much more serious young insect. – Andrew Denton
• I’ve come to realize that the mark is the primal gesture, the internal connection of the caveman to the cosmos; an impossibility similar to an impulse in an insect’s nervous system that it could somehow reduce to dust a steel beam by endlessly crawling over it. – Joel-Peter Witkin
• Large flocks of butterflies, all kinds of happy insects, seem to be in a perfect fever of joy and sportive gladness. – John Muir
• Life is hard for insects. And don’t think mice are having any fun either. – Woody Allen
• Little soldier, little insect You know war it has no heart It will kill you in the sunshine Or happily in the the dark Where kindness is a card game Or a bent up cigarette In the trenches, in the hard rain With a bullet and a bet. – Conor Oberst
• Lobsters displays all three of the classic biological characteristics of an insect, namely: 1. It has way more legs than necessary. 2. There is no way you would ever pet it. 3. It does not respond to simple commands such as “Here, boy!” – Dave Barry
• Love has its own instinct, finding the way to the heart, as the feeblest insect finds the way to its flower, with a will which nothing can dismay nor turn aside. – Honore de Balzac
• Make them free, and they will quickly become wise and virtous, as men become more so; for the improvement must be mutual, or the injustice which one half of the human race are obliged to submit to, retorting on their oppressors, the virtue of men will be worm-eaten by the insect whom he keeps under his feet – Mary Wollstonecraft
• Many of the earth’s habitats, animals, plants, insects and even micro-organisms that we know to be rare may not be known at all by future generations. We have the capability and the responsibility to act; we must do so before it is too late. – Dalai Lama
• Men should stop fighting among themselves and start fighting insects. – Luther Burbank
• My 10th Sonata is a sonata of insects. Insects are born from the sun… they are the sun’s kisses. – Alexander Scriabin
• My painting is not violent, it’s life that is violent. Even within the most beautiful landscape, in the trees, under the leaves, the insects are eating each other; violence is a part of life. We are born with a scream; we come into life with a scream and maybe love is a mosquito net between the fear of living and the fear of death. – Francis Bacon
• Nations! What are nations? Tartars! and Huns! and Chinamen! Like insects they swarm. The historian strives in vain to make them memorable. It is for want of a man that there are so many men. It is individuals that populate the world. – Henry David Thoreau
• Natural selection certainly operates. It explains how bacteria will gain antibiotic resistance; it will explain how insects get insecticide resistance, but it doesn’t explain how you get bacteria or insects in the first place. – William A. Dembski
• Nature will bear the closest inspection. She invites us to lay our eye level with her smallest leaf, and take an insect view of its plain. – Henry David Thoreau
• No insect hangs its nest on threads as frail as those which will sustain the weight of human vanity. – Edith Wharton
• No one knows, incidentally, why Australia’s spiders are so extravagantly toxic; capturing small insects and injecting them with enough poison to drop a horse would appear to be the most literal case of overkill. Still, it does mean that everyone gives them lots of space. – Bill Bryson
• No poetic phantasy
but a biological reality,
a fact: I am an entity
like bird, insect, plant
or sea-plant cell;
I live; I am alive. – Hilda Doolittle
• None of God’s Creatures absolutely consider’d are in their own Nature Contemptible; the meanest Fly, the poorest Insect has its Use and Vertue. – Mary Astell
• Now summer is in flower and natures hum
Is never silent round her sultry bloom
Insects as small as dust are never done
Wi’ glittering dance and reeling in the sun
And green wood fly and blossom haunting bee
Are never weary of their melody
Round field hedge now flowers in full glory twine
Large bindweed bells wild hop and streakd woodbine
That lift athirst their slender throated flowers
Agape for dew falls and for honey showers
These round each bush in sweet disorder run
And spread their wild hues to the sultry sun. – John Clare
• Of all the systems of the body – neurological, cognitive, special, sensory – the cardiological system is the most sensitive and easily disturbed. The role of society must be to shelter these systems from infection and decay, or else the future of the human race is at stake. Like a summer fruit that is protected from insect invasion, bruising, and rot by the whole mechanism of modern farming; so must we protect the heart. – Lauren Oliver
• Of what use, however, is a general certainty that an insect will not walk with his head hindmost, when what you need to know is the play of inward stimulus that sends him hither and thither in a network of possible paths? – George Eliot
• One cannot overestimate the power of a good rancorous hatred on the part of the stupid. The stupid have so much more industry and energy to expend on hating. They build it up like coral insects. – Sylvia Townsend Warner
• One night a friend lent me a book of short stories by Franz Kafka. I went back to the pension where I was staying and began to read The Metamorphosis. The first line almost knocked me off the bed. I was so surprised. The first line reads, “As Gregor Samsa awoke that morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. . . .” When I read the line I thought to myself that I didn’t know anyone was allowed to write things like that. If I had known, I would have started writing a long time ago. So I immediately started writing short stories. – Gabriel Garcia Marquez
• One of the really remarkably beneficial aspects of genetic engineering is that much of the previous methodology for controlling pests and so forth is through chemicals that affect a very broad spectrum of insects, for example, or fungicides that control fungi. – Nina Fedoroff
• Our treasure lies in the beehive of our knowledge. We are perpetually on the way thither, being by nature winged insects and honey gatherers of the mind. – Friedrich Nietzsche
• People have this idea that nature dictates a sort of 1950s sitcom version of what males and females are like. That is just not the case in the insect world. – Marlene Zuk
• Perfect hexagonal tubes in a packed array. Bees are hard-wired to lay them down, but how does an insect know enough geometry to lay down a precise hexagon? It doesn’t. It’s programmed to chew up wax and spit it out while turning on its axis, and that generates a circle. Put a bunch of bees on the same surface, chewing side-by-side, and the circles abut against each other – deform each other into hexagons, which just happen to be more efficient for close packing anyway. – Peter Watts
• Plant consciousness, insect consciousness, fish consciousness, all are related by one permanent element, which we may call the religious element inherent in all life, even in a flea: the sense of wonder. That is our sixth sense, and it is the natural religious sense. – D. H. Lawrence
• Politics is made up of two words: “Poli,” which is Greek for “many,” and “tics,” which are bloodsucking insects. – Gore Vidal
• Primates need good nutrition, to begin with. Not only fruits and plants, but insects as well. – Richard Leakey
• Say, will the falcon, stooping from above, Smit with her varying plumage, spare the dove? Admires the jay the insect’s gilded wings? Or hears the hawk when Philomela sings? – Alexander Pope
• She was afraid of all that and so much more, but what terrified her most was inside of her, an insect of unnatural intelligence who’d been living in her brain her entire life, playing with it, clicking across it, wrenching loose its cables on a whim. – Dennis Lehane
• Shrimp are the insects of the ocean. They’re bottom feeders. So they’re delicious, but they’re the bugs of the sea. – Baron Vaughn
• Since I turned the fields back to their natural state, I can’t say I’ve had any really difficult problems with insects or disease. – Masanobu Fukuoka
• So important are insects and other land-dwelling arthropods that if all were to disappear, humanity probably could not last more than a few months. – E. O. Wilson
• So there you have it: Nature is a rotten mess. But that’s only the beginning. If you take your eyes off it for one second, it will kill you. Thorns, insects, fungus, worms, birds, reptiles, wild animals, raging rivers, bottomless ravines, dry deserts, snow, quicksand, tumbleweeds, sap, and mud. Rot, poison and death. That’s Nature.It’s a wonder you even step outside of your cabin, I said.My bravery exceeds my good sense, he said. – Lee Goldberg
• So, when I say ‘match the hatch’, if the fish are taking the nymph, and you’re actually producing a replica of a flying insect, you’ll catch fresh air. – Rex Hunt
• Sometimes human beings are very much like bees. Bees are fiercely protective of their hive, provided you are outside it. Once you’re in, the workers sort of assume that it must have been cleared by management and take no notice; various freeloading insects have evolved a mellifluous existence because of this very fact. Humans act the same way. – Neil Gaiman
• Specialization is for insects. – Robert A. Heinlein
• Specialization is for insects… The race of man? He’s a whole other creature. – Robert A. Heinlein
• Spray a book with insect spray, drop it in a bag, add some mothballs and seal it. Put it in another bag and seal it. Another. The packages piled up on the floor, each a book sealed in four plastic envelopes. – Larry Niven
• Stothard learned the art of combining colors by closely studying butterflies wings; he would often say that no one knew what he owed to these tiny insects. A burnt stick and a barn door served Wilkie in lieu of pencil and canvas. – Samuel Smiles
• Suppose that insect wings developed primarily as thermoregulators and then were used for skimming and finally flying, evolving along the way. What would they be “for”? Or what is the skeleton “for”? For keeping one upright, protecting organs, storing calcium, making blood cells…? – Noam Chomsky
• The air was calm and insects had not yet risen off the water, that crisp time of morning before the sun strikes, when it is still cool enough to work out solutions to sticky problems. – April Smith
• The best gardener is a baby killer. Baby insects are much easier to kill than adults, and haven’t yet developed the big mouths and voracious appetite of the adolescent. – Janet Macunovich
• The careful insect ‘midst his works I view,
Now from the flowers exhaust the fragrant dew,
With golden treasures load his little thighs,
And steer his distant journey through the skies. – John Gay
• The clearest window that ever was fashioned if it is barred by spiders’ webs, and hung over with carcasses of insects, so that the sunlight has forgotten to find its way through, of what use can it be? Now, the Church is God’s window; and if it is so obscured by errors that its light is darkness, how great is that darkness! – Henry Ward Beecher
• The colours of insects and many smaller animals contribute to conceal them from the larger ones which prey upon them. Caterpillars which feed on leaves are generally green; and earth-worms the colour of the earth which they inhabit; butter-flies, which frequent flowers, are coloured like them; small birds which frequent hedges have greenish backs like the leaves, and light-coloured bellies like the sky, and are hence less visible to the hawk who passes under them or over them. – Erasmus Darwin
• The ‘control of nature’ is a phrase conceived in arrogance, . . . when it was supposed that nature exists for the convenience of man . . . . It is our alarming misfortune that so primitive a science has armed itself with the most modern and terrible weapons, and that in turning them against the insects it has also turned them against the earth. – Rachel Carson
• The darkness grew apace; a cold wind began to blow in freshening gusts from the east, and the showering white flakes in the air increased in number. From the edge of the sea came a ripple and whisper. Beyond these lifeless sounds the world was silent. Silent? It would be hard to convey the stillness of it. All the sounds of man, the bleating of sheep, the cries of birds, the hum of insects, the stir that makes the background of our lives – all that was over. – H. G. Wells
• The deeper men go into life, the deeper is their conviction that this life is not all. It is an unfinished symphony. A day may round out an insect’s life, and a bird or a beast needs no tomorrow. Not so with him who knows that he is related to God and has felt the power of an endless life. – Henry Ward Beecher
• The eye sees the physical body, other individuals, even insects, worms and things. It sees everything that is within its range. The body too is a thing that the eye sees, along with the rest. So, how can we conclude that the body is the I? – Sathya Sai Baba
• The German passion for bureaucracy — for written and signal forms . . . to move about, to work, to exist — is like a steel pin pinning each French individual to a sheet of paper, the way an entomologist pins each specimen insect . . . – Janet Flanner
• The heart should have fed upon the truth, as insects on a leaf, till it be tinged with the color, and show its food in every … minutest fiber. – Samuel Taylor Coleridge
• The insect-youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring,
And float amid the liquid noon! – Thomas Gray
• The instinct of brutes and insects can be the effect of nothing else than the wisdom and skill of a powerful ever-living agent. – Isaac Newton
• The jungle looked back at them with a vastness, a breathing moss-and-leaf silence, with a billion diamond and emerald insect eyes. – Ray Bradbury
• The life of an uneducated man is as useless as the tail of a dog which neither covers its rear end, nor protects it from the bites of insects. – Chanakya
• The mortal enemies of man are not his fellows of another continent or race; they are the aspects of the physical world which limit or challenge his control, the disease germs that attack him and his domesticated plants and animals, and the insects that carry many of these germs as well as working notable direct injury. This is not the age of man, however great his superiority in size and intelligence; it is literally the age of insects. – Warder Clyde Allee
• The only clear thing is that we humans are the only species with the power to destroy the earth as we know it. The birds have no such power, nor do the insects, nor does any mammal. Yet if we have the capacity to destroy the earth, so, too, do we have the capacity to protect it. – Dalai Lama
• The only sensible approach to disease and insect control, I think, is to grow sturdy crops in a healthy environment. – Masanobu Fukuoka
• The Planet drifts to random insect doom. – William S. Burroughs
• The poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still the master’s own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour’d falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth, While man, vain insect hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. – Lord Byron
• The positive evidence for Darwinism is confined to small-scale evolutionary changes like insects developing insecticide resistance….Evidence like that for insecticide resistance confirms the Darwinian selection mechanism for small-scale changes, but hardly warrants the grand extrapolation that Darwinists want. It is a huge leap going from insects developing insecticide resistance via the Darwinian mechanism of natural selection and random variation to the very emergence of insects in the first place by that same mechanism. – William A. Dembski
• The rain water enlivens all living beings of the earth both movable (insects, animals, humans, etc.) and immovable (plants, trees, etc.), and then returns to the ocean it value multiplied a million fold. – Chanakya
• The Reproductions of the living Ens
From sires to sons, unknown to sex, commence…
Unknown to sex the pregnant oyster swells,
And coral-insects build their radiate shells…
Birth after birth the line unchanging runs,
And fathers live transmitted in their sons;
Each passing year beholds the unvarying kinds,
The same their manners, and the same their minds. – Erasmus Darwin
• The rhythms of nature – the sounds of wind and water, the sounds of birds and insects – must inevitably find their analogues in music. – George Crumb
• The souls you have got cast upon the screen of publicity appear like the horrid and writhing creatures enlarged from the insect world, and revealed to us by the cinematograph. – James Larkin
• The spider is an animal who eats mosquitoes. That’s why I love the spider – it is the only way we have to deal with these insects. – Louise Bourgeois
• The transformation scene, where man is becoming insect and insect has become at least man and beyond that – a flying, godlike, shimmering, diaphanous, beautiful creature. – Michael O’Donoghue
• There are men from whom nature or some peculiar destiny has removed the cover beneath which we hide our own madness. They are likethin-skinned insects whose visible play of muscles seem to make them deformed, though in fact, everything soon turns to its normal shape again. – E. T. A. Hoffmann
• There are, as is known, insects that die in the moment of fertilization. So it is with all joy: life’s highest, most splendid moment of enjoyment is accompanied by death. – Soren Kierkegaard
• There’s no denying that the way horror has been packaged in the past has done it no favours. Lurid black covers adorned with skulls, corpses crawling with insects and scantily clad maidens being chewed into by vampires — all good clean fun, but it doesn’t do much to give the genre an air of respectability or seriousness to the casual browser. – Tim Lebbon
• There’s this shop in New York I go to; it has bones and fossils and insects that are like works of art. I have a few on my wall. – Eva Green
• These sprays, dusts, and aerosols are now applied almost universally to farms, gardens, forests, and homes-nonselective chemicals that have the power to kill every insect, the ‘good’ and the ‘bad,’ to still the song of birds and the leaping of fish in the streams, to coat the leaves with a deadly film, and to linger on in soil-all this though the intended target may be only a few weeds or insects. Can anyone believe it is possible to lay down such a barrage of poisons on the surface of the earth without making it unfit for all life? They should not be called ‘insecticides,’ but ‘biocides.’ – Rachel Carson
• Things without defense: insects, kittens, small boys. – Paul Fussell
• Thousands of men breathe, move, and live; pass off the stage of life and are heard of no more. Why? They did not a particle of good in the world; and none were blest by them, none could point to them as the instrument of their redemption; not a line they wrote, not a word they spoke, could be recalled, and so they perished–their light went out in darkness, and they were not remembered more than the insects of yesterday. Will you thus live and die, O man immortal? Live for something. – Thomas Chalmers
• Today I am sure no one needs to be told that the more birds a yard can support, the fewer insects there will be to trouble the gardener the following year. – Thalassa Cruso
• Too many creatures both insects and humans estimate their own value by the amount of minor irritation they are able to cause to greater personalities than themselves. – Don Marquis
• Tourists moved over the piazza like drugged insects on a painted plate. – Shana Alexander
• Travel is said to be broadening because it makes us realize that our way of doing things is not the only one, that people in other cultures live differently and get by just fine. Insects do that, too, only better. – Marlene Zuk
• TZETZE (or TSETSE) FLY, n. An African insect (“Glossina morsitans”) whose bite is commonly regarded as nature’s most efficacious remedy for insomnia, though some patients prefer that of the American novelist (“Mendax interminabilis”). – Ambrose Bierce
• Unwittingly, every event and every microorganism – insect, fish, bird, animal, etc. – is playing a role that maintains a perfect balance to our ecosystem, which also includes our atmosphere. Have you ever considered that we, you and I, are also apart of that? – Bryan Kest
• Vast chain of being! which from God began, Natures ethereal, human, angel, man, Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can see, No glass can reach, from infinite to Thee, From Thee to nothing. – Alexander Pope
• Very little makes me feel vulnerable these days. I hit my absolute apex of vulnerability when I returned to my home state of Louisiana, during the Gulf oil spill disaster, and witnessed mass devastation to every demonstration of life surrounding me – from grass, trees, bayous, insects, to animals and people – we all felt demolished. – Ian Somerhalder
• war with poison and chemicals was not so rare in the ancient world … An astounding panoply of toxic substances, venomous creatures, poison plants, animals and insects, deleterious environments, virulent pathogens, infectious agents, noxious gases, and combustible chemicals were marshalled to defeat foes – and panoply is an apt term here, because it is the ancient Greek word for ‘all weapons. – Adrienne Mayor
• We blame Walt Disney for goldenrod’s undeserved bad name. Despite Sneezy’s pronouncement, plants such as goldenrod with heavy, insect-carried pollen rarely cause allergic reaction. – Janet Macunovich
• We can allow satellites, planets, suns, universe, nay whole systems of universes, to be governed by laws, but the smallest insect, we wish to be created at once by special act. – Charles Darwin
• We hope that, when the insects take over the world, they will remember with gratitude how we took them along on all our picnics. – Bill Vaughan
• We know of no behavior in ants or any other social insects that can be construed as play. – Bert Holldobler
• We ought never to sport with pain and distress in any of our amusements, or treat even the meanest insect with wanton cruelty. – Hugh Blair
• We urgently need an end to these false assurances, to the sugar coating of unpalatable facts. It is the public that is being asked to assume the risks that the insect controllers calculate. The public must decide whether it wishes to continue on the present road, and it can do so only when in full possession of the facts. – Rachel Carson
• We’ve got a good inspection system in Arizona managing products that come from other parts of the county that could carry insects that could become problematic. – Carl E. Olson
• What a difference that extra 120 ppm has made for plants, and for animals and humans that depend on them. The more carbon dioxide there is in the atmosphere, the more it is absorbed by plants of every description – – and the faster and better they grow, even under adverse conditions like limited water, extremely hot air temperatures, or infestations of insects, weeds and other pests. As trees, grasses, algae and crops grow more rapidly and become healthier and more robust, animals and humans enjoy better nutrition on a planet that is greener and greener. – Paul Driessen
• What is more obscene: the idea that one can apologize for the hubris and deceit that is Obama and his health care, or the actual need some have for an apology from an entity so evil that he would toy with the lives of millions as though they were insects and he God? This is hard to tell. – Ilana Mercer
• What would be left of our tragedies if an insect were to present us his? – Emile M. Cioran
• When harvests are exuberant, joy and health follow in their train; but let delusive prosperity draw industry from agriculture; let an insiduous disease attack one of its important products; let an insect, or a parasite, fasten on a single esculent, and mark the effect upon commerce and human life. Upon such an event all business is deranged. – Elias Hasket Derby
• When I see nature, when I look into the sky, the dawn, the sun, the colors of insects, snow crystals, the night stars, I don’t feel a need for God. Perhaps when I can no longer look and wonder, when I believe in nothing – then, perhaps, I might need something else. But I don’t know what. – Michelangelo Antonioni
• When the moon shall have faded out from the sky, and the sun shall shine at noonday a dull cherry red, and the seas shall be frozen over, and the icecap shall have crept downward to the equator from either pole . . . when all the cities shall have long been dead and crumbled into dust, and all life shall be on the last verge of extinction on this globe; then, on a bit of lichen, growing on the bald rocks beside the eternal snows of Panama, shall be seated a tiny insect, preening its antennae in the glow of the worn-out sun, the sole survivor of animal life on this our earth – a melancholy bug. – William Jacob Holland
• When we mistake what we can know for all there is to know, a healthy appreciation of one’s ignorance in the face of a mystery like soil fertility gives way to the hubris that we can treat nature as a machine. Once that leap has been made, one input follows another, so that when the synthetic nitrogen fed to plants makes them more attractive to insects and vulnerable to disease, as we have discovered, the farmer turns to chemical pesticides to fix his broken machine. – Michael Pollan
• When we seed millions of acres of land with these plants, what happens to foraging birds, to insects, to microbes, to the other animals, when they come in contact and digest plants that are producing materials ranging from plastics to vaccines to pharmaceutical products? – Jeremy Rifkin
• When we usually think of fears, in comics or in films, it’s most often fears on a relatively superficial level: fear of murderous insects, of ghosts, of zombies, or even fear of dying. – Boaz Lavie
• While an ant was wandering under the shade of the tree of Phaeton, a drop of amber enveloped the tiny insect; thus she, who in life was disregarded, became precious by death. – Martial
• Who has the right to decide that the supreme value is a world without insects even though it would be a sterile world ungraced by the curving wing of a bird in flight. The decision is that of the authoritarian temporarily entrusted with power. – Rachel Carson
• Winding her arms close around his neck, she closed her eyes. To be embraced, safe in a man’s arms when she had never expected it to happen again, this would be enough.Time sheltered their embrace, enfolding them within a summer scented capsule that felt endless and theirs alone. The fragrance of grass and sunlight and nearby water sweetened each breath. Theirs was the music of birds ans the lazy buzz of insects and the beating of two hearts. Yes, she thought, she didn’t need more. This would be enough. – Maggie Osborne
• Words can enhance experience, but they can also take so much away. We see an insect and at once we abstract certain characteristics and classify it – a fly. And in that very cognitive exercise, part of the wonder is gone. Once we have labeled the things around us we do not bother to look at them so carefully. Words are part of our rational selves, and to abandon them for a while is to give freer reign to our intuitive selves. – Jane Goodall
• You cannot speak of ocean to a well-frog, the creature of a narrower sphere. You cannot speak of ice to a summer insect, the creature of a season. – Zhuangzi
• You must walk sometimes perfectly free, not prying or inquisitive, not bent on seeing things. Throw away a whole day for a single expansion, a single inspiration of air. You must walk so gently as to hear the finest sounds, the faculties being in repose. Nature will bear the closest inspection. She invites us to lay our eye level with her smallest leaf, and take an insect view of its plain. – Henry David Thoreau
• You shall find books and sermons everywhere, in the land and in the sea, in the earth and in the skies, and you shall learn from every living beast, and bird, and fish, and insect, and from every useful or useless plant that springs from the ground. – Charles Spurgeon
• You were just a boy on a bed in a room, like a kaleidoscope is a tube full of bits of broken glass. But the way I saw you was pieces refracting the light, shifting into an infinite universe of flowers and rainbows and insects and planets, magical dividing cells, pictures no one else knew. – Francesca Lia Block
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Insects Quotes
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• “Are you okay?” he says, still looking at me, and I feel my smile slip, fade, and the silence that falls over us then is so total I can’t hear anything, not the rush-hiss of my heart pounding in my chest, not the sounds all around us; insects, wind, and the distant clatter of others’ lives in houses built close but not too close because when we look out our windows we all like to pretend that everything we see is ours. But Ryan is not mine. – Elizabeth Scott
• a country encapsulates our childhood and those lanes, byres, fields, flowers, insects, suns, moons and stars are forever reoccurring. – Edna O’Brien
• A fly, Sir, may sting a stately horse and make him wince; but, one is but an insect, and the other is a horse still. – Samuel Johnson
• A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects. – Robert A. Heinlein
• A net set up to catch fish may snare a duck; a mantis hunting an insect may itself be set upon by a sparrow. Machinations are hidden within machinations; changes arise beyond changes. So how can wit and cleverness be relied upon? – Zicheng Hong
• A refuge is supposed to prevent what? The genes from flowing out of sight? This refuge idea won’t stop insects from moving across boundaries. That’s absurd. – Jeremy Rifkin
• A single swallow, it is said, devours ten millions of insects every year. The supplying of these insects I take to be a signal instance of the Creator’s bounty in providing for the lives of His creatures. – Ambrose Bierce
• A standard saying among fly fishermen is that trout spend anywhere from 80 to 90 percent of their time feeding below the water’s surface on the immature forms of aquatic insects. Some anglers are even more precise, but whatever the exact percentage , it’s safe to say that to fully appreciate any tailwater fishery you will have to learn the fine art of nymphing. – Ed Engle
• A stray fact: insects are not drawn to candle flames, they are drawn to the light on the far side of the flame, they go into the flame and sizzle to nothingness because they’re so eager to get to the light on the other side. – Michael Cunningham
• A tree is a thought, an obstruction stopping the flow of wind and light, trapping water, housing insects, birds, and animals, and breathing in and out. How treelike the human, how human the tree. – Gretel Ehrlich
• A worm tells summer better than the clock,
The slug’s a living calendar of days;
What shall it tell me if a timeless insect
Says the world wears away? – Dylan Thomas
• Ah, Meese has brought us her finest goblets! A moment, whilst Kruppe sweeps out cobwebs, insect husks and other assorted proofs of said goblets’ treasured value. – Steven Erikson
• All of nature talks to me – if I could just figure out what it’s saying – trees are swinging in the breeze. They’re talking to me. Insects are rubbing their legs together. They’re all talking. They’re talking to me. – Laurie Anderson
• Although you should respect venomous snakes and approach them with caution, most snakes you encounter in an urban environment are harmless and beneficial because they eat insects, mice and other rodents. – Robert Pierce
• An innocent bird is not innocent from the insect’s point of view! Only man can attain the rank of innocence through becoming a peaceful vegetarian! – Mehmet Murat Ildan
• An insect is more complex than a star..and is a far greater challenge to understand. – Martin Rees
• Around the steel no tortur’d worm shall twine, No blood of living insect stain my line; Let me, less cruel, cast the feather’d hook, With pliant rod athwart the pebbled brook, Silent along the mazy margin stray, And with the fur-wrought fly delude the prey. – John Gay
• As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. – Franz Kafka
• At seventy-three I learned a little about the real structure of animals, plants, birds, fishes and insects. Consequently when I am eighty I’ll have made more progress. At ninety I’ll have penetrated the mystery of things. At a hundred I shall have reached something marvellous, but when I am a hundred and ten everything I do, the smallest dot, will be alive. – Hokusai
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• Be able to recognize the dangerous snakes, spiders, insects, and plants that live in your area of the country.- Marilyn vos Savant
• Beasts, birds, and insects, even to the minutest and meanest of their kind, act with the unerring providence of instinct; man, the while, who possesses a higher faculty, abuses it, and therefore goes blundering on. – Robert Southey
• Because there is something helpless and weak and innocent – something like an infant – deep inside us all that really suffers in ways we would never permit an insect to suffer. – Jack Abbott
• Ben: “Gorog’s no assassin! She’s my best friend.” Mara: “She’s an insect, Ben.” Ben: “So? Your best friend’s a lizard.” Mara: “Don’t be ridiculous. Aunt Leia is my best friend.” Ben: “Doesn’t count. She’s family. Saba is a lizard.” Mara: “Okay, maybe my best friend’s a lizard. – Troy Denning
• Better to be an animal than a man, an insect than an animal, a plant than an insect, and so on. Salvation? Whatever diminishes the kingdom of consciousness and compromises its supremacy. – Emile M. Cioran
• Bird taxonomy is a difficult field because of the severe anatomical constraints imposed by flight. There are only so many ways to design a bird capable, say, of catching insects in mid-air, with the result that birds of similar habitats tend to have very similar anatomies, whatever their ancestry. For example, American vultures look and behave much like Old World vultures, but biologists have come to realize that the former are related to storks, the latter to hawks, and that their resemblances result from their common lifestyle. – Jared Diamond
• By ‘nationalism’ I mean first of all the habit of assuming that human beings can be classified like insects and that whole blocks of millions and tens of millions of people can be confidently labeled ‘good’ or ‘bad’…By ‘patriotism’ I mean devotion to a particular place and a particular way of life, which one believes to be best in the world but has no wish to force on other people. Patriotism is of its nature defensive, both militarily and culturally. Nationalism, on the other hand, is inseparable from the desire for power. – George Orwell
• By the River Piedra I sat down and wept. There is a legend that everything that falls into the waters of this river — leaves, insects, the feathers of birds — is transformed into the rocks that make the riverbed. If only I could tear out my heart and hurl it into the current, then my pain and longing would be over, and I could finally forget. – Paulo Coelho
• Cats are like insects. They should be left outside to clean up the garbage. – Michael Mewshaw
• Compassion is an emotion of which we ought never to be ashamed. Graceful, particularly in youth, is the tear of sympathy, and the heart that melts at the tale of woe. We should not permit ease and indulgence to contract our affections, and wrap us up in a selfish enjoyment; but we should accustom ourselves to think of the distresses of human, life, of the solitary cottage; the dying parent, and the weeping orphan. Nor ought we ever to sport with pain and distress in any of our amusements, or treat even the meanest insect with wanton cruelty. – Hugh Blair
• Each moss,
Each shell, each drawling insect, holds a rank
Important in the plan of Him who fram’d
This scale of beings; holds a rack which, lost
Would break the chain, and leave behind a gap
Which Nature’s self would rue. – Benjamin Stillingfleet
• Each particle of matter is an immensity, each leaf a world, each insect an inexplicable compendium. – Johann Kaspar Lavater
• English is full of booby traps for the unwary foreigner. Any language where the unassuming word fly signifies an annoying insect, a means of travel, and a critical part of a gentleman’s apparel is clearly asking to be mangled. – Bill Bryson
• Even within the most beautiful landscape, in the trees, under the leaves the insects are eating each other; violence is a part of life. – Francis Bacon
• Every blade of grass, every insect, ant, and golden bee, all so amazingly know their path, though they have not intelligence, they bear witness to the mystery of God and continually accomplish it themselves. – Fyodor Dostoevsky
• Every living being on earth loves life above all else. The smallest insect, whose life lasts only an instant, tries to escape from any danger in order to live a moment longer. And the desire to live is most developed in man. – Hazrat Inayat Khan
• Every man has the basis of good. Not only human beings, you can find it among animals and insects, for instance, when we treat a dog or horse lovingly. – Dalai Lama
• Everything is a hero: A lighthouse which gives light to us; weeds that provide shelter to little insects; a water drop which quenches a thirsty ant! Everything that helps us to live is a hero!
• Everything is determined, the beginning as well as the end, by forces over which we have no control. It is determined for the insect, as well as for the star. Human beings, vegetables, or cosmic dust, we all dance to a mysterious tune, intoned in the distance by an invisible piper. – Albert Einstein
• Everything is important. To the smallest insect, even the mouldering tree, the deepest stone in the drift. – Marlene van Niekerk
• For us, a pretty bird is a pretty bird; for an insect, pretty bird is an ugly enemy! – Mehmet Murat Ildan
• From inanimate object, to microorganism, to plant, to insect, to animal, to human, there is an evolving level of intelligence. – Bryan Kest
• From my earliest memories I was fascinated by animals. I would explore my backyard for insects and gaze at anthills until my elbows became sore. When I was 8, my mother bought me a book of North American birds and I’ve been keen on birdwatching since. – Jonathan Balcombe
• Garden: One of a vast number of free outdoor restaurants operated by charity-minded amateurs in an effort to provide healthful, balanced meals for insects, birds and animals. – Henry Beard
• Happy insect! what can be In happiness compared to thee? Fed with nourishment divine, The dewy morning’s gentle wine! Nature waits upon thee still, And thy verdant cup does fill; ‘Tis fill’d wherever thou dost tread, Nature’s self’s thy Ganymede. – Abraham Cowley
• Herein lies our problem. If we level that much land to grow rice and whatever, then no other animal could live there except for some insect pest species. Which is very unfortunate. – Steve Irwin
• Historical Re-creation, he thought glumly, as they picked their way across, under, over or through the boulders and insect-buzzing heaps of splintered timber, with streamlets running everywhere. Only we do it with people dressing up and running around with blunt weapons, and people selling hot dogs, and the girls all miserable because they can only dress up as wenches, wenching being the only job available to women in the olden days. – Terry Pratchett
• How describe the delicate thing that happens when a brilliant insect alights on a flower? Words, with their weight, fall upon the picture like birds of prey. – Jules Renard
• How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, how complicate, how wonderful is man! Distinguished link in being’s endless chain! Midway from nothing to the Deity! Dim miniature of greatness absolute! An heir of glory! A frail child of dust! Helpless immortal! Insect infinite! A worm! A God! – Edward Young
• How would you like to have a thousand brilliantly colored cliff swallows keeping house in the eaves of your barn, and gobbling up insects over your farm at the rate of 100,000 per day? There are many Wisconsin farmsteads where such a swallow-show is a distinct possibility. – Aldo Leopold
• Human beings ought not to draw in their antennae at every ungentle touch, like supersensitive insects. – E. T. A. Hoffmann
• I always liked the idea that America is a big facade. We are all insects crawling across on the shiny hood of a Cadillac. We’re all looking at the wrapping. But we won’t tear the wrapping to see what lies beneath. – Tom Waits
• I craved your warmth. I hugged myself, rubbing my fingers up and down. I guess people are like insects sometimes, drawn to heat, A kind of infra-red longing. – Lucy Christopher
• I do not see why men sheould be so proud insects have the more ancient lineage according to the scientists insects were insects when man was only a burbling whatisit. – Don Marquis
• I fear no man, no woman;
flower does not fear
bird, insect nor adder. – Hilda Doolittle
• I got a little studio in Chicago and practiced. I realized I had to earn some money. So I went to work for an advertising agency where my job was mostly drawing insects for a company that sold an insecticide spray. – Claes Oldenburg
• I had that trapped feeling, like some sort of a poor insect that you’ve put inside a downturned glass, and it tries to climb up the sides, and it can’t, and it can’t, and it can’t. – Cornell Woolrich
• I hate banana bread. It’s too suspicious-looking. I always thought the cooked banana looked like insect legs. – Elizabeth Berg
• I hated the words. Each one was like a big live insect in my mouth. – Glen Duncan
• I have always found thick woods a little intimidating, for they are so secret and enclosed. You may seem alone but you are not, for there are always eyes watching you. All the wildlife of the woods, the insects, birds, and animals, are well aware of your presence no matter how softly you may tread, and they follow your every move although you cannot see them. – Thalassa Cruso
• I listen to the summer symphony outside my window. Truthfully, it’s not a symphony at all. There’s no tune, no melody, only the same notes over and over. Chirps and tweets and trills and burples. It’s as if the insect orchestra is forever tuning its instruments, forever waiting for the maestro to tap his baton and bring them to order. I, for one, hope the maestro never comes. I love the music mess of it. – Jerry Spinelli
• I love insects. They are amazing. – Andrea Arnold
• I never kill insects. If I see ants or spiders in the room, I pick them up and take them outside. Karma is everything. – Holly Valance
• I personally feel that parachute files give a more realistic impression of an insect to the fish that views the fly, since the hackles are in the same position as the insect’s legs, and when tied with brightly colored hackles, these flies are easier to see on the float. A final advantage is that in rough water, a parachute-hackled dry fly will float longer and better than a conventional one – Lefty Kreh
• I tell you solemnly, that I have many times tried to become an insect. But I was not equal even to that. I swear, gentlemen, that to be too conscious is an illness — a real thorough-going illness. – Fyodor Dostoevsky
• I think it’s so archaic that cosmetic companies are still using animal by-products and insects in their products! It’s 2016, why is anyone still doing that? – Jeffree Star
• I think that the leaf of a tree, the meanest insect on which we trample, are in themselves arguments more conclusive than any which can be adduced that some vast intellect animates Infinity. – Percy Bysshe Shelley
• I think we are just insects, we live a bit and then die and that’s the lot. There’s no mercy in things. There’s not even a Great Beyond. There’s nothing. – John Fowles
• I thought the earth remembered me, she took me back so tenderly, arranging her dark skirts, her pockets full of lichens and seeds. I slept as never before, a stone on the river bed, nothing between me and the white fire of the stars but my thoughts, and they floated light as moths among the branches of the perfect trees. All night I heard the small kingdoms breathing around me, the insects, and the birds who do their work in the darkness. All night I rose and fell, as if in water, grappling with a luminous doom. By morning I had vanished at least a dozen times into something better. – Mary Oliver
• I wanted to know the name of every stone and flower and insect and bird and beast. I wanted to know where it got its color, where it got its life – but there was no one to tell me. – George Washington Carver
• I was really interested in collecting insects. – Satoshi Tajiri
• If all insects disappeared, all life on earth would perish. If all humans disappeared, all life on earth would flourish. – Jonas Salk
• If all mankind were to disappear, the world would regenerate back to the rich state of equilibrium that existed ten thousand years ago. If insects were to vanish, the environment would collapse into chaos. – E. O. Wilson
• If all the insects were to disappear from the earth, within 50 years all life on earth would end. If all human beings disappeared from the earth, within 50 years all forms of life would flourish. – Jonas Salk
• If we go on the way we have, the fault is our greed and if we are not willing to change, we will disappear from the face of the globe, to be replaced by the insect. – Jacques Yves Cousteau
• If we were to wipe out insects alone on this planet, the rest of life and humanity with it would mostly disappear from the land. Within a few months. – E. O. Wilson
• If you had an alien race that looked like insects, then they would build robots to look like themselves, not to look like people. – Kevin J. Anderson
• If you see a thing that looks like a cross between a flying lobster and the figure of Abraxas on a Gnostic gem, do not pay it the least attention, never mind where it is; just keep quiet and hope it will go away – for that’s your best chance; you have none in a stand-up fight with a good thorough-going African insect. – Mary Kingsley
• If you want to study one of these strange organisms, you had better have a good justification. It’s not good to say I want to study gene organisation in some obscure insect that no one’s ever heard about. – Thomas Cech
• I’m always very interested in breeding. Raising cacti is breeding. My lotus plant collection is breeding. The insects are breeding. – Takashi Murakami
• I’m writing a film called ‘Bug.’ It’s an original script, and it’s not about killer insects. It’s a thriller set in a high school. The bug of the title refers to a surveillance device. – Wes Craven
• In handling a stinging insect, move very slowly. – Robert A. Heinlein
• In my grandparents’ time, it was believed that spirits existed everywhere – in trees, rivers, insects, wells, anything. My generation does not believe this, but I like the idea that we should all treasure everything because spirits might exist there, and we should treasure everything because there is a kind of life to everything. – Hayao Miyazaki
• In my life outdoors, I’ve observed that animals of almost any variety will stand in a windy place rather than in a protected, windless area infested with biting insects. They would rather be annoyed by the wind than bitten. – Tim Cahill
• In my youth, I spent my time investigating insects. – Maria Sibylla Merian
• In summer the empire of insects spreads. – Adam Zagajewski
• In the future, I mean to be a fine streamside entomologist. I’m going to start on that when I am much too old to do any of the two thousand things I can think of that are more fun than screening insects in cold running water – Thomas McGuane
• In the vast, and the minute, we see
The unambiguous footsteps of the God,
Who gives its lustre to an insect’s wing
And wheels His throne upon the rolling worlds. – William Cowper
• In time they sank and decayed, and nothing is left of them except an occasional impression in stones, in stones now found in deserts and on high mountain peaks. Birdless forests block the sun in uninhabited lands. Insects swirl in the air. And then, in a majestic, bloodthirsty, and mighty heave, the spinal columns of the vertebrates rise as monstrous lizards and fabulous creatures; dragons flinging their fearful bellows up to a steaming sky… Slowly they become birds, birds as light as undreamt dreams. The searing roars become birdsong, whimpering flutes on warm nights. – Erik Fosnes Hansen
• Insect life was so loud that when you parked the car and got out it sounded as if you had suddenly tuned into a radio frequency from another planet. – David Samuels
• Insect politics, indifferent universe. Bang your head against the wall, but apathy is worse. – Don Henley
• Insect resistance to a pesticide was first reported in 1947 for the Housefly (Musca domestica) with respect to DDT. Since then resistance to one or more pesticides has been reported in at least 225 species of insects and other arthropods. The genetic variants required for resistance to the most diverse kinds of pesticides were apparently present in every one of the populations exposed to these man-made compounds. – Francisco J. Ayala
• Insects are my secret fear. That’s what terrifies me more than anything – insects. – Michael O’Donoghue
• Insects are not only cold-blooded, and green- and yellow-blooded, but are also cased in a clacking horn. They have rigid eyes and brains strung down their backs. But they make up the bulk of our comrades-at-life, so I look to them for a glimmer of companionship. – Annie Dillard
• Insects are what neurosis would sound like, if neurosis could make a noise with its nose. – Martin Amis
• Insects have their own point of view about civilization a man thinks he amounts to a great deal but to a flea or a mosquito a human being is merely something good to eat. – Don Marquis
• Insects leave (Madagascar periwinkle) Catharanthus roseus out of their diets. So, for that matter, do deer. The reason is that the plants are loaded with alkaloids so potent that they are the source of vincristine and vinblastine. These are drugs important in routines of chemotherapy for treating Hodgkin’s disease and certain forms of leukemia. – Allen Lacy
• Iris all hues, roses, and jessamine Reared high their flourished heads between, and wrought Mosaic; underfoot the violet, Crocus, and hyacinth with rich inlay Broidered the ground, more coloured than with stone Of costliest emblem: other creature here Beast, bird, insect, or worm durst enter none; Such was their awe of man. – John Milton
• Is it reasonable to suppose that we can apply a broad-spectrum insecticide to kill the burrowing larval stages of a crop-destroying insect … without also killing the ‘good’ insects whose function may be the essential one of breaking down organic matter and maintaining healthy soil? – Rachel Carson
• Is not disease the rule of existence? There is not a lily pad floating on the river but has been riddled by insects. Almost every shrub and tree has its gall, oftentimes esteemed its chief ornament and hardly to be distinguished from the fruit. If misery loves company, misery has company enough. Now, at midsummer, find me a perfect leaf or fruit. – Henry David Thoreau
• It began as this desire to do this science fiction movie about perhaps one of the last insects left that nobody’s done anything on, which is the cockroach – and truly one of the most frightening insects. – Michael O’Donoghue
• It skims in through the eye, and by means of the utterly delicate retina hurls shadows like insect legs inward for translation. Then an immense space opens up in silence and an endlessly fecund sub-universe the writer descends, and asks the reader to descend after him, not merely to gain instructions but also to experience delight, the delight of mind freed from matter and exultant in the strength it has stolen from matter. – John Updike
• It was the hour when gauze-winged insects are born that only live for a day. – Lord Dunsany
• It’s time to stop pretending I’m ok with things I’m not ok with like all insects and Foster the People. – Greg Behrendt
• It’s very easy to make insects move. Because they do move mechanically without the rippling of flesh as you mentioned. They move more like real tinker toys and you can make models of them quite easily. – Michael O’Donoghue
• I’ve always gone with Kafka’s model of establishing the world from the first line, as in Kafka’s famous line from Metamorphosis, “Gregor Samsa woke up from uneasy dreams to find himself transformed into a gigantic insect” (or beetle or cockroach, depending on the translation). I have to have that first line before I can go further. – Laurie Foos
• I’ve become a much more serious young insect. – Andrew Denton
• I’ve come to realize that the mark is the primal gesture, the internal connection of the caveman to the cosmos; an impossibility similar to an impulse in an insect’s nervous system that it could somehow reduce to dust a steel beam by endlessly crawling over it. – Joel-Peter Witkin
• Large flocks of butterflies, all kinds of happy insects, seem to be in a perfect fever of joy and sportive gladness. – John Muir
• Life is hard for insects. And don’t think mice are having any fun either. – Woody Allen
• Little soldier, little insect You know war it has no heart It will kill you in the sunshine Or happily in the the dark Where kindness is a card game Or a bent up cigarette In the trenches, in the hard rain With a bullet and a bet. – Conor Oberst
• Lobsters displays all three of the classic biological characteristics of an insect, namely: 1. It has way more legs than necessary. 2. There is no way you would ever pet it. 3. It does not respond to simple commands such as “Here, boy!” – Dave Barry
• Love has its own instinct, finding the way to the heart, as the feeblest insect finds the way to its flower, with a will which nothing can dismay nor turn aside. – Honore de Balzac
• Make them free, and they will quickly become wise and virtous, as men become more so; for the improvement must be mutual, or the injustice which one half of the human race are obliged to submit to, retorting on their oppressors, the virtue of men will be worm-eaten by the insect whom he keeps under his feet – Mary Wollstonecraft
• Many of the earth’s habitats, animals, plants, insects and even micro-organisms that we know to be rare may not be known at all by future generations. We have the capability and the responsibility to act; we must do so before it is too late. – Dalai Lama
• Men should stop fighting among themselves and start fighting insects. – Luther Burbank
• My 10th Sonata is a sonata of insects. Insects are born from the sun… they are the sun’s kisses. – Alexander Scriabin
• My painting is not violent, it’s life that is violent. Even within the most beautiful landscape, in the trees, under the leaves, the insects are eating each other; violence is a part of life. We are born with a scream; we come into life with a scream and maybe love is a mosquito net between the fear of living and the fear of death. – Francis Bacon
• Nations! What are nations? Tartars! and Huns! and Chinamen! Like insects they swarm. The historian strives in vain to make them memorable. It is for want of a man that there are so many men. It is individuals that populate the world. – Henry David Thoreau
• Natural selection certainly operates. It explains how bacteria will gain antibiotic resistance; it will explain how insects get insecticide resistance, but it doesn’t explain how you get bacteria or insects in the first place. – William A. Dembski
• Nature will bear the closest inspection. She invites us to lay our eye level with her smallest leaf, and take an insect view of its plain. – Henry David Thoreau
• No insect hangs its nest on threads as frail as those which will sustain the weight of human vanity. – Edith Wharton
• No one knows, incidentally, why Australia’s spiders are so extravagantly toxic; capturing small insects and injecting them with enough poison to drop a horse would appear to be the most literal case of overkill. Still, it does mean that everyone gives them lots of space. – Bill Bryson
• No poetic phantasy
but a biological reality,
a fact: I am an entity
like bird, insect, plant
or sea-plant cell;
I live; I am alive. – Hilda Doolittle
• None of God’s Creatures absolutely consider’d are in their own Nature Contemptible; the meanest Fly, the poorest Insect has its Use and Vertue. – Mary Astell
• Now summer is in flower and natures hum
Is never silent round her sultry bloom
Insects as small as dust are never done
Wi’ glittering dance and reeling in the sun
And green wood fly and blossom haunting bee
Are never weary of their melody
Round field hedge now flowers in full glory twine
Large bindweed bells wild hop and streakd woodbine
That lift athirst their slender throated flowers
Agape for dew falls and for honey showers
These round each bush in sweet disorder run
And spread their wild hues to the sultry sun. – John Clare
• Of all the systems of the body – neurological, cognitive, special, sensory – the cardiological system is the most sensitive and easily disturbed. The role of society must be to shelter these systems from infection and decay, or else the future of the human race is at stake. Like a summer fruit that is protected from insect invasion, bruising, and rot by the whole mechanism of modern farming; so must we protect the heart. – Lauren Oliver
• Of what use, however, is a general certainty that an insect will not walk with his head hindmost, when what you need to know is the play of inward stimulus that sends him hither and thither in a network of possible paths? – George Eliot
• One cannot overestimate the power of a good rancorous hatred on the part of the stupid. The stupid have so much more industry and energy to expend on hating. They build it up like coral insects. – Sylvia Townsend Warner
• One night a friend lent me a book of short stories by Franz Kafka. I went back to the pension where I was staying and began to read The Metamorphosis. The first line almost knocked me off the bed. I was so surprised. The first line reads, “As Gregor Samsa awoke that morning from uneasy dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. . . .” When I read the line I thought to myself that I didn’t know anyone was allowed to write things like that. If I had known, I would have started writing a long time ago. So I immediately started writing short stories. – Gabriel Garcia Marquez
• One of the really remarkably beneficial aspects of genetic engineering is that much of the previous methodology for controlling pests and so forth is through chemicals that affect a very broad spectrum of insects, for example, or fungicides that control fungi. – Nina Fedoroff
• Our treasure lies in the beehive of our knowledge. We are perpetually on the way thither, being by nature winged insects and honey gatherers of the mind. – Friedrich Nietzsche
• People have this idea that nature dictates a sort of 1950s sitcom version of what males and females are like. That is just not the case in the insect world. – Marlene Zuk
• Perfect hexagonal tubes in a packed array. Bees are hard-wired to lay them down, but how does an insect know enough geometry to lay down a precise hexagon? It doesn’t. It’s programmed to chew up wax and spit it out while turning on its axis, and that generates a circle. Put a bunch of bees on the same surface, chewing side-by-side, and the circles abut against each other – deform each other into hexagons, which just happen to be more efficient for close packing anyway. – Peter Watts
• Plant consciousness, insect consciousness, fish consciousness, all are related by one permanent element, which we may call the religious element inherent in all life, even in a flea: the sense of wonder. That is our sixth sense, and it is the natural religious sense. – D. H. Lawrence
• Politics is made up of two words: “Poli,” which is Greek for “many,” and “tics,” which are bloodsucking insects. – Gore Vidal
• Primates need good nutrition, to begin with. Not only fruits and plants, but insects as well. – Richard Leakey
• Say, will the falcon, stooping from above, Smit with her varying plumage, spare the dove? Admires the jay the insect’s gilded wings? Or hears the hawk when Philomela sings? – Alexander Pope
• She was afraid of all that and so much more, but what terrified her most was inside of her, an insect of unnatural intelligence who’d been living in her brain her entire life, playing with it, clicking across it, wrenching loose its cables on a whim. – Dennis Lehane
• Shrimp are the insects of the ocean. They’re bottom feeders. So they’re delicious, but they’re the bugs of the sea. – Baron Vaughn
• Since I turned the fields back to their natural state, I can’t say I’ve had any really difficult problems with insects or disease. – Masanobu Fukuoka
• So important are insects and other land-dwelling arthropods that if all were to disappear, humanity probably could not last more than a few months. – E. O. Wilson
• So there you have it: Nature is a rotten mess. But that’s only the beginning. If you take your eyes off it for one second, it will kill you. Thorns, insects, fungus, worms, birds, reptiles, wild animals, raging rivers, bottomless ravines, dry deserts, snow, quicksand, tumbleweeds, sap, and mud. Rot, poison and death. That’s Nature.It’s a wonder you even step outside of your cabin, I said.My bravery exceeds my good sense, he said. – Lee Goldberg
• So, when I say ‘match the hatch’, if the fish are taking the nymph, and you’re actually producing a replica of a flying insect, you’ll catch fresh air. – Rex Hunt
• Sometimes human beings are very much like bees. Bees are fiercely protective of their hive, provided you are outside it. Once you’re in, the workers sort of assume that it must have been cleared by management and take no notice; various freeloading insects have evolved a mellifluous existence because of this very fact. Humans act the same way. – Neil Gaiman
• Specialization is for insects. – Robert A. Heinlein
• Specialization is for insects… The race of man? He’s a whole other creature. – Robert A. Heinlein
• Spray a book with insect spray, drop it in a bag, add some mothballs and seal it. Put it in another bag and seal it. Another. The packages piled up on the floor, each a book sealed in four plastic envelopes. – Larry Niven
• Stothard learned the art of combining colors by closely studying butterflies wings; he would often say that no one knew what he owed to these tiny insects. A burnt stick and a barn door served Wilkie in lieu of pencil and canvas. – Samuel Smiles
• Suppose that insect wings developed primarily as thermoregulators and then were used for skimming and finally flying, evolving along the way. What would they be “for”? Or what is the skeleton “for”? For keeping one upright, protecting organs, storing calcium, making blood cells…? – Noam Chomsky
• The air was calm and insects had not yet risen off the water, that crisp time of morning before the sun strikes, when it is still cool enough to work out solutions to sticky problems. – April Smith
• The best gardener is a baby killer. Baby insects are much easier to kill than adults, and haven’t yet developed the big mouths and voracious appetite of the adolescent. – Janet Macunovich
• The careful insect ‘midst his works I view,
Now from the flowers exhaust the fragrant dew,
With golden treasures load his little thighs,
And steer his distant journey through the skies. – John Gay
• The clearest window that ever was fashioned if it is barred by spiders’ webs, and hung over with carcasses of insects, so that the sunlight has forgotten to find its way through, of what use can it be? Now, the Church is God’s window; and if it is so obscured by errors that its light is darkness, how great is that darkness! – Henry Ward Beecher
• The colours of insects and many smaller animals contribute to conceal them from the larger ones which prey upon them. Caterpillars which feed on leaves are generally green; and earth-worms the colour of the earth which they inhabit; butter-flies, which frequent flowers, are coloured like them; small birds which frequent hedges have greenish backs like the leaves, and light-coloured bellies like the sky, and are hence less visible to the hawk who passes under them or over them. – Erasmus Darwin
• The ‘control of nature’ is a phrase conceived in arrogance, . . . when it was supposed that nature exists for the convenience of man . . . . It is our alarming misfortune that so primitive a science has armed itself with the most modern and terrible weapons, and that in turning them against the insects it has also turned them against the earth. – Rachel Carson
• The darkness grew apace; a cold wind began to blow in freshening gusts from the east, and the showering white flakes in the air increased in number. From the edge of the sea came a ripple and whisper. Beyond these lifeless sounds the world was silent. Silent? It would be hard to convey the stillness of it. All the sounds of man, the bleating of sheep, the cries of birds, the hum of insects, the stir that makes the background of our lives – all that was over. – H. G. Wells
• The deeper men go into life, the deeper is their conviction that this life is not all. It is an unfinished symphony. A day may round out an insect’s life, and a bird or a beast needs no tomorrow. Not so with him who knows that he is related to God and has felt the power of an endless life. – Henry Ward Beecher
• The eye sees the physical body, other individuals, even insects, worms and things. It sees everything that is within its range. The body too is a thing that the eye sees, along with the rest. So, how can we conclude that the body is the I? – Sathya Sai Baba
• The German passion for bureaucracy — for written and signal forms . . . to move about, to work, to exist — is like a steel pin pinning each French individual to a sheet of paper, the way an entomologist pins each specimen insect . . . – Janet Flanner
• The heart should have fed upon the truth, as insects on a leaf, till it be tinged with the color, and show its food in every … minutest fiber. – Samuel Taylor Coleridge
• The insect-youth are on the wing,
Eager to taste the honied spring,
And float amid the liquid noon! – Thomas Gray
• The instinct of brutes and insects can be the effect of nothing else than the wisdom and skill of a powerful ever-living agent. – Isaac Newton
• The jungle looked back at them with a vastness, a breathing moss-and-leaf silence, with a billion diamond and emerald insect eyes. – Ray Bradbury
• The life of an uneducated man is as useless as the tail of a dog which neither covers its rear end, nor protects it from the bites of insects. – Chanakya
• The mortal enemies of man are not his fellows of another continent or race; they are the aspects of the physical world which limit or challenge his control, the disease germs that attack him and his domesticated plants and animals, and the insects that carry many of these germs as well as working notable direct injury. This is not the age of man, however great his superiority in size and intelligence; it is literally the age of insects. – Warder Clyde Allee
• The only clear thing is that we humans are the only species with the power to destroy the earth as we know it. The birds have no such power, nor do the insects, nor does any mammal. Yet if we have the capacity to destroy the earth, so, too, do we have the capacity to protect it. – Dalai Lama
• The only sensible approach to disease and insect control, I think, is to grow sturdy crops in a healthy environment. – Masanobu Fukuoka
• The Planet drifts to random insect doom. – William S. Burroughs
• The poor dog, in life the firmest friend, The first to welcome, foremost to defend, Whose honest heart is still the master’s own, Who labours, fights, lives, breathes for him alone, Unhonour’d falls, unnoticed all his worth, Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth, While man, vain insect hopes to be forgiven, And claims himself a sole exclusive heaven. – Lord Byron
• The positive evidence for Darwinism is confined to small-scale evolutionary changes like insects developing insecticide resistance….Evidence like that for insecticide resistance confirms the Darwinian selection mechanism for small-scale changes, but hardly warrants the grand extrapolation that Darwinists want. It is a huge leap going from insects developing insecticide resistance via the Darwinian mechanism of natural selection and random variation to the very emergence of insects in the first place by that same mechanism. – William A. Dembski
• The rain water enlivens all living beings of the earth both movable (insects, animals, humans, etc.) and immovable (plants, trees, etc.), and then returns to the ocean it value multiplied a million fold. – Chanakya
• The Reproductions of the living Ens
From sires to sons, unknown to sex, commence…
Unknown to sex the pregnant oyster swells,
And coral-insects build their radiate shells…
Birth after birth the line unchanging runs,
And fathers live transmitted in their sons;
Each passing year beholds the unvarying kinds,
The same their manners, and the same their minds. – Erasmus Darwin
• The rhythms of nature – the sounds of wind and water, the sounds of birds and insects – must inevitably find their analogues in music. – George Crumb
• The souls you have got cast upon the screen of publicity appear like the horrid and writhing creatures enlarged from the insect world, and revealed to us by the cinematograph. – James Larkin
• The spider is an animal who eats mosquitoes. That’s why I love the spider – it is the only way we have to deal with these insects. – Louise Bourgeois
• The transformation scene, where man is becoming insect and insect has become at least man and beyond that – a flying, godlike, shimmering, diaphanous, beautiful creature. – Michael O’Donoghue
• There are men from whom nature or some peculiar destiny has removed the cover beneath which we hide our own madness. They are likethin-skinned insects whose visible play of muscles seem to make them deformed, though in fact, everything soon turns to its normal shape again. – E. T. A. Hoffmann
• There are, as is known, insects that die in the moment of fertilization. So it is with all joy: life’s highest, most splendid moment of enjoyment is accompanied by death. – Soren Kierkegaard
• There’s no denying that the way horror has been packaged in the past has done it no favours. Lurid black covers adorned with skulls, corpses crawling with insects and scantily clad maidens being chewed into by vampires — all good clean fun, but it doesn’t do much to give the genre an air of respectability or seriousness to the casual browser. – Tim Lebbon
• There’s this shop in New York I go to; it has bones and fossils and insects that are like works of art. I have a few on my wall. – Eva Green
• These sprays, dusts, and aerosols are now applied almost universally to farms, gardens, forests, and homes-nonselective chemicals that have the power to kill every insect, the ‘good’ and the ‘bad,’ to still the song of birds and the leaping of fish in the streams, to coat the leaves with a deadly film, and to linger on in soil-all this though the intended target may be only a few weeds or insects. Can anyone believe it is possible to lay down such a barrage of poisons on the surface of the earth without making it unfit for all life? They should not be called ‘insecticides,’ but ‘biocides.’ – Rachel Carson
• Things without defense: insects, kittens, small boys. – Paul Fussell
• Thousands of men breathe, move, and live; pass off the stage of life and are heard of no more. Why? They did not a particle of good in the world; and none were blest by them, none could point to them as the instrument of their redemption; not a line they wrote, not a word they spoke, could be recalled, and so they perished–their light went out in darkness, and they were not remembered more than the insects of yesterday. Will you thus live and die, O man immortal? Live for something. – Thomas Chalmers
• Today I am sure no one needs to be told that the more birds a yard can support, the fewer insects there will be to trouble the gardener the following year. – Thalassa Cruso
• Too many creatures both insects and humans estimate their own value by the amount of minor irritation they are able to cause to greater personalities than themselves. – Don Marquis
• Tourists moved over the piazza like drugged insects on a painted plate. – Shana Alexander
• Travel is said to be broadening because it makes us realize that our way of doing things is not the only one, that people in other cultures live differently and get by just fine. Insects do that, too, only better. – Marlene Zuk
• TZETZE (or TSETSE) FLY, n. An African insect (“Glossina morsitans”) whose bite is commonly regarded as nature’s most efficacious remedy for insomnia, though some patients prefer that of the American novelist (“Mendax interminabilis”). – Ambrose Bierce
• Unwittingly, every event and every microorganism – insect, fish, bird, animal, etc. – is playing a role that maintains a perfect balance to our ecosystem, which also includes our atmosphere. Have you ever considered that we, you and I, are also apart of that? – Bryan Kest
• Vast chain of being! which from God began, Natures ethereal, human, angel, man, Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can see, No glass can reach, from infinite to Thee, From Thee to nothing. – Alexander Pope
• Very little makes me feel vulnerable these days. I hit my absolute apex of vulnerability when I returned to my home state of Louisiana, during the Gulf oil spill disaster, and witnessed mass devastation to every demonstration of life surrounding me – from grass, trees, bayous, insects, to animals and people – we all felt demolished. – Ian Somerhalder
• war with poison and chemicals was not so rare in the ancient world … An astounding panoply of toxic substances, venomous creatures, poison plants, animals and insects, deleterious environments, virulent pathogens, infectious agents, noxious gases, and combustible chemicals were marshalled to defeat foes – and panoply is an apt term here, because it is the ancient Greek word for ‘all weapons. – Adrienne Mayor
• We blame Walt Disney for goldenrod’s undeserved bad name. Despite Sneezy’s pronouncement, plants such as goldenrod with heavy, insect-carried pollen rarely cause allergic reaction. – Janet Macunovich
• We can allow satellites, planets, suns, universe, nay whole systems of universes, to be governed by laws, but the smallest insect, we wish to be created at once by special act. – Charles Darwin
• We hope that, when the insects take over the world, they will remember with gratitude how we took them along on all our picnics. – Bill Vaughan
• We know of no behavior in ants or any other social insects that can be construed as play. – Bert Holldobler
• We ought never to sport with pain and distress in any of our amusements, or treat even the meanest insect with wanton cruelty. – Hugh Blair
• We urgently need an end to these false assurances, to the sugar coating of unpalatable facts. It is the public that is being asked to assume the risks that the insect controllers calculate. The public must decide whether it wishes to continue on the present road, and it can do so only when in full possession of the facts. – Rachel Carson
• We’ve got a good inspection system in Arizona managing products that come from other parts of the county that could carry insects that could become problematic. – Carl E. Olson
• What a difference that extra 120 ppm has made for plants, and for animals and humans that depend on them. The more carbon dioxide there is in the atmosphere, the more it is absorbed by plants of every description – – and the faster and better they grow, even under adverse conditions like limited water, extremely hot air temperatures, or infestations of insects, weeds and other pests. As trees, grasses, algae and crops grow more rapidly and become healthier and more robust, animals and humans enjoy better nutrition on a planet that is greener and greener. – Paul Driessen
• What is more obscene: the idea that one can apologize for the hubris and deceit that is Obama and his health care, or the actual need some have for an apology from an entity so evil that he would toy with the lives of millions as though they were insects and he God? This is hard to tell. – Ilana Mercer
• What would be left of our tragedies if an insect were to present us his? – Emile M. Cioran
• When harvests are exuberant, joy and health follow in their train; but let delusive prosperity draw industry from agriculture; let an insiduous disease attack one of its important products; let an insect, or a parasite, fasten on a single esculent, and mark the effect upon commerce and human life. Upon such an event all business is deranged. – Elias Hasket Derby
• When I see nature, when I look into the sky, the dawn, the sun, the colors of insects, snow crystals, the night stars, I don’t feel a need for God. Perhaps when I can no longer look and wonder, when I believe in nothing – then, perhaps, I might need something else. But I don’t know what. – Michelangelo Antonioni
• When the moon shall have faded out from the sky, and the sun shall shine at noonday a dull cherry red, and the seas shall be frozen over, and the icecap shall have crept downward to the equator from either pole . . . when all the cities shall have long been dead and crumbled into dust, and all life shall be on the last verge of extinction on this globe; then, on a bit of lichen, growing on the bald rocks beside the eternal snows of Panama, shall be seated a tiny insect, preening its antennae in the glow of the worn-out sun, the sole survivor of animal life on this our earth – a melancholy bug. – William Jacob Holland
• When we mistake what we can know for all there is to know, a healthy appreciation of one’s ignorance in the face of a mystery like soil fertility gives way to the hubris that we can treat nature as a machine. Once that leap has been made, one input follows another, so that when the synthetic nitrogen fed to plants makes them more attractive to insects and vulnerable to disease, as we have discovered, the farmer turns to chemical pesticides to fix his broken machine. – Michael Pollan
• When we seed millions of acres of land with these plants, what happens to foraging birds, to insects, to microbes, to the other animals, when they come in contact and digest plants that are producing materials ranging from plastics to vaccines to pharmaceutical products? – Jeremy Rifkin
• When we usually think of fears, in comics or in films, it’s most often fears on a relatively superficial level: fear of murderous insects, of ghosts, of zombies, or even fear of dying. – Boaz Lavie
• While an ant was wandering under the shade of the tree of Phaeton, a drop of amber enveloped the tiny insect; thus she, who in life was disregarded, became precious by death. – Martial
• Who has the right to decide that the supreme value is a world without insects even though it would be a sterile world ungraced by the curving wing of a bird in flight. The decision is that of the authoritarian temporarily entrusted with power. – Rachel Carson
• Winding her arms close around his neck, she closed her eyes. To be embraced, safe in a man’s arms when she had never expected it to happen again, this would be enough.Time sheltered their embrace, enfolding them within a summer scented capsule that felt endless and theirs alone. The fragrance of grass and sunlight and nearby water sweetened each breath. Theirs was the music of birds ans the lazy buzz of insects and the beating of two hearts. Yes, she thought, she didn’t need more. This would be enough. – Maggie Osborne
• Words can enhance experience, but they can also take so much away. We see an insect and at once we abstract certain characteristics and classify it – a fly. And in that very cognitive exercise, part of the wonder is gone. Once we have labeled the things around us we do not bother to look at them so carefully. Words are part of our rational selves, and to abandon them for a while is to give freer reign to our intuitive selves. – Jane Goodall
• You cannot speak of ocean to a well-frog, the creature of a narrower sphere. You cannot speak of ice to a summer insect, the creature of a season. – Zhuangzi
• You must walk sometimes perfectly free, not prying or inquisitive, not bent on seeing things. Throw away a whole day for a single expansion, a single inspiration of air. You must walk so gently as to hear the finest sounds, the faculties being in repose. Nature will bear the closest inspection. She invites us to lay our eye level with her smallest leaf, and take an insect view of its plain. – Henry David Thoreau
• You shall find books and sermons everywhere, in the land and in the sea, in the earth and in the skies, and you shall learn from every living beast, and bird, and fish, and insect, and from every useful or useless plant that springs from the ground. – Charles Spurgeon
• You were just a boy on a bed in a room, like a kaleidoscope is a tube full of bits of broken glass. But the way I saw you was pieces refracting the light, shifting into an infinite universe of flowers and rainbows and insects and planets, magical dividing cells, pictures no one else knew. – Francesca Lia Block
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erotonomicon volume 1-english version
ARELIS
EROTONOMIKON
THE MEMORIES OF A DECADENT LIFE
LETTER 1
Damien Adaleux to Cesare Nerval
10-7-1997, Paris
Dear Cesare,
When the hour and the minute hand pointed vertically to the South of Big Ben, Lucy-Aurora rose with her float from the open book-which we riffled during our battle to see who is going to raise the palm- like an offended donkey who was vibrating harshly on her backside by her imaginary master. Animals know no negotiations. They identify practices that are leading or amongst partners.
Every attempt of mine to cultivate the only name that should dwell in her heart proved fruitless due to momentum in the highway of the senses. But the more intensely you experience pleasure, the more she becomes automatic. I remained Benedictine with my diagonal, purple wand waiting to receive the title of the founder of her small city though unsuccessfully since the Ippokrini I bore was dry. The temple of Saint Sofia, a victorious general.
I was looking at Heaven’s floor like an Adam without foliage and sin. Like the school life in one colour. This made my pen turn on the spindle of the quest for originality.
Dethronement is experienced soundly after it is comprehended and follows the mind’s dives and dialogues. However, I was not looking for reactions to my callings but only a hallucinogen so as to bring them down behind the castles of Oblivion which I besieged with my sling.
I did so without delay. I talked to my little friend Jeremy who is loyal like a dog.
The leader Saturn was absent from my Olympian house during those two days of rest.
Rea was absent too since they had long drifted apart.
My Amaltheia was sepulchral. Desperate to rise again, yearning for her Milk, like a sapling with delicate roots ready to break by intruders which rides the caresses of the Bright Sun and the Pure Poseidon as the only lifesaver in order to refute the reasonable and set up the exception to the rule.
The dark grass like a ghost on the face of Jeremy, his locks with the colour of the wheat and an archaic ribbon reminding of the ornamental ones of the Master of Music, his eyes sparkling with the shade and honour of the Corinthian Gulf and his ears worthy of a Pan…
A numinous Uriel who combined the fracture and the union of the human core’s atoms, for the understanding of the Circle and the Idea.
It desired to play the lyre to the Lark of my pants, so as every inch of me could listen carefully to that cord, like a special Being that demanded respect and paganism.
I told him to sit on the chair so as his true nature could be seen from my forehead.
I turned on the radio and out came melodies. I was looking for complicity. To me it was inconceivable for a lyre to exist without a symphonic orchestra.
I immediately embezzled his cloaks for I was a cat from starvation milk for forty days and every night.
But my soul’s heat turned the famine into thirst and me into a dog that wanted to be nurtured from every inch, to show the traveler the affection that came after the coming of many Saturns on the Island.
The rings of his feet were the beginning… So refined and polishing like a table full of dirt, dehydrated and ready for a new celebration.
My face transformed into a white flag when my tongue conversed with the thick toe of his right foot to invent the proper measures. If with sparkles I had desired it then it would have waved and acquired irrational and unrealistic folds.
It did not take long for my tongue to move the measure to the left. It always had a great sensitivity for the left-footed.
The Right corner expresses the greatness of the measures and the soul of Bismarck’s army. The Left always proves the exception to the rule:
a) that we can be led to the same result if we follow myriads of different ways which many of us handle and b) that anyone can reach the circle’s beginning starting from the end with the same interaction that he could have if he kissed the unit to give an orgasm at the end of the g spot.
Fibula, calf, knee, thigh bone of the fate…
Bus stations with a co-operative beginning… Terracotta legs of a debauchery colossus…
He was feeling the torch for the elevator and the flame. I had a covert dream: the recreation of one of the seven wonders of the Ancient World so as my father, who as I have mentioned was on holidays, would be defeated.
But Jeremy had dreams too: the experience of a miracle that he had acted.
If you cannot be transformed into a Commodus in this life you take his part and with temporary success you detain the applause from the invisible audience that surrounds you with the curtains of the room and silent testimony.
I invited him to make my bed, ornate with numerous roses, our shroud.
He accepted it with no cause. We depicted the standing symbol of the Cancer. Our silhouettes in perfect proportion, since each of us had stood on the adapted ruler of the situations.
In this Dionysian celebration, Bacchus and Satire were altered in the complex of Kronide and Ganymede. An illustration not from Paros but from hide and of sweat; not like a cenotaph at all.
My mouth became a kidney to process every flavour which differentiates her appearance into bitter chocolate or Andalusian water, cloth and toxins when the body weakens.
On his spear I was seeking, like Pentheus, to become a Columbus of what I could not do or to make mine whatever it was that I scorned. A small story of an initiate, who was not tested in his retrogression, was hidden in every side of it. My tongue became a volleyball racquet which pushed the bullets towards an unknown rival with the blinds of a supply teacher.
Unfortunately, their place on the north quarter’s infinite spots was weak. According to Physics, there is a specific spot depending on the human abilities towards which a sphere can be thrown. But does reproduction have life? Does anyone know the deeper meaning of these balloons? The wheels of their surface were enough.
Needless to say that in every initiative of mine taken in my own spaceship he had responded, following the beginning of imitation which is the most essential in life.
Even cars reproduce the human figure. Another notice showing that man through technology can make it human but at the same time his god. Who has not been awestruck when seeing their eyes-lights and their sharp teeth? The repetition of the Four-feet Era with that of the Four-wheel Version.
Perhaps I wanted my tongue to be Tangential with the Unknown’s Past and to take part in the Story of the Universe which at the moment is weak.
My life’s shell approached my ear so as I can hear it and communicate with its elimination code. When you cannot win your faceless enemy, try to find a picture of him or having your imagination as your shotgun find a model to surrender to him. It is essential to design our rivals, even the ones that do not exist, so as not to be led to self-destruction. In an alternative case we make our moonless self the enemy and we thrash him at the Catalaunian Fields to ensure the empire of the Shining One.
The time has come for me to taste the game in all its dimensions and through the relic of my mind to condemn it to impalement. After all, the Bastille is the body of the mind and Marathon’s tomb for the soul. The dictations push the mind to complex conformities that sometimes have ways of revenge.
I was observing as a Neutral supervisor in the Third dimension what was happening above the operating table while the kerykeion of Hermes made me numb and my body was becoming the Velouhiotis of my thoughts. That could not have been me. Maybe a Pausanias-wanderer. The core of yourself has become spiritual in such Druid rituals. You become something else. Perhaps a shapeless mass of iron or a trapped astronaut in a black hole that instead of swallowing it, it lures you into her own depths.
For me it was the second choice. My tongue read the New Translation of the decomposition of food. The sign of prices, a traitor. While I was spitting on it on the scales of this aperture, it was descending without ever separating from it. It had the place of honour because it was the street’s wise one and knew many languages like diving, victory, the linear script, the pencil sharpener, the tear and the caress.
I was a Rodin in this hole and a great wonder for what I could not ever do to myself due to lack of flexibility-unless I was a faqir- I did it to Jeremy. I was wondering while I was carrying out my work whether we do to others what we can not do to ourselves. In a different case I believe that we will preserve these privileges exclusively for our “ego”.
I saw on Jeremy’s left thigh-as much as my occupation with my ascetic work was allowed- an Indian prince with a feminine without weights, a scene of intercourse taken from Kama Sutra: a racist book, I wondered, about homosexuality.
Nowhere any enactments of men or women at their wedding’s Netherlands. A textbook of social agreements, after all. However, it leaves imagination free to fly for all of us since we do not confine ourselves to the suggestion that only our solar system is inferior to us: our verbal! It is not possible to explore any more.
The thing that lightened my relationship with him was “give-and-take”. Both being Libra without weights and chains, without Trial like a crown on our heads or Punishment with her lame leg chasing us for a crime so anonymous trying to arrest us. In this union, both I and he were not on the side of any sexual, spiritual and moral category or even ontogenetic… This word was to us the X factor. We were like the amoebae which had multiplied on their own… The thoughts or the actions were as many as the beings…
<<Proteus of love>> he used to call me and me, <<Aeolus of the sea>>.
These delegations of duties brought, as far as he was concerned, howls of wolves and as for me some money in my mouth, paper coins of no value and secondarily gigantic, a light of his expressed vitality. I saved her like my soul, until my will was broken and I returned the change that equal the ones of less value to end with those of major, so as the eagerness would gradually become enormous.
My mouth like a moneybox with expiration date, like a shooting star that smites the Adriatic Sea or a teenage love with doubtful duration(but always a teenage love)…
After this diffusion of mutuality, Jeremy rose and due to the obvious dictate of society, transformed with his fins into something totally different from what he was in bed before.
Dream Book: The delight of crabs will bring a strong share-out.
“I have to kiss my girlfriend on the Eiffel Tower”, he said with an apologetic tone and without even looking at me as he was ready for that hastened departure, like Socrates. Or perhaps because he felt so guilty for what had happened before. From iambus to elegiac poetry…
He chose the Eiffel Tower instead of the one our bodies had created; even though destructive so as to give the impression of unstable and vulnerable to the Mongolian incursions of social comments that give a reproof for the divergent way of racial action or because he likes to fight the manuscript with masks… The besieging Goths at my Rome… But no invader will take my Rome away. I built it and I will ruin it. In her there is Birth, Fall and Greatness. Seven hills which are the Light of my life. Only if I had seven males and seven females I would send them to the Labyrinth for the Minotaur of Hell to devour them as dessert.
Till then I am vigilant and I protect.
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 10
Damien Adaleux to Jeremy Cloix
5-9-1997, Paris
Dear Jeremy,
Tonight at sunset, no cheerful Saint with gifts and reindeer knocked on my door. It was Gerard.
His silk shirt became a symmetrical treble clef with his short, thin, anorexic body which seemed to have been in cryonics. He was a student of Pastoral Theology. He used to fast quite often.
The son of a Hecatonchir, businessman and dear friend. His beady, emerald eyes reminded me of a few sayings about the magical characteristics of the stone when it is worn.
If I had invaded his territory I would have been enlightened and I would have obtained his wealth. It is an ecstatic feeling when the crinolines are tainted. I imagined Yggdrasill’s roots reaching the core of the earth and my inner weak determination. A Samson from Trapezounta with no blood.
All these have not been inscribed so as you can feel the injustice coming from the loss of the first prize. Do not make an expostulation about all the recent losses but imitate the life of a prodigal Augustine.
He asked to be baptized in a steam bath which was made by my father, who is the first minister of the country so as I can live an easy life. Luxury is always the best weapon for the reiteration of intrigue.
“Ask and you will be given!” a gipsy once told me. I could not resist this saying’s power and consented to it without a fox’s thought.
He put his diplomas outside my Turkish bath and he entered, like his soul, with a pelican’s towel.
I was watching my prey like a raven from the system that had been installed in my office which was connected to cameras inside and outside of the Turkish bath and described the movement of the moment in way so firm like Nevada’s rocks. His chest’s muscles were parallel lives, like the perfectly set fields of Thessaly where I was on holidays for a few weeks last summer…
The paralysis of his nerves from the steam and the high temperature which reached the borderline of faint was the last of Pandora’s gifts and the urge for an unexpected experience. I saw with relief his eyes that were half closed and full of sweat he was breathing with great difficulty. He was between Sleep and Death. I had to take the opportunity and like a Naked Fool I would make his white towel like the universe.
I quickly descended the stairs that led from my office to the place where The Painter of Death was making the urn-like sea-gulls.
I found myself in front of the Gate of the steam bath with the ten glass tiles that were separated from the oak ones, like I have imagined the Gates of Heaven. The keys were on the door alone and neglected. I became their concupiscent godfather. I was going to be a Roman Catholic priest in this ritual with the blissful water stemming from me and going on the prodigal saint so as he could be transformed into a prodigal impious in speech and deeds…
Any hesitation would be a retractable interrelation. With a silent push the door cracked a little and I appeared in front of one of my inexperienced students.
He had his birthday in September like the queen Virgin. I decided to change his date of transpiration. His sugarcane-like face was like Lucy’s whom I deeply desired when she was miles away from me.
She was working for her newspaper with the acknowledgement of undiluted wine but also with devious sparks of resistance and protest that had not been expressed because the eye above the pyramid was not insignificant but had been loved in the rubies. She was sent to Londinium to cover the funeral of the kind-hearted princess.
My substitute was finally found. His rosy cheeks meant not only health but also modesty. That is why I wanted him to have been painted in citrus. His poppy-like braids were like Lucy’s but coming from the sun. He had the courtesy of a Wise Lion with a royal purple. He lacked the scepter and I was addicted to covering the needs of people who had eclipses or gaps so as a content could be given to the parts of the New Testament that were not offered to those who were not at the slaughter houses.
I closed the door in the same way I had opened it without him understanding a thing. As it is common in the kingdom of toads the tongue flies so quickly towards the appetizer-insect that it never felt the Gorgo until it was too late.
I sat next to him at the same “table”. That towel was the Iron Virginity that had to be translated into a fraction with him being the denominator and a lowest common multiple in desire’s collaborations.
With my robust hand I was imprisoning the keys and with my left one I was touching him on the knee up to his Mediterranean pelvis.
In this exploration the silkworm should have met with a plug so as the blackout caused by my soul’s lust which gave its extension to the half lit steam bath could have had partial power supply like Albania. The generators belong to the gods; not the mortals.
Pretty soon sparks had dashed from his wire and he made the mistake of his mine from his February Olympics.
My first plan failed before it had the chance to flourish. I had to put my back up plan in action.
His empty photocopy became a flag on my Doric head. A halo of truth… His statuesque bearing was in a butterfly position. I was attracted by his funnel, like the magnetic compass attracts the iron filings.
At that moment I tried to approach his belly’s Oracle of Delphi for his Ideas and his Prophecies to spring up. My wire was in athletics with obstacles. It is not in the plug it belongs to, but in a similar one. Who said that the path to Virtue has not been sown with malodorous and bloody echini that have bloomed? His hair became the shackles of his hands. Who said that under unknown circumstances our strength cannot be our greatest weakness? His mouth kissed the beggar’s hand like a proper silencer. My torpedo rekindled his wanted senses. He seemed to have accepted the accomplished fact. He sucked my thumb like a toddler but not his creeks. He was trying to return to the beginning of the birth.
The tear and life exactly like miscarriage. I cried inside of him and with the key like a blade, indifferent to the amnesty of his life imprisoned hands, his hair was weakened…
He faced the severance of the experience in my house and at school. I have always been a personification of it. Everyone has the delusion that someday they will store it but nobody realizes that Heaven has sloughed us off and that we desire to celebrate the Restoration of the father by committing adultery with the Earth.
He did not dare to look me with his own eyes. I had done the same.
He was shaking like a whale that had gone astray, waiting for her return to half life. In the end, death is also breath. This is what a beggar once claimed and everyone had noticed “props” in his speech. Thus, I can handle this saying to be considered a god too… Usurpation of authority…
I gave him the keys so as to tempt him to unfold in the Gates of Hell.
To conclude, whether somebody will go to Hell or Heaven will be determined by the way he handled the crucial moments of his life and by expiation.
I opened widely the Steam bath’s door and I did not look back nor closed the door.
Never has a closed door behind u been locked.
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 20
Damien Adaleux to Jeremy Cloix
15-9-1997, Paris
Dear Jeremy,
Like Pluto, I am expecting Lucy rabidly even though I am aware of her devotion to her Mother-Work since March.
They say that when the cat is absent then the friendship of men dances a waltz. Nobody can agree more than me.
I invited three old friends to celebrate my birthday.
Tony, George, Jean and me, sitting at the four chairs of a table, were splitting the portion of hashish so as to pretend we were Pythia. The hypocrites for an ancient Greek comedy must always be four.
Tony was inconsolable for his unjustly lost girlfriend, when the airplane she had on was flying like Icarus to decorate the sea of Middle Earth…
On the other hand, Jean had broken up with his girlfriend because she caught him in bed lost in the webs of “Kirki”.
George was in no mood to tell us anything of value.
When you have friends you are obliged to tell them every little exclamation mark of the unseen side of the moon, like a simple soldier does with his captain.
I suggested they stigmatize themselves with the suit of the burnt pines. They accepted it without their cheeks to swell or become red.
On the sofas in the living room I had carnival and feminine ornaments, fabrics, masks and stuffing to give a sense of bulge, all scattered like offering stones at Etruria’s altars which you expose for the dangers like a sign of piety but you also avoid them.
I succeeded Seine’s flow. We were comfortable with our new clothes, like a poor man who wins billions in lottery and adjusts to the new facts so all this cannot be seen as the beginning of Luck and expectations or not to expose his humble origin to his new caste.
In the Room of Mirrors George’s lips were pale and Toni’s cheeks with Jean’s eyes were coloured. I was merely the lowest common denominator of his fake eyelashes.
Urged by our corrupted bliss, the omen of the Kozaks was deified in our palate after it had sexual intercourse with that of Champagne. We wanted to spread the news about the orgiastic ceremony from the West to Zagreus’s East.
A certain quantity of liquid flora and fauna gushed from the floor of the Parthians at George’s constitutional diverse units and became visible as a reactor by an amazed me.
This rare stellar phenomenon had to be made into a film.
A Marseille kiss should be given to George by Toni. His first reaction was repulsive.
“Are u a turkey, French kid?” I asked him and he said he had never felt that way…
“Traditional grammar has strict rules”. Whatever applies has to be accepted even by one of them. I filmed, Jeremy, the decadent idea of his obedience, as a gift for your forthcoming birthday.
Tony was on the ground after all this, bursting into laughter. On his knees on Aladdin’s carpet, he prayed to his God and his head along with those of Jean and George had been incarnated into an Argo of the Symplegades. “It is time to pray in a different language” I told him begging.
His head was a bisector in a triangle of skirts, undecided about which hand grenade to disarm before he is eliminated. A vague mass of drapery barely indicated the vehicle’s directions. The Jurassic Stones were covered in his mouth and thus he was transformed into a Golden Horn. The dovecote did not misbehave. Bad omens from the Olympian gods. Slates of mosaic with Sarlo’s gulf in the prehistory of trial.
In a little while their Caspian Sea would gush and the dove like a Cherub would be promoted to an unknown cloud.
But for Toni, this ultimate contact was not orgasmic.
Those Titanian Stones, now sealed, had two craters and were surrounded by bear’s skin. It is like a hundred devious horses have gathered to the zero point and rolling they emerge with the greatest power.
George and Jean with their soul’s half closed mirrors magnified their ego, identifying Hyperion in each other.
However, it seemed like their mouths were an opposing Pile of Hermes. One was offering the other oxygen and love. It was then that I remembered love is the oxygen of life, which when exhaled to your other half, becomes carbon dioxide. All this reminded me of a conjuring trick of the adolescence: the girl that disappears in her vertical coffin along with the knives.
I admit that I was always curious to see what is hidden under a dress. All the more so now that I had two in front of me.
The dove emerging from the earth, whiter than ever, was swallowing the rim with its archaic, holy smile like a game of a safe life.
With a deer’s flexibility, Toni bowed in front of the sofa and invited the devastated Jean to come into the turbulent doll’s house where George, who was closest to him, had cut the silk and thus had exposed the roof. Also he poured citrus juice on him so as his lazy dust could barely sleep. He rubbed him with a sponge so as a series of plastic dolls parading in front of the precursor of Virgin Mary’s icon would have Ptolemaic hospitality.
“I am ready to welcome him!” said Toni the host, who wanted to celebrate his friend’s birthday with the proper Laurentian way.
With his entrance into the middle aisle, Jean wanted to place the bread and wine on his friend’s Altar. His deacon thing even though bent, was risen and the congregation could feel the earthquake of his respect from the pillars of the side aisles. Till then those who were not deacons could not be in the Altar. But if the others are guinea-pigs and you the scientist who experiments then the first time can never be the last one. The way to Holy Communion demands Gargantua’s persistence. And he was also forced to float from the area where women sit.
A few pillars were stopping him with mud so as he could not reach the car’s wheel and people were throwing him Gedrosian paint so as to blame him for a crime. Jean had found a supporter in Toni who helped with the constant attacks of the enemies. There could be a tearing of his clothes and the amulet could be holy in the Altar. The subject is always the erotic desire.
Tony as a cognate object and George as a second subject gave him a flute to play a melancholy rhythm while Jean having the ideal equilibrium was stirring it inside his doll’s house.
He ended though in a testosterone acme on billy goats skin, playing a paean in pastoral note like Attila before his bow was broken.
The defender of “passive resistance” and I of the dictum “an eye for an eye”.
There were the tones, the semitones and the intonations that always supplied the voids of his psychological stave. Perhaps this arrow symbolized the help of Father Ares whose, as a member of the Salian order, I was a careful caretaker since it was separated from the Earth and Uranus.
I and he were both malleable kouroi, illegitimate and renounced.
Claudius once ordered Messalina to be executed. Thankfully not in my usurping case.
Jeremy you know that I was not born in Paris since my father was at the 45th parallel as an ambassador for many years.
For my opium and my Swiss love army I demand a cheque from my father. When this is not enough I threaten him with the publication of past mistakes. This letter would be ecclesiastical for his political career.
I may not be Phoebus but I have the inclination to transform into a villainous Hercules. I do not know my real father… The poppies, the grassy paper candles, the swollen bosom or the farm’s dogs?
Whoever Pindos will stand on my Egnatia way, I will pretend to be Hades inside Pluto. I commit this hubris to provoke Deism.
After this interfering sentence let us move to our original one.
Toni’s mouth was in the end a fountain of swans that made George quit.
After this Victorian change order was given to objectify the subject of the sentence.
Calmness and spin…
Bliss of two categories into one, like a myrtle into a laurel wreath.
My opinion about an indent in Jean’s waist was a leash that through its opening made him retire.
The return of a hypnotized man to life. I read the truth that had been stolen from him.
I presume that the truth is for everyone something to have forever. I will not say whether Joan of Arc was listening to voices of ambrosia or her own self or whatever Nature dictates. I am a friend of the material. Not of Hypatia… It is vain to pretend being something you are not. Oxygen becomes water when it has intercourse with the hydrogen.
Every human quiver is a heterogeneous substance that contains a code of numbers that has to be memorized as to steal the other’s treasure when the moment is right. For the most profitable union or that with the least results as negative, the proper combination must come from you.
I am a hog which loves to indulge into the gutter of immorality. I believe that you must help your friends and return your enemies like a string of beads back to myspace. I have no doubt about my virtues but I do not ask for someone to be in a position to defame my omnipotence…
A dove whispered in my ear that you were seen in London with my hereditary Juliette. I though I was once a Patroclus- lover…
Whoever pretends to be a Paris with my Helen then I will become his Menelaus:
a) for he is not only mine and b) for whoever trespasses her is a Trojan.
Jeremy, I never threaten anyone so as he never has a lead in my wishes and my actions. My scorpion’s tail reaches the ground with no notice and with the Leukothoe that I will be wearing I will break all the doors to find you. If from my Diabolical Primacy you see her again then you will not have the right to sin anymore.
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 30
Damien Adaleux to George Labrouille
1-10-1997, Paris
Dear George,
The other day I had a nice evening surprise for my tunics that were not detached from my skin: from the solitaire they were laying on the table for reasons of balance with the old pest of the American usury.
I made a deal with a model agency for a temporary buying and selling. “Eastern Europe at the gates” was its title.
I always looked at other people’s bodies as being services on which you satisfy every gastronomic pleasure. It is not pointless to take advantage of the other’s indisposition. Our putrid soul and our damaged tastes by the star of dog become an arrow on the girls’ pears.
Anorexic due to marijuana abuse and thus ready to succumb with scruple to the maximum number of clients. Many of them keep the torch in an Olympics film of strawberry garlic.
The bell chimed and out of the church there came a little, skinny, untrained, black girl… For breakfast she had a heroin injection. We would be the main course: the triumvirate that was made after the assassination of Julius.
On her face you could see the fear of uncertainty. She would allow the army of Mohamed to enter her Saint Sofia…
It seems she knew that if we had sent her to the Lake Aherusia she would not have been looked for. She did not have any belongings, name or identity… Another immigrant who entered the country illegally. A woodcock in decay and I the unpunished angry hunter, the son of a wealthy man for the tour inside the palace of Queen Christine, Lucy and Jeremy.
I ordered her to take off her clothes. Pointless for someone to reach the onion’s core.
She lay on a mattress at the centre of the living room.
Jean was looking to get mother’s milk from her nipples that an antelope with overexcitement has when she notices the hyena in the jungle. The way of manipulation was like the Discovery of America. His father stood like Zeus and nourished him inside the head. Another photocell prayer from the lamp’s jinn.
Like him, I was loyal to the spirit’s domination.
Toni and I were licking her lips that were deformed like brain’s cancer cells…
A sculptor must have no home. The truth should have been enacted with our tongue which is a more exact chisel so as the idea of Hedonism could have been shaped.
The introduction of the Babel of languages was done and was asking from our pickaxe the alphabet, the Latin one, the English, the French, the Russian and the Runes or the multiplication table reversed or rational.
Aristocratic patent from parental teaching. Children of the High Society… After all, language has always a use of variety. It will depend on your style whether you will follow the historical-comparing grammar, the traditional, the structural or the genetic-transforming one. The lessons of language are the most important so as not to seem like you have the disease of love’s illiteracy. It is not enough anymore to want somebody. The Cyrillic will change its meaning according to its surrounding and with which word, morpheme, phoneme it will be lined. The proper articulation and utterance can play an important role like the ironic tone or the judicial, the pretentious or the rhetorical one at the wheels of Pelops’ carriage. After all, people speak an Esperanto that has been disguised at the infinite levels of the mirror: “Interest is above all”.
We were looking for the node of our linguistic bombarding to explode at Aphrodite’s mountains. Light floods, visitors of our Anglosaxonic that united at some point…
The common cause can bring together old enemies… All the more so, friends…
She was not wearing a red cap, disorientated in Amazon with the moon as her crown. Something else was double and had to be covered at the scrub so as she could be accepted at his grandmother’s house before she gets devoured by the bad wolf…
The role of the victim is not a process I enjoy but it has always come before Orion.
She had exposed herself in an extra terrestrial, formless mass of hedonistic aura and that caused a repulsive inclination towards love.
Toni came from the narthex into her building which was like a Basilica and I from an arcaded window like an unknown thief.
“I won, Solomon!” Jean was shouting towards the patio, watching a fountain from the dome on which the inscription: “NIPSONANOMIMATAMIMONANOPSIN” was written. It means “wash away your sins and not only your face”. Four big pillars supported that building that was followed by pairs, with our hands as arcs and our bones as columns. Half-circled alcoves were our donkey bottoms. The unseen, dead spectators were curved aisles and for chant there were the quadrants that carried parts of dome on the secondary columns of the external masonry. Our fingers became dome’s neurons from time to time so as windows of forty ideas inside the temple could shed broad light and its straight marble complexion could be exposed. The pillars full of humidity. The mosaic detached due to illegal antique trading. Parts of glass on the dome’s windows. On the Altar numerous priests were celebrating mass even though they came from all kinds of creed. A comparative sexual religion.
In a previous life we were three Knights Hospitaller and whoever female aura we desired on the way from the Liberated Jerusalem we could forge her with no hesitation.
Luck in this life like a true light and leader in a progressive decay thinking that the one column would roll on the other and collide.
The earthquakes caused irreparable damage to the Building of the Olive and the pillars we owned followed a right turn or a circular one but rarely a boustrophedon…
The little Romanian girl was playing a Middle Age catholic song with Jean’s harmonica in her mouth, though I would prefer the song of the Nibelungen.
Izolde in continents far away from us and I like Tristan found fairytales in a pale, like citrus fruits, incompatible body. Yellow will always amortize next to the street’s pitch.
I was sprinkling the Rodan of her back with myrrh to make her holy and become hallowed myself. Now there would be a double game.
There was a rope abandoned on the ground. I had tied her hands behind her back with it.
She resisted but my friends proved to be my Varangs in my deadly actions.
Her sweat from Tropic of Cancer became an Arctic one. You could see a lamb in her eyes that wanted to breathe before it died begging for the governor’s grace. She knew though that this game was a roulette of death and life.
This degenerate fountain of divine death demanded our heavenly blood and an Iphigenia to be sacrificed.
I lit a cigarette while Toni and Jean continued their replenishment and I stubbed it out on the tattoo of her breathless pelvis and she, like a pandora, began to writhe.
However, Jean gave her cream flavoured ice-cream and she swallowed it at once leaving the cherry intact. Toni left like the sand from the sea wave.
I smothered her like Desdemona with an unfriendly rope. She accepted her torture with no melodrama or pity but patiently. Dignified Austrian Queen who was lost to remind me that she could never be like my Lucy.
I always filmed my worst vices…
A golden medal at right’s trapshooting. The bronze ones are for the others.
Her body still, like her soul. Why having body skin when your soul has quit? With a diamond under her tongue she realized the true meaning of life. I signed my duplicate with a Papist seal and the two of them carried her dead body in a trash bag to Toni’s car and buried her in a place outside Paris with the new moon.
We rich urban children, no matter how devious crimes we commit, we have the right connections so nobody can rule us for laws are made by the gods to manipulate the dead. The Spider of Justice pours her venom on the children of the poor and traps them in her webs.
The tickets are for the others.
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 40
Damien Adaleux to Lucy Sanguin
30-10-1997, Paris
Dear Lucy,
With this letter I also send you a tape with an one-act play of mutual understanding that was filmed in the Room of mirrors with a fake camera between me and Jeremy.
This is the monkey that jumped from branch to branch to escape my heart’s pulse.
He is an amphibious at the identical stars that I am too. Make sure you send him the image of his eye to the stellar brother of the bear to stress that I am his authentic friend. By becoming your friend you will not buy him any field.
I get mad with the idea that another man apart from me approaches you.
If you do not give me water and earth I will ruin your life.
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 41
Lucy Sanguin to Damien Adaleux
4-11-1997, Paris
Dear Damien,
In this letter you will find a box of love but not from water and earth.
I am sending you my excrements and my urine to sanctify them. Only these two can embellish you and no superior law.
I am telling you now that I am pregnant with your child so as you will take your responsibilities.
I will not apologise to your lemon forest’s newspapers for you having not taken the precautions found at kiosks.
Headline: “The son of the Prime Minister has blighted an immature schoolgirl with his seed”.
I demand that you tell me what to do.
Yours,
Lucy Sanguin
LETTER 42
Damien Adaleux to Lucy Sanguin
8-11-1997, Paris
Dear Lucy,
Innocent, carnivorous night flower, it’s not as if we have raped you.
You were enchanted by the striated muscles of my belly (that only meanders offer to the vases), my height and the thickness which made the veteran and incomparable beauty overwhelming with the firm image of the oscillatory light.
“Narcissus!” you were often calling me in your neologisms. I am still waiting for Paris to kidnap me and dash me to Ilion’s walls.
I do not recognize this child. Do the abortion that your womb did not do for you. Especially, since I learnt that recently a Bull took you on his back and travelled you to your pleasure’s field.
I pity you and I do not want to see you ever again. You are a burden of asbestos that I wish to assimilate with the secret of the Indian Dike.
Cut your veins and find a hayof ha-kantes to confess it to, you that are transferred to a psychiatric institution by a therapist… The child will be schizophrenic like you…
Learn that your father was dressed as a Nyriad every night. He may have given me wealth and fortune to pity you but he will not be spared by my glove.
One night of a metaphysical year I offered him food in my limousine. His gurgling body with his muscles like deflated balloons, an unevenness of tears and laughter. The ultimate humiliation of the old age. Compliments and repulsion.
They say that old people inspire respect. I say that this is not something that you earn due to age. You were born with this and you die slowly with this.
He was asking like an anemone for the freshness of our firm bodies in exchange for many fields in the countryside.
Make your decision that the wedding from the Apennines has been excluded. Its derivatives are welcomed in plural.
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 45
Lucy Sanguin to Marie Clermont
17-11-1997, Paris
Dear Marie,
It is not that easy to manipulate Damien. My previous letters about committing suicide did not touch him at all.
The secret that only Damien knows about is ready to be revealed to you: when I was nine years old my cousin, like Acteon, committed a sacrilege to the temple of Ephesus.
Thankfully, my father is not aware of this as he is not of the baby. I will follow the way of Kronos with Rhea’s belly. Damien will give the money and my mother will provide the method for killing the baby.
What will society say? That I will live in Hades where I am floating?
My father is the Leader of the Swarm. If he finds out what is going on, I will be “imprisoned” for forty days which means that I will not be able to leave my room and only get an invitation for breakfast, lunch and dinner. How could my poor minded, earthly God know that as much underwear as he notes every five years the same amount of lovers is deleted?
Damien was equal to Nijinsky in bed and a golden Olympic champion in any kind of sports: from volleyball to horse riding, from long jump to butterfly, from tennis to weight lifting.
His forehead ornamented by sugar beet and arctic conium. I was flattered by the eyes of the Chinese and by the contractions at the Donation of the Completed Mass. The body that remoulded me was the Oak tree of my Agnosticism made by Limestone and Granite…
Every time he was suppressed, he was threatening me at the Corner that he would reveal to my Judge that I was an Aspasia of luxury.
Damien, the Pittakos of Elikon and of the Crystalline Fountain in New Rome, will become the Re-creator of the Garden of Earthly Pleasures since he will study art and acrylic design in a School of Arts. He insists to separate our tongues in the final hour. Thus, we have a common code of ideas.
Even our mothers were colleagues in Sorbonne. I am his feminine litigant and he is my masculine one. He does whatever I cannot do and I will imitate eclipse’s march. We are the ancient two-headed animal. Thank God for the separation between the active and the passive because now we can enjoy the same amount of hot and cold, healthy and sick, good and evil…
Thus, the chance of meeting several sides of the same creature is born. I believe he will be worthy of the name of his own Father. Till his last breath… For this reason he will remain Untouched and Blessed…
I imagine that his trinitarian number should be on his head and all nations should adore him.
I, the Apotheosis of Beauty and not the Jews’ calf head…
My men are vulgar but as long as they are useful, amusing and kind I can tolerate them. When I cannot see the image at least I remember every man’s odour either because I will deny the chrysanthemum in the vases or because I must have the comparison with the best flowers. Every hierophant’s sperm is different in cooking.
My fortune has not yet been set by any man, maybe because I have annihilated it. It is more than certain with a geometric progression that I will find the man of my hopes so as to quickly wrap him around my flag’s pole.
And when I devour him I will swallow solid sugilite and hydrochloric acid so as after Jonah’s three-day death I can get him out of my stomach and he will know that he would have been happier if we had not embrace each other. I hold their misery’s cane with no medal of racism. I have known the Treasury of the nations as a keeper of sexual experiences. I like filming them when I adopt their children at the unsigned gallows.
I would compare my father to Lot who satisfies all my whims in the middle of the night and as a swan comes inside me so as I can pretend to be Leda and he can hope for Dioscuri and Helen to be born. Every night that a love letter knocks on my window I want Gyge’s ring to hang around my partner’s neck so as I can make him invisible and lost in the shadows of the past. I pierce my fabric dolls with pine needles, imagining I eliminate Kandavlis and I escape the insult.
Yours,
Lucy Sanguin
LETTER 50
Damien Adaleux to Lucy Sanguin
6-1-1998, Paris
Dear Lucy,
Only because I have a Saracen’s right ear does not mean I am Horatio Nelson or that I have the Turkish flag on my head and my left ear is a pirate one.
I am an amphibious reptile so as to be able to be saved in Armageddon time by eating the forest’s carcasses. I am Wallace, Cagliostro of the legionnaire, since nothing can stop me, neither Hannibal the Carthaginian general.
When you have a relationship with someone in obscurity, till you break up with your fiancés for good, I pore over your ischemic malady. Penelope, having no word over the final choice of your own web!
Once more I will emancipate in Amaltheia itself since I have been holding my hat in my hands for a long time with great strength.
It is a set of laws about nature so as you end like Simeon the Stylite.
Like Cassandra, I will tell you your fate by looking at your left palm. Now though, I will tell you about the past.
Jeremy’s parents found him hanged on his bedroom’s lighted fig tree. I and two others sneaked into his room as accomplices. He had surrendered to Bella Dona’s arms and to invent Prometheus’s box he had been paralyzed with chloroform by us. A rope around the neck and through the chandelier he had been led to the gallows.
Here is Judas the Innovator…
Are you sure that the real cause of Judas’s death was suicide?
Poor him! He thought I would spare him because he always was as sweet as a chocolate cake and wise… He crashed on his calculations and, like Titanic, sank in two stages.
Not even one of his admirals saw me at his tower. The calculation of my moves can be compared to the hands of the clock…
The Fullness of Cronus has come, Lucy. A red carpet from achates had been laid for him by Beel and Zeboul… Do not worry… One day my turn to succeed to this will come… We have some time until the Day of Judgment…
After all, out of sight, out of mind… I hope this revelation has caused your soul a little crack. I know that you will tell my story and my confession with a gag… Be careful lest you lose your court shoe and the Wolf keeps it… Unless he appears as a Charming Prince every time his hair is messy.
I know many secrets about your family and your legendary…
For example, your brother came this morning to give me a picture of yours that had been taken at the Land of the Basques.
Oh! You cannot remember the Land of the Basques? For all France to listen to your news I am thinking of putting a common battery in your radio.
For whoever is unaware of it, I will put it as a fashion model: she is a club that does group and extrovert activities.
Your brother had the kindness of a Habsburg and quickly informed me about your childish fault after he had traced it in the bag of your electronic mind…
Many hated Ephialtes, but none of my friends hated your picture!
A clear archaic complex… You and the boys’ V in positions of awe. Who said that different images cannot be expressed in language? Your body is a dirt road without potholes. You formed the implication of victory on your tongue and three more around you.
Pierre did not demonstrate his sting only for the vowels and the pressure you exerted on him due to High school exams but also because my undying figure from you is more appealing. I confess that I am corrupted by flattery. He recently keystroke number thirteen. I regret not having met you at the same age.
Your little brother lost your Adolescence’s April. Your tufted hair and your make up reminded of a Sophoclean tragedy, the rocky, sad vibration of yours that makes the primula wilt…
I ordered him to fall on all fours like a panther and since he is a koala to obey to his mother’s affection.
I kneaded his bended stick and made it a ruler. Using my mouth and my wavy hands I taught him, like Goya, the sequence without a smooth or rough breathing in the well of his labial letters. I wrapped a Galenus’s glove around my ruler so as to diagnose the child’s epidemic. I was shaking thinking of that Industrial Mayday well and how it gave fleas to the rats from Bengal. But when you have sexual intercourse with your worst fear then you gradually begin to overcome it. The blackboard of his morals was smaller than expected while my finger was making circles with the chalk.
My other hand grabbed his little blackberries that were bustling with life so as for me to end up by his small, floating piece of wood and elongate his life which had been on sales by others. This could be achieved only by a Saman or a god with automatic moves.
I decided to take it in my teeth like a knife, as a special marine at the Black Forrest. I played “Dies Irae” with my flute and I had signed a revocation at the decree of Nantes.
Something for the new generations to imitate and a note for the invention of my personal mythology. Your brother contributed a lot to my posthumous fame but showed little strength while dealing with the forger…
“Deus ex machina”. My drops made hospital flowers to bloom on the little piece of wood and the scar came on the grass of my sin.
He surrendered to his self’s cannibalism and with his soul like a machine the carpet had been cleaned like a gum and like a cat acts every time she senses the original sin.
The love towards children is divine. An idea of the Ancient Greeks; not mine. A Neo-Greek without a flag, loyal to the holy matrimony of Almighty Christ, founding the New Church of lust. Your brother was the first of my followers at my catacomb.
However, every religion demands saints and tortures. Your little brother felt slaps on his tight cheeks and on his tied mouth landed the missile of coagulation. At the strawberries of the crack of Dawn, my ice-cream was drawn on the surface. It would have been more nutritious with all these proteins. Like a leech though, it absorbed all his blood, even though he held his position with great difficulty. I became a tracker at his Aheloos’s banks but I had been there before as a mutant canoeist.
He left during lunch since you had burnt pork with sweet potatoes. I gave him candy for his trip and acceleration that suited him, so as the time will come when the suit I want will be given to him.
At some point we all embroider our childhood on the Tree of Oblivion. My first time on my bed was the end of the Spring and the beginning of the Summer.
Scars on her face, and the solar plexus was calling me to explore her universe, her fake hair dictated by my mother.
Their relationship was like Procne’s with Philomela and in order for me to mature I had to rot like a mulberry and not like a bloom…
The mausoleum of Aelia Galla Placidia had become my publishing house renovated with collagen at my ideal Ravenna. We played man-hunting and I was trying to find the proper octave on the stretched rope so as not to fall and go up and down. The return to my previous image would mean an infinite school Conciergerie.
Failure is a word that I cannot understand. The embryos were so close to Tartarus before they were separated from the umbilical cord.
In these macabre thoughts I should claim:
“Absent”!
Her body was not electrifying at all. It looked like a gel that was deflated by overheating.
Her eighteen years working on my back with her nails as accoutrements, searching for a heel of anaemia that would give her alibi in my nectar body with lack of self-reliance and also the realization of landing to society.
I was thinking about Jeremy in a way of cooking covered up with Leonidas’s carrots, cherries of beholders, a Mediterranean of refrains, lammergeyer’s eggs and cage’s chickens.
When you hear about few cherries, do not wait for anyone to offer them to you. Absorb them when you get the chance since Nature’s Lowland has a wide hand.
With the rule of deduction the lines on her face and her round arivalloi on the breasts. With the rule of addition the reforestation of pine needles on the chin and lips.
As for the spot under her belly, I thought she was not Akasha but Anna Frank’s Dutch hideout for an Eyck van painting. I had bought this from some Barons as an art merchant. My zero endowment.
My contact with a third body without an engagement ring and eternal vows repressed me to a free, troubled and bendable void.
Watercolours with a sense of Lotus winter reminding experiences of previous breaths…
With as much perceptiveness as one can have to correlate… Some call it intuition and others survival…
I call it return to Ithaca…
I and she did not have a common bundle of sticks. A farrago of questions was created while I was whipping her Saint Louis like a thunder.
Was I a matricide and did not want to admit it? Did I want to give chlorophyll to a breathless uterine spear so as to become a Chief Magistrate of the Templars’ School? Did I underestimate my value by doing evil but without knowing what and which?
Her lightning conductor gave me to non-existence. Force without thought leads to clumsiness. Her body was a forty five years old, messy book and I was her queen’s bookmarker of Midas.
Her husband hunting Forest Nymphs at his office all day and then exhausted from work sleeping with the mute water for “love”. She was neglected like a stowaway, reading Marcel Proust’s “In search of lost time” under the sleepless look of candles, trying to interpret the eerie mood of the company.
To pass her time she would go to the make up artist, to the sauna or to take care of her nails.
After my triumph at Nafpaktos she told me that she aims at strong young men with the help of yachts and limousines while Zephyr is blowing, Spring is waiting and Flora is imprisoned. Hermes with his alchemy stick cleared my mind’s fog. An example for escape. Only Charites should hug me and I with my asclepian paint…
After all these, I was somebody else. Maybe Merlin.
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 60
Lucy Sanguin to Marie Clermont
4-3-1998, Paris
Dear Marie,
The previous weekend my parents went to the Council of Nicaea ignoring my own Arianism.
It was a Chance from heaven to attack to the son of Mithras. Money always makes a man more satellite in the eyes of a woman as it happens with a cake made of sugar and loquat. How many people actually got married out of interest and not altruistic love? The most hedonistic of all is that your tempest cannot be interpreted if it does not get photographed at its right dimensions for the enlargement at the recipient of eugenics’ hope.
I liked him since we were teenagers studying together at the Christian School of New Lorraine. During breaks, a Neoptolemus with eyes of a bat was approaching the Andromache-victim unsuccessfully. His vulgar eye was looking at my necklace considering it to be a marriage settlement but unbinding indeed. His voice was masculine in the full sense of the word.
A voice like a rough Bari that knows what it asks for and which motorway to receive it from. The men had focused on the First Holy Podium and the spirit of the seraglio had been conveyed. At school he had the unaffected fame of a womanizer. They were all drained like the oil and the egg in the pan. A Petain for the girls, a compromise with the Third Reich’s active militarism.
I was playing hard to get not because I was like this but because this is the right aphrodisiac for a man. You must show your real self to the uneasy ones: the easily passable.
Antoine came through my door on Saturday night wearing a film noir coat and on his eyes he had night’s glass so as I cannot see what is moving on the inside. He covered the kitchen’s table with his own for the omen of a black ritual.
With the retreatism of his helmet the Keres would come after my soul. Now his silhouette was visible.
He sat on a chair giggling, with his legs in a relaxing position which was an ideal study for the students of the Refined Arts, eager to watch an erotic film. I did not ruin his abundance.
In such scenes men become spectators and pretend to be guards from the Beast of the Apocalypse. They hold their breath with difficulty while they remain still and they fight with an invincible enemy. Some have their artillery extended and others disclosed. High school x-rays for somebody to run to the Peeping Tom of the stands.
I watch men’s natural reactions. It seemed his pants would explode like a bomb. I never accepted parks with a moon.
Instead of dealing with the displacement of the earth’s axis I grabbed his hand as a feather and I gave his ear a chrism with my brush so as I could be aligned with his fireworks.
He took off the northern and southern hemisphere of his black coat like it was a corset of the 18th century that cries for freedom and like a cat he lied on my living room’s divan with his socks and kothurni. I lied like Eve only with my slip dress in a dead-like position. Adam stood up and went to the kitchen. He did not give me the impression of this being the end of a dying story but the beginning of a new one. I regained lazily sensitivity’s six.
A tourist with a glass of champagne and a sweet candle with a roseate box. Due to clumsiness they were almost married to the earth.
My mouth became a faucet with a subsidy of reversal. Swallowing without breathing… With his tongue, he tried to make all the oxygen get saved.
Since he had not achieved much, my nipples became honeycombs. He reached the navel of my door while with three earrings he was like a shiny calendar that talked about how Delphi raced with chariots in a tango full of holes, like life. He wanted to uncover Christ’s rock with his teeth. That would be possible only with my expected Resurrection and that Latin rabbit-sleeping soldier…
I bled a bit and as the aspirin sweetens the headache so did his honey. After my blood’s assimilation came that of the flesh.
His head got off at the next bus station. He faltered awkwardly… The Cave of Life and the Deepest Spot of Truth… He did not want to eat my Olympian though… A gynecologist had fried him a while ago…
I had a past similar to the Titans, bound to the core of the Aloades’ Earth and a future not at all fanciful with all the possible assumptions of work.
How would the earth be without water? How would Athens be without the Acropolis? How would the chess move be without the Queen?
I move like a sea-horse through life, forward and backwards, right or left in decisive borders…
Unless you are captured by the enemy or you are thrown at the garbage can… Maybe because you are not an expert anymore…
Your fears that you will not play the game with cleverness should not be barriers. Thank God I was not born a horse or a tower or a soldier. In this game the Queen is the most powerful pawn in chess and I will move my own pawns depending on my changing emotions.
“The triumph of the Agastonos Amphitrite”.
My Poseidon’s beard was the dolphin and I had attached his seismic urchins, which were on my lips, on Tritons so as at the seaweed of the Province of my Life he could echo shells.
Life has laws and I make a praising interlude for them. His tongue had the direction of a brush and he was painting a caricature of Guernica on my body with the dexterity of a Picasso. Because Eros is Archidamian and I am Mata Hari that should die from sensuality…
The divan had become Triton’s back and I, with my hand like a trident, was holding the hair of the hedonistic Elpenor.
He succeeded in boring through my dark heel and through life’s best wines to get the paraffin.
Sometimes tongue is a crutch, especially when artillery has been decimated. Unfortunately, her size at Aphrodite’s or Hermes’ mountain is not enough.
It did not take long for his self’s extension to shout at the Sargasso Sea and I wandered at the secret moon’s circles. The shore welcomed the ebb tide and the high tide. He was looking for a lighthouse and I was trying to protect myself from the salt water since he was spicy like a pizza.
Antoine, though, did not delay and arrived to the closest coast of my Amorgos. I was walking with a tight shoe till it would be exposed by causing blood and calluses, since hiking lasted long, and till I take it off and be relieved. My only consolation until the end of my military service was the fact I had found and tickled my Doris who was holding the torch. But Antoine was a liar and a battering ram. I felt my backside and its Kilimanjaro getting hurt by many meteorites because I had been a naughty student. He slid the snakes I had on my head like lemons through a bridle and every time I looked at him from the chariot, a dog’s bone.
The only way for it not to thaw is if he had decapitated me like Mary Stewart so as he could engrave my name on the list-shield too. He was choosing his reactive demise.
I was looking at him like a voracious wolf looks at a lost sheep at the pastures. The forest of Boulogne on his chest reminded me which verb to make out of an acrostic in our sentence.
His sweat like rain on my back and he was imitating my position scared on his two feet like a horse that whinnies and turns into a domestic dog, even though he was biting my back like a maniac.
His swear words were the proper medicine for rabies. I felt like Poverty’s whore. Just the sign would change and the genitive possessive: poverty’s; not luxury’s.
The owner was changing and not what I will be until the Day of Judgment… God always comes second. Mine was taking the golden achievement with X-rays.
Stings on my nipples for me to give up without a fight, while he was opening my camellia’s bud with his litany’s bread, since I needed oats. An unorthodox way of fulfilling while my stomach was aching. With this way of deletion I preserve my beauty’s course.
He represented the man’s archetype that I only sense in Damien’s refinement and marquisian origin.
Like all the others, I felt like a weak receptor in that bath tub. In the end, it was snowing pearls on my body without me giving him my eggs on his branches.
He was smoking a cigarette until Morpheus would steal him from Charon’s hug and till dawn he becomes Margot Fonteyn.
Sunday morning went by so lightly like the fall of the leaves and the rustle at the plain.
Yours,
Lucy Sanguin
LETTER 70
Lucy Sanguin to Marie Clermont
6-6-1998, Paris
Dear Marie,
You were seen with Damien at your hair’s weave and at the dialogue of your lips at the hanging gardens of Versailles… May Grace be with you…
When I made an oral protest he told me on the phone that I should bloom the Mexican Gulf.
I did that at once during camping where I was a leader but it was boggy.
With two buttered German molossians… The one was an instructor from Berlin and the other from Bonn. Capitalism and communism would become one on my body in the Hansa of pleasures. Who claimed that manifests do not communicate in communicating vessels?
We were a triad of spoken anecdotes at the camp’s tent.
I was telling them that Damien has his Byzantine decree like the Myrmidons and he seals awfully the manuscript from the lamb.
They both had arms of wrestlers and gigantic breasts like Chinese sumo.
I wanted to meet transpiration’s eastern rhythm during my controversy with the West.
Their noses were like pumpkins with potatoes. I spoke the Teutonic language fluently and knew all its shades.
On a table there were handcuffs, dildos and whips for a Ulysses in our happy melody.
They immediately decorated me with blinders so as I could not see and thus not be able to be subjective. The senses of the kangaroos would lead me to my most desirable goal.
An antenna that belonged to Taygetus landed on my nose and then on my lips because she wanted to find shelter in my tongue and at Parnes, like all those people who never get ill and the hikers.
Friedrich was inventing the metaphysical word while Adolf was sloshing with his hand on my quayside.
I felt that my underwear would leave the position of minister and Member of Parliament which it had as a hereditary right. It seems Adolph had written his name on a shell and my sewer had welcomed Friedrich’s cataclysm so as to get rid of rodents and cockroaches.
I was the space between Ursa Minor and Ursa Major.
I was waiting for two transatlantic liners to anchor at my life’s pier: Lusitania and Britannic inside me to steal the Holy Grail with votives or Blue Hope.
Perhaps, deep inside, I was looking for a Magellan to discover the chest with the treasure and violate it with a crowbar so a strange fume could come out of it.
Friedrich told me “I love you” and my mouth’s walls broke into two. The Earth stole my lower part and Heaven the superior “I”. The cane and their ether and uncovered void were the medium between humans and Gods. Ears of wheat accommodated my burning temple. I thought “Be aware of Danaoi and their gifts” when I breathed only from my nose and my ears.
Adolph dropped anchor on the breakwater though the ship was going back and forth giving me the impression it would sink. Not a minute went by and Friedrich decided to collide with Adolph at the port. He was never a coward. They were sailing together, intransitive indeed. The waves reached the port as a result of the tectonic slabs’ rupture which became one with their moisturizer nomadic caravan.
Friedrich was leading the cleaners’ crew to my drain. The man that put his credit card in me must have been a God. Maybe Anubis or Hor… He never introduced himself to me… Rebellious larvae were coming out of the breasts. I was committing something legally explicit with a negative sign.
I was prophet Tiresias and I was looking at pleasure’s light at the end of the corridor, molecular at first and then as a magnifying glass.
In the end, the tanks broke and the baby creams of the galleys were like a huge fire on the sea.
Maybe because water is the beginning of everything. Maybe because babies are nourished from their mother’s placenta. Maybe because everything inside us is flowing. Maybe because whether it will be Michigan sober or tempest, it depends on the way of the Soul’s Bible recitation.
I am now a free woman who will take pastoral and amusing walks.
I know ten languages. Who said that foreign languages do not benefit anyone? I have many overdrafts translated into appreciations. It is said that you can deservingly use only two languages: your mother tongue and the step one. Because you always have on the candle two parents or selves. Some say that you cannot serve two masters simultaneously but you should operate one at a time. I believe you can manage all the languages of the world with the body as criterion.
Adolph was static like the Celtic swamps. Friedrich immediately decided to leave.
I felt a rod whipping Ares’ mountain and another whipping that of Aphrodite. The colonization of the planets was practical to me. I wanted them to bleed like the Judaic cult’s God who was fighting with the Calicotome villosa.
I wanted them to flow like a Ganges of blood at my sewer and wash away baby creams and all the crap they carry in life.
I preferred death to be my escort. The more somebody prolongs life, the more he appreciates it and he realises that Hades will come and catch him at the river Styx.
A sentence of truth with an annihilating status.
In everyone’s Soul, when your wish dies another is born so she can fly too and give her baton to another one. Even Hebe will someday evaporate when she will hold Helicon’s flame at the Fates.
My two ignorant friends were like the men in the Capella Sistina’s acrostic, like I am.
It was not a Senet of revenge between Alsace and Lorraine. It was the fallacy of the nostalgia’s bliss.
They dropped anchor at my personal Odessa because the sun of the Ionian Sea was misleading them.
Which is the border though between the earth and the sea? Wherever the Earth stops, Melicertes will ride a dolphin. Without the earth there would be no Ino and without void there would be no earth. Our existence, our life and our memory are left to the void that cannot be manipulated.
Life adds many questions and few answers.
Adolph stepped off the untamed mare and was hitting me, like a Trainer, with chains on my archaic pile so as I would obey.
I had to be punished because I enjoyed Eden’s illegal and boundless fruit.
I was offering them my other side too while they were kicking me on the belly and ribs. A mourning of two untamed men from the syndrome of Stockholm, with no shell and sepulchral, gave me a second orgasm of dissension lest I forget my genitals while clamping.
The alehouse’s conspiracy forced me to be attentive. The foam had many kinds of feel in my mouth.
This letter ensures your lawful rights and proves a man’s renal failure who has completely failed at his mission.
I hope you make this known to Damien.
Yours,
Lucy Sanguin
LETTER 75
Damien Adaleux to Antoine Heloire
10-6-1998, Paris
Dear Antoine,
I swear to you that I will take revenge from this scum of a woman. I always keep my promises whether they concern a curse or an epode.
I will upload her nude appearances on the Internet with myself having a supporting role.
I am not holding in my hand only a big or small pen but all her past.
Her letter is an inscriptive museum. Interest and promise are two notions that are independent for society but for me they are one.
I suspect that since she is unaware I can place a collar on her. You can see if a Moor is hematite from the molars.
I and ten more people experienced a feast yesterday and we were casting all our powers from our sling aiming at the basket of our tyro Kristof- the well known classmate and brother of ours at school- who never took part to the meetings of our Round Table though he had the right to do so.
It was decided for him to enter our Paul Mellon and we arranged his sojourn at my apartment in St Elysee. For breakfast, we ripped his greatcoat like Maenads. Then I gave him Damocles’ lesson, to carve the line of life on my left palm so as not to be mortal anymore…
Moreover, the capital letters of our names appeared the infinitive letters.
Each and every one of us was sipping his cocktail like a peltast. A compulsory term in the Brotherhood’s manual…
A Crassus that had to be surrendered to Hague…
Since that happened, we demanded to open his mouth and fall on his knees like the Cetus from hell that punishes the disbelievers…
We were looking for a main meal, cemetery of garbage, to place our septisemic ambrosia. Especially a recycling storage for our rubbish.
A few creams of Callisto found their target on his body and others missed it completely. Whichever help was descending from the sky he was simulating it with silence making every time a curse or a wish. He liked that muddy rain.
At some point he went after the reclamation of the substance. We could not be negative towards that. Our trousers had big holes and out came the trunks of our elephants.
This is said to be the Symbol of Luck. After omega comes life… Another living dead amongst the billions on earth.
We were shaking the water beams of the sun and he herded at the sugar clouds.
Poor him! Some firing was blank and others landed on an inaccurate port.
His eyes fiery like the sun, his hair crystallized from garlands and his chest stigmatized from acme’s cotton…
Yesterday’s competition was a beauty’s treatment and a parade of lieutenants on a greasy face…
Everyone’s yellow rain was distorting his mouth: his river Yangtze. I have always been a fan of the Chinese culture. My body’s outfall imitates him…
Pierre gave an omen he would mate his red mud with the yellow rain. He has some kind of Libyan anemia and not a renal failure like me. Others transformed his body from pearl to gold.
He was thirsty for knowledge and we for Herbart’s method of drastic notions. I am not Comenius in the classic sense. I will treat everyone as if they are my sperms and I will lead them to unexplored ways of the mind.
We did our doctorate on him with punches and kicks as if he was an empty sack. For dinner we opened Aeolus’ sack and a pole got stuck in his round eyes at the royal feast. He almost went blind and dill’s blood going back and forth. We began an art exhibition reminding of a feast to avoid having light’s recomposition.
If he really wanted to become a member of my team he should experience those meaningless tests and as a last temptation to trample over his swan and offer him to us alive with sweet potatoes.
I am neither a friend of life nor a friend of animals, I admit it.
All people have three legs but stand on two because they do not want to admit it. Everything is bound by reins. If of course somebody does his duties right as a charioteer…
Thus he will carry the right light of Erythrea to the form.
In any other case there is danger of animals becoming a theme for the encaustic. These have a secret, unique number for everything that belongs to you to be a guarantee.
I anticipate, like you, count of the living.
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 80
Damien Adaleux to Jean Larousse
22-6-1998, Paris
Dear Jean,
Yesterday we had a meeting of gods, deities and goddesses at the association… Can you imagine having sun for twenty four hours? When would the bats set or rise?
We were forty men inside a crock and I was the leader. Female and male genders. Others were of unknown intention.
When Dimitra rested her eyes we were able to breathe at my villa in Orleans.
You never begin blind man’s buff before it starts with the social prejudices, because there is no chance you could win.
I was shaking the urn to choose each and every body and for love one of the four vases.
“Random love’s democracy…” the procedure was named by me.
An Act of Unity regardless gender, name or age.
The stereotypes of men and women had become Roman slaves of the Winged Hermaphrodite.
A carnival of nudists and improbable combinations. Strangers amongst strangers… Who said that Love is not Blind? Strange and Globetrotter I would dare say. Few expressed the Antiochia of the classical era to prefer mates.
And I was the king of the Sun on Nocret’s table board. I was overseeing Sudoku and whether the rules were followed.
Culture was a sword on the bull’s back. The person had lost its core and everyone their identities.
We took off our dark clothes and we remained with the clean ones.
Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony was heard like rock music.
Candles of cider and lead were flaming from the summer solstice.
After all, summer was always offered for the conflict of the Amazons.
That was my photorealistic father’s party that became constitutional. It preserved though its autonomy at the crypt of the Constitutions.
He demanded the continuation of its tradition and woe betide anyone that gave his signature at the contract and with his entry defected or stepped over my Cylonian Affair.
I was the observer of my Holy Mountain and all those Capuchins were running for their saved souls to the monasteries of empty tombs. They were untrodden Karpathia for the ones that were not introduced and woe betide anyone who read their typed prayers on the bodies. Divisions devoted to climaxes and hierarchies. It was the day of dedication to the Worship of the Ultimate Being. I was not a fan of Robespierre but of the spirit that was opposed to my interests and my values.
Tenors and sopranos performed their feelings at the five floors of Orleans.
My cottage seemed like it had been bombarded by a plane. Shoes under the sofas and veils on branches, fried clocks that had obstinacy with memory, underwear on lamps-because maybe the gleam is gold or whatever does not shine is the tower of London- trousers without men, like they belonged to ghosts that abandoned present life, socks on fireplaces without tabards or pearls that some shipwreck’s sea washes ashore-the art thief’s craving for pleasure- or strings of bilinguals and landowners.
All these things were objects of the poor passengers and I was the inventor of recapture and a lonely stowaway. Dead bodies scattered all over. They were scarcely separated from the earth. They did not know either the cause or their mortality…
I was in a neutral mood to give them a literary annotation.
The dead always want to keep you close to them when they realize that as long as you live they will not worship the earth. Their relic on the ground. They falsely believed that that move would give them breath. Even God’s hand cannot make an excess. To stop being dead, death must be shot at your bed. Never let him scare you but fight for his elimination until next life comes. After all, earth is drift sand and my furniture and partners are the silent witnesses of a crime.
You were sneaking on couples at the sacrifices with water, the dining room, the balcony, the chandelier, the television, the bathroom, the chairs or the sofas…
There were not any adjectives, names or nouns… Gaza was medium and neutral voice like the quails in the cage, for the other two forebode a love zoster without condom.
My home became a house of alimentary scandal and orgasm.
The wings of the curtains were ripped at the battle of Poitiers, beds and chairs with crippled legs, the handrails at the balconies reminded of Bastille’s Capture…
My house remained crippled since everyone was devouring (after a forty days diet) whatever he found and his foundations were creaking. Who said that the telchines come from the pylons of the earth only for certain days of responsibility?
My villa became the sarcophagus of Fulvius. But I was not half dead by the sword of Jerusalem because my half pillars remained untouched at the infant’s moment.
Everywhere you could see the exposure of life and an ice like banana peel able to make you lose control. Everyone was drunk in a Tae Kwon Do of souls and in love’s ecstasy in the form of pills.
The first couple of numbers that would expire at night would choose thirty eight local pelts regardless of specifications until it dawns with me as a priest and my bed the Holy Table.
Marie and George were the extensions of the Darkness and everyone else their ropes.
There would be no slaughter by the daughters of Danaos this time. They would sacrifice themselves on love’s altar like Constantine Palaeologus; not necessarily by a man’s hand.
The right of the first magical night… For whoever is first amongst equals always reigns over the stars of Perseus.
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 85
Lucy Sanguin to Janet Valloire
7-7-1998, Paris
Dear Janet,
While I was a bride on my bed the day before yesterday, Marie like a forerunner of relief read to me parts of the “Megas Anatolikos”.
I had to enter her virtues to regain Damien and imitate them.
I tried to be created from life’s marsupium. Unfortunatelly I vomited the thirty capsules of antibiotics and I did not have to get hospitalized.
If I died, I would take Damien to be my partner in grave.
If I committed suicide, he would leave life for us to move to the implication.
My soul is sick like a whale and the companies of my men who share my bed are therapeutical.
Based on the laws of possibilities, it is impossible not to find my clay effigy at Theoclymenus. For now though, I will compromise with the alternative.
At first, Marie’s perception was binding at the book’s pages while an oil lamp from the rider of Artemisium had been ignited… She was waiting for one more from the true nostalgia for the chariot to begin its attack to the Colosseum.
Marie made the book able not to touch the table. The intermixture of her visions was a marching song of kids as pure as the vulgar sonnet of the adulterers. It did not take long for her to remove the blouse and skirt from March’s body.
She began to rub the flame of her left breast. She brought it like a half tone to her mouth… The void’s ablactation…
Her panties were an uncoordinated lover to facilitate the monotonous interaction. She was a bald actress at life’s Pythagorean due to the blade of over performing.
From her uniformity the outline was clearer than the anatomical details. The disembodied charting at the bodies’ twilight was never a registered letter and guest of her imperfections.
I never wanted to walk with vinegar at survival’s glass with the illusions.
Since the truth follows us in a retrogressive way from the object of desire we become forgers of our self’s signature.
Marie left the chair on the gravity’s succession and sat on my shroud to spread her sinful myrrh on it. It was the time of transition from the neo-Hellenic mythology to the poetic of Sappho’s lyricism.
She softly strokes my leg at the protective sheet. But a warrior never forgets that Penthesilea was a queen.
That sheet was the omen that I should have died.
But that touch of hers on the leg and with the Holy Shroud as interstice made it clear that I would have a new chance in life like Lazarus.
She drew my mounds forcefully. She did not want to x-ray their furniture nor identify my fire with the method of anthrax.
I was a nymph of the Winner like her.
Cyprus was always the house of Gods and I imagined being love’s guide there. Life has taught me not to be strict but determined. I am not used to wearing clothes when I sleep for postponements and excuses of unwanted trips: for Orthros not to come and take me out of the fridge and dance with me at Kerameikos, imbued with rebels’ blood, unless I myself do not call for him to jest. If she saw she wanted to bite me, I would wear my archaic dress.
Marie though doubted my Bourbonic pre-eminence. She wanted to show me that it is worth living on the mast. She got involved with my head’s bindweed, to fruit their maturity.
Dualism is a board of paganism. She was stroking the trees with my eyebrows branches, to discern and find the correct course with exclamation marks and agility.
At my third eye her pump continued with offering of covert kisses. Searching of intentions, emotions and side lines. She realized I was affable…
She departed for my cheeks like a dog when he missed his master after a long trip.
I took out my tongue to reach hers.
The void is a universe where you can meet anything ill favoured or amusing and live there if you grab it.
She had a plum caramel in her mouth and when our tongues united she split it into two pieces instead of giving it all to me.
Half shame for her and half for me. Spring in her mouth and winter at her speech.
Who said that people do not represent their era? Everyone leads his own so as not to abstain from life. Seasons are inside of us like the time’s rules.
The first are old lines on our opened palm while the second are not appointed by us; they can be altered though.
She carved brushworks on my neck like a jaguar. The exquisiteness and the refined perfume are the greatest virtues of women since one understands better what the other asks. Our society accepts them easier than Telemachus and Achilles on the same bed.
Whoever is closer to become feminine is certain to be criticized. We are going towards the era of Men even if this will soon change.
Woman is no longer considered an illness since she will transform into something she is not like man also will.
The model of men is a widely accepted transmitter.
Men are flattered by Lesvos and its balance.
Women who pretend to be men do not affect the reproductive procedure. They forgive everything we do for we give birth.
My affair with Damien was my homosexual preface. It taught me to like both Druids and Gauls.
After all this, I realized the election of his governance by her.
He was satisfying himself with a Pinochet Hippolyte that did not take “no” of the thirty second but she did not offer the big “yes” either. I will explain what I mean. When she asked me to perform laparoscopy on me with her head to see whether I will give birth to another baby by Damien she ripped the sheet in Palestine’s strips in a rebel state. With a violence reminding of Demetrius the Besieger she tied my hands and legs on the deathbed of Procrustes.
She took two models of men out of her bag.
She tried them like the assistants did at Kyrus’s dinners so as the King would not get poisoned. They were wet and they should be hung at my balcony for the sun or air to dry them. She began with the delivery to end to the sewer… A pleasure without breath and its intonation…
I was like a DaVinci’s drawing. I had many arms like goddess Kali. I could have escaped but I did not do it out of curiosity.
Unfortunately they did not dry because sky’s cottons had covered him with their thirteen guilts to mourn for what I have not yet done. But it is never too late.
An artificial blast impulse of our lithospheric plates took place at a friction with no ending and beginning.
Artificial because the causes were on an excursion. They deforested mountain Ararat that was next to Sinai. Those were the New Commandments until the land of Canaan emerges.
Only through Kalahari and lack of water you can find an oasis in the empire of Alexander the Great.
Wherever there is triumph there is also the decay in which it has been condemned.
Later, the rain was falling weak. My eyes due to the changes had been transformed into weather’s windows. It suddenly stopped and then started again without hesitation. Then the heavy rain began while lightings and thunders came out of our mouths.
Thankfully my room’s doors were entrenched. My mother landed on the balcony not being supported, like the Sun, with wings of marabou to convey the happy message to this storm of Evangelism.
Thank God she must have thought it to be a girl’s toy.
Yours,
Lucy Sanguin
LETTER 90
Lucy Sanguin to Damien Adaleux
10-10-1998, Paris
Dear Damien,
I bet you cannot break the strap of nun “Glykeria” when you wait for me and you look at her outside my school’s rails…
My sky has clouds, white horses and black ones.
George’s sister is hard to be subjugated… Do you risk losing your friendship with him? You, a Don Juan and not being able to make a Turkish cat like her fall for you in the sea of Venice? Unique case…
Forget about my classmate so as I can forgive you and stop being angry.
Every Lord’s Day has a crucifix around its neck for the Sunday school.
You may go to prison for seduction of an adolescent girl.
Yours,
Lucy Sanguin
LETTER 91
Damien Adaleux to Lucy Sanguin
13-10-1998, Paris
Dear Lucy,
Listen to my echo little girl. When I move my sardonyx all women come quickly to my trousers and do not leave my resin.
I happily accept your invitation. I will send you a video tape of what will happen. But if I succeed, you will do whatever I tell you to.
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 92
Lucy Sanguin to Damien Adaleux
15-10-1998, Paris
Dear Damien,
I accept it with honour.
Yours,
Lucy Sanguin
LETTER 100
Damien Adaleux to Jean Larousse
17-11-1998, Paris
Dear Jean,
As it is known, my former fresh carpet said that I cannot break the “Madonna with the goldfinch”. I’d better guffaw!!!
The deck’s Solomon card is not the one you have thrown on the table by accident, but expect the exact same to fall in your hand so as yourself will win again the game that it has lost.
Everything is a matter of self-suggestion. “Ask and Cybele will come to you!”
It is a Soviet Union that attacks so as not to defend and by now it knows how to handle crises.
I and Pierre bought a variation of our kind sitting on the comfortable seats of our limousine while we were wandering at the city streets.
He was our age but also thinner. French not from porcelain. His breasts were from silicone and on his tight back there was a covered, wheaten, curly wig. He was wearing a leopard skirt and a cherry t-shirt.
His lips did not exist, like Christ. His eyes were students of the darkness. All made up and beautified stepping on stilettos. Before Northerly wind performs at our Epidaurus, like the pale moon…
I liked the Carnival that blessed that little boy.
I wanted to taste the son of Theseus by pretending to be Phaedra. Aphrodite’s enemies are my partners. I paid him with vegetables candles.
It did not take long for him to peel like us. I had ordered the driver to make us Hungarian until the Odyssey of our fieriness takes us to the palace. Which is exactly what happened.
Like octopuses his breasts of an acid without gender were striking my back. A capsule-corset was clamping the bedridden patient more and more.
The ultimate thing was that out of an empty shirt I was giving birth to Erinyes and not life.
Forgetting my being, I was a subject-object in a defective sentence. Though in this specific case, the patient was acting the illness and he was infecting the nurse. Another controversial relationship like life.
Only a chain embellished Pierre’s left foot and an earring on his right ear was watching what was happening like the student watches his own instructor at the surgery bed.
It would be untrue if I claimed that I do not want a silver corset to confirm the champion and feel heavier than ever. Unfortunately, a palaestra has a set capacity.
It had been asked from that man hybrid to insert a ring in his clarinet for the maximum possible stay.
No moisturizing day cream on my body. I was always against any kind of product that alters our nature. Another fan of Rousseau. It is in our nature to hurt. Everything’s birth has no subjectivisms or classifications.
Pierre was printing our one-act play in the form of messages of his mobile voice.
Sagas that have not been heard before since the Third Race had been outmarched. Now we belonged to the Fourth that brings dei ex machina.
My mind was a tyre of that machine. Noone is going to get fired by the Employer if he is useful to the consumption and the production.
We must always be perfect in art, otherwise it is better not to get involved with it at all. That androgynous reminded me that I should see the future via Chiron and not be retrogressive. I have to take that step that others are afraid to take.
Pierre decided to give the tennis rackets and the balls to our employee with no name.
I instantly felt spatters of singing birds on my back.
I had to be reborn like the Baptist at river Jordan with Pierre’s lubricant, since Orontes was not by my side.
The non-gender man gave birth to his baby in my Volga and the diplomas ran out like a nightingale. I may have felt nauseous but I was a castaway-professional. After all I was taught to seal my ears with sealing-wax.
It was the frenzy of the moment but I would like to repeat it in the future with you as a protagonist.
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 110
Damien Adaleux to Lucy Sanguin
25-11-1998, Paris
Dear Lucy,
I am sending you the crime’s evidence. “Do not touch me, faithless Thomas”. You are now obliged to do whatever you are told by love’s slave market.
As it is known, your sympathetic had put an ad for a private school of the arts.
Knowing that I am an excellent Marinetti, I willingly but with disgust as well, took on the hard work of the teacher. I write beautifully and I lick the higher lands even better. I am an arrogant Flaubert.
I was accommodated at my atelier (extension of my room). George, since he was her cognate, contributed to the final choice.
Isn’t that what friends are for, after all? Friends must recognize you thrice when you are going through rough times in your life.
I was literally willing to offer my services without getting paid.
On a symbolic level, I would be an opportunist to her naivety.
I wanted to teach her painting without gouache, specks and dots.
I gave her an orange juice to drink while she was sitting on my sofa. I had put barbiturates in it so she would not resist.
You never rape somebody if you do not have the right precautions.
It is a main rule not to blackmail anyone if you have not raped him first.
Burglars always wear gloves so as not to get caught. I turn everything into stalactites in my life’s puppet show so as to make others dolls in photographs. When I shake them, my moving drawings are postulant…
Antoine my rebellious officer was waiting to be given a sign by his Lord the Guardian so as to attack our royal domestic.
We took her to my room while she was unconscious.
So innocent and sugary!
We put her on the bed as any Don Quixote would have done for his lady if from his own typhoon she was traversed.
Her skinny body reminded me of the odalisque in one colour by Ingres.
I was always an admirer of Neo-Classicism. I wanted to rip this painting to pieces because it had an emotional and historical value.
A smell of security, well being and intolerance was hiding under her fat at the slum. Ideas that provoke me to doubt them to whoever claims that has them stored in his hard disc.
When I was Tom Sawyer I was always breaking the vases mum brought home from her trip to Sichuan.
Ming Dynasty was being diluted in my hand not because I loathe the Chin culture but to see my mother go insane. An untranslatable civilization to my own life theory. I did not like my mother’s incontrollable arrogance. I wanted her to sacrifice her eyes so as she could doubt what I feel or do.
I was so greasy like a snail without a shell and I loved it.
“Faunus of Pompeii.”
I wanted to seduce her flabby thighs at Parnassus. Women, apart from tongue and hand, they need teeth from topaz because the danger of a filling always lurks…
Female anatomy in its totality always looks like a jungle in safari where you explore its various genders and species every time…
I never read enough zoology and that is why I was throwing the black and white cows from Keadas with their panties.
I was an expert at the human anatomy and I had a scholarship too…
My hand moved to find and break her crab which was above her belly. After all, when the glass on the bedside table faints, the evil is in the love breaker. It is idiomatic to hide behind somebody else’s back.
There is no chance a daddy can save his seemingly innocent pullet from me. If I agree with something I take it to the end.
I was coming inside her monastery violating her steel door with a burning solid liquid. The nuns were unarmed. You could see it in their face’s fractures.
I was Mohammed the Conqueror at the marionette palace of Magnaura.
I was wondering while staring at the mirror whether I wanted to make love to my Adonis. Where would I see again this airy and marvelous body? Would my profile be simulated at the magazine’s cover which Antoine was preparing for the internet?
It is unreasonable to throw chocolate to the defloration. My uninitiated to vows body would get salty.
Later on, Antoine confirmed that he had suffered the passive orgasms of Sleep from Deimos.
I hope he dreams of my kiss when he goes to sleep. When he accepted the tool of the circumstances of commitment-as a kind of disapproval- tomatoes and holy water, I realized that the end had come for my starry mission and thus I left running with my excubitores.
I ran away being scared of the divine wrath that was over my head due to the asylum’s desecration.
When she returned to the other world, she understood that I was the Saviour of her Metamorphosis.
The performance of your duties will be postponed for the time being and I am arranging it for the distant future when I think it is compulsory.
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 130
Lucy Sanguin to Sophie Caron
30-5-1999, Paris
Dear Sophie,
You can make creative acquaintances at camps. A man from Catalonia was ogling me when I was sitting around the camp fire along with the logs last night.
I pretended to faint to give him a paper-garbage telling him to meet me at the camp’s toilets at 2 o’clock at night.
The danger of me being caught red-handed was desperately naught. His name was Juan and he was getting paid to act, like a bee worker, in erotic films. I like hanging out with people who do not come from the same social class as me. I forget the limitations I have and that is fascinating.
Damien thinks I am Alcibiades. Like a Hindu he is surrounded only with smiles from our rank. I believe I must not dump the Untouched on the street.
Juan knew how to win my heart with his great jokes. He was a painkiller and a boredom repellent. I would lie if I said that I did not eagerly wait my chthonic tracker.
He opened the toilet’s door at dark which till then was slightly lightened by the moon’s light and the pillars. He was accompanied only by a couple: Joan from America and Scott from Great Britain.
He explained to me that in the past they were lovers. My second nature would have to deal then with three strangers who knew the art of war. I have to declare that I was thrilled!
With our debauchery’s quartet the toilet would become our concentrated Serbia. We would join forces in favour of the Kosovars and we would ruthlessly bombard the Serbian-Slavs racists.
We never believed in love’s racialism. Scott was a blond Apollo Sauroktonos lying on the wet floor not only to cool himself but also to get a battle position and arrest the unapproachable pisces by taking out his hawser.
I was throwing my stars on him from the sky… Clusters of meteorites…
We had Earthquake sealed inside our Etna. Joan also bowed over Scott’s head. She was sacrificing an animal to propitiate her little God.
Juan was a tiny gerund lover. His eyebrows were a proper stimulant for a woman. He had pierced his belly-button with a silver ring. It is said that werewolves die by a silver crucifix. Apparently he had been tied by his machine. A flat belly like the table’s surface, skin-tied with it as its only identity.
I was swaying on Scott like the baker mills the dough. I wanted to feel the baking tin in all its dimensions and not miss any corner that has not been filled with this dough.
I was a shipwreck that wanted to suck everything in the middle of the Antarctic Ocean.
The repetition in darkness’s space was Juan’s black hair. He looked like he had been decapitated like Danton.
His spaceship landed on my Cape Canaveral like a splitting on my two over stuffed fried eggs. A pigeon wounded and bleeding that attempted to fly because it believed it was possible though reality belied it. It’s this belief that we can become what we were before we were transformed into something else by a buoy. It is the present’s denial of the previous moment. I waited for him to pour the butter into the frying pan and eat the best omelet looking at me from the kitchen’s hot plate.
The French and the Spanish were conspiring in a long time to destroy the terrorist organization. We like dominant countries and not self-contained areas.
The collaboration with the Englishman was something that could not be blamed. I was Clemenceau and he was Lloyd George. Our Archidamian was universal like our love was figurative.
I pretended to be the elevator at the Eiffel Tower that goes up and down, Scott was Thames that waited like Noah to soak me, Juan the Escorial whose lust I saw rising from the west and Joan the Statue of Liberty that gives the fire of death to the remaining nations holding the window like a torch that brings balance.
Joan’s lips had gone so red that you thought a Chimera would rebound without Bellerophon. You could see the Aztecs’ unhewn wood on her look. To be precise, a sea without any water. She had the hair of citrus but anyone could doubt its originality.
While Scott was giving me floods of pleasure, I was staring at Juan’s Irresistible Armada.
I was the porphyrite-cloth to my Matador. I liked his passion and his Mediterranean imposition. He was staring at me as if I were Napoleon’s domain in a sphere of influence.
He suggested I should pour the butter out of the frying pan and onto the kitchen’s hot plates to turn them off since they were all turned on. But lots of butter was thrown into my casserole. Thus the spaghetti I was making had a nutritious taste for my saprophytes.
I always wanted to learn Swahili in Africa, eat human legs inside the Alps, one of the few alive at Zulu dance…
I felt an acerbate taste in my belly since I was the tomato in the liquidizer. But in the tomato juice some liquid flour profiterole was added like the soothing breeze. A penetration with no pleasure…
Our heavy breaths were implying our need to wear masks of euphoric oxygen.
When that was done, we collected our few clothes because the full moon was looking at us with a fig’s leaf.
Yours,
Lucy Sanguin
LETTER 140
Damien Adaleux to Jean Larousse
30-6-1999, Paris
Dear Jean,
When the sunset came to an end, Robert and I went on an excursion to the degraded northeast suburbs with our limousine.
The order was to narrate on the camera what was happening at the third apartment.
There, thousands of blacks, unemployed or Muslims from Africa would suffer for a few francs.
My victims were two sixteen year old blacks and an adult Muslim from Algeria.
Many of them are drug dealers. The feeling of doing something illegal was always a catheter to me. There should be a punishment for capitalism and colonialism to an Aristocrat from the higher bourgeoisie… For the mistakes of the past and for the evils that bedevil their present… With a gesture of mine they came into my extra erotic clinic.
They were so Dionysian that if I did not wear anything they might kidnap me to sell my organs. They do not know that Dionysus Zagreus never dies and tortures the disrespectful.
Robert and two loyal guards of mine from Hades would kill this actor if something went wrong.
I had timed and put boundaries to my vice’s game.
I was a fan of tenebrism and I wanted my head to look like that of Holofernes when Judith cut it off for the Liberator of her people.
Paintings for me are the occasions to act roles that in normal circumstances I would not act. The real of the past is depicted with the present’s concepts. Another fake theme and I was its multiple.
I knew the fake reality. In no way I reassured myself with false expectations. I wanted, even in this way, for my dark enemy to undertake my caricature…
The threat of monkeys for making an Aryan French nation was now a watershed from the past to the present. But not in its real dimensions.
An arrogation of rights that those androids will never have…
These ideal slaves were privileged for their huge assets and they were made to bring nude photographs of themselves.
The ideal servants for us arrogant masters…
My gold watch which they asked for was given to them. I had many of them. I gave them my emerald ring without a grumble.
But the third time I refused to give my right ear’s diamond earring because it was my self portrait’s wand.
The Algerian pushed me down. I slightly hit my head. Thankfully I was Aphrodite on her hunkers without a rupture.
The one Black man carried away my hands and the other tied them with a rope…
They were calling me vulgar names and kicking me or punching me. On the other hand, the Algerian took off my earring and blood dribbled on my face.
Profoundly satisfied from their loot, even though they never conquered Malta, they took off my pants to obviously steal it too.
“What a golden boy!” exclaimed the Algerian.
Before I come around from the continuous beatings, I saw them nude.
The Algerian had been circumcised as the Koran orders. Obviously one of his two parents was white French since he had a dark colour.
The hoses of the Blacks were diversionary and unhealthy like the Bavarian sausages I loved every time I went to Germany.
My one black man, like someone who loves his neighbour, was touching my thighs trying to find the average…
“This well needs oil!” said the one and then the other black man took a bottle out of the jacket.
The first black was counting my mouth with his finger that was sergeants of my unit from willow’s hands in case of resort due to NATO bombarding.
Sometimes it was casual harvest and open for the errand of equities of the free to loose market… Other times, the store would close due to the bubbles of the wet Spartans who washed ashore more branches…
The sink is always blocked due to hairs that are gathered after the big razors’ long stay.
The second black man while unplugging was pouring from the jug to achieve the first goal: a flexible girl to be ready for the intruders. Oil contributes to life’s width. Modern Hippocrates says it as well. It is the most essential to the Mediterranean cuisine.
I say that oil has a great contribution to the biggest volume’s capacity of winged ships.
This well could now fit into any kind of windlass. It did not have any more restraints. It had gained a totalitarian autonomy without my authoritarian will. They had charged the brutal troops of his Chorbates on my land so as every human right would be eliminated…
A mathematical triad was looting my body.
Every conqueror had his own unique characteristics.
The first black man had the alpine look of Pseudo-Longinus. The second one had a gross but middle one. The Algerian had Gauguin’s but totally effective.
The windows were sad coffins. The atmosphere was stifling due to the sweat of our bodies.
Relaxation at a Turkish bath. Their smell was more aggressive because they did an exorcism the previous Christmas for the last time.
The water and hour glass’s economy of our national identity was a common denominator…
When the one intruder was breaking my country’s metal grilles, I was being bathed with wet and solid perfumes-merchandise by the other two.
I liked the Algerian more because he was the Lyre with no costs, the Partisan’s manual that has a strong power and nobody can subjugate.
The tramontana was revolving dark spikes from his barn to the homestead.
All this bayberry was dribbling from my palate like a stalactite. At some point there was a parallel admission from two teams but the fence was so narrow that as a lecturer he expelled the one since it was about to break…
The black man that was behind was an inspirational canoeist on my neck’s chain and I was the giraffe with a leash…
The other one was adjusting my head’s thyme to take the proper bow for the flying ball like a loyal hound despite the fact that it opposed to the Ottoman.
A law student who was my classmate at school had taught me the Ottoman Law from an early age. Seemingly, the Greek-Roman and the Byzantine.
I had pored over the spirit of the laws and balance, knowing at the same time that the most rational demand is also the most blatant injustice, if covered by the power’s robe emits the senses of the firm code of values that knows how to adjust to the circumstances and alters its behaviour for the high casts, exhausting all our lenience’s boundaries, while it exhausts every room for strictness of the committed crime for the deprived with a few variations.
I was a crime’s victim and totally satisfied that I pretended to be the scapegoat for all the crimes that the national and my own bourgeoisie once had committed.
I wanted to feel the Hippies’ vibration which they had when De Gaulle was in power for the independent Algerian. I was a lover of apostasy, a fallen fair angel of the Lord.
I wanted though for the last time, like a capitalist body snatcher, to dissipate the milky oil of those strong immigrants and absorb the power of these nomads even if it led to the founding of the Finnish.
I was the Son of the Man-French who paid for his Forefathers’ crimes, like today’s Israelis apologize for Christ’s humiliations or that they have to feel guilty for His Crucifixion when scrupulous Christians claim so.
I liked “paying” for crimes I had never committed. On the contrary, I would not like to be punished for the hubris I consciously commit. The concept of my collective responsibility was affectionate…
My body was pithy from slurs and raised like Fifth Avenue. It revealed like the product of his cherry earthquakes.
A wreck that was waiting to visit the oven of the hopeless.
It was an excess inside that space like his ox-like eyes were reflecting luminary.
Robert did not interfere with the instructions given.
On the contrary, he preferred masturbating while watching that live, violent porn unreel like Ariadne’s carcass in his fantasies’ Minoan palace since in every one there was an avant-garde waiting for him. He just had to accept her or deny her to be sold to her whom he wants to find till the way out.
I was in the middle of this farrago and I was touched by the fact that a listener was applauding me even with one hand on stage.
When I published the foams from my mouth, Robert realized that that was the end of the game. I was full of lather to mop the tribe’s crime.
Killing of a nation or dialysis? Hard to say. I missed their wheat rain. It did not take long for my pot to be watered.
I felt like a four-wheel that had gone to the washing bay to get cleaned from the red clay.
They quickly got dressed with their lawful assets and, like the chicken thieves, departed from my life once and for all.
After all, earth never ceases to move. Even when we are converted to sleep. Even more so when crimes have been committed. I was Antaios and they were Hercules. I took earth off of me and I denied the sky’s power.
I took a lesson of morality: a dewdrop of goodness that has evil in it. It sounds unbelievable but so true…
My victim’s mentality is now more fitting. I made sure that news was spread amongst my friends’ circles. I seem like a hero in their eyes since I survived from those blackguards. I look more immaculate than ever…
The worst crimes can be committed with the greatest easiness of movements and extenuations…
I am the Julius of all women and the Augusta of all men.
My fame was known to all the fashionable circles not only of the capital but of the whole Europe.
The worst alibi is the confession of the crime. The others think you are accomplice to something. You do not think that when you have committed something…
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 150
Damien Adaleux to Louis Martineux
1-10-1999, New York
Dear Louis,
I arrived with an aeroplane that gave the New City’s aura to the buildings a new moon before.
When I visited the Metropolitan Museum, I realized she is equal to Europe’s Snatch… Here are the horses of Lysippus… The peak of the Crusaders… The possession of the city of multi-faced Lucifer…
And I, Michael Palaiologos, having the pencil and the paper as my munitions, was waiting for the right moment to grab those treasures.
I was a bright student for the Museum’s exhibits. I captured the permanent collection of the museum to practise the art of painter-sculptor.
The subject that lost the sense of volume has been ornamented with that of the level so as to imitate the dimensions with the most successful way. The colours with the classifications at their imperfections were helpers of an attempt for a natural failure.
Can the flattened statue of Marcus Aurelius be impressed at its real sights?
Even the material of its moulding does not have anything to do with what it represents. It does not have either a human hide or organs or blood…
Perhaps if art is cloned then its real face will be conquered. The people of history will be clones in the cold storage and not absent but with the same inorganic and organic elements in a representative art.
I recently saw paintings with colours of human blood at a museum of contemporary art.
Here is an exceptional art for the man made by a man.
Anyone can choose a cut leg or arm if he travels to the countries of ignition or even Cicero’s head with his multi-pierced tongue. Thus, he will recompose his real like the senses or feelings private art at his home. That means the art of the powerful has a sixth sense perception, almost geotropic I would say. After all, all painters had a powerful Maecenas: Botticelli had the Medici or Philippe the painter from Crete who painted with the hand…
Art is a sequence and we are the humble drivers that follow her.
I started realizing my insignificance while watching those huge buildings, amongst the millions of citizens in this vast land where all the Titans and the Egyptian Gods have gathered.
Parthenon’s frieze in reversal. Zeus with his thunder is not an ambassador in this city. The victory of the Giants and the Titans on the Olympian land! You can commit any crime you want without being punished if you step on the mermaid shield of wisdom! You will see everything in reversal here. The tycoons are dense gods and the bevy of ignorant people on the top of Pieria.
With a pole in the eye, shape of architecture…
The blood of the citizens will reach their feet as a punishment. A brain with no oxygen in a post surgery remission without blood.
I was a dwarf in front of juggernauts with clay legs that I left in the evenings since I always attended the classes of the Fine Art College.
I went to the hospital where I was born and I worked temporarily as a historian at its archives. The receipts were swimmers in the papers. I was my mother’s child indeed… My father? I always assumed he was from the New Land.
An Ares on my mother’s bed. My father caught them soon after the action when he returned from the UNO. He had displayed a few documents concerning the captive Americans in Iran which he had to study so as to orate at the channel.
Americans never forgave the Shah’s Persians for their banishment like I never forgave my mother for not revealing me my true father’s name.
Four years later, not even the birth of my duplicate sister prevented my parents’ divorce. I gathered information from the living residents of the building where my parents used to live before I was born (not from my father’s head but from his thigh).
It was heard that my Hecuba had an affair with an American painter named Peter Wise. A distant relative of his who lived in that block of apartments gave me a slightly ruined photograph as if it had almost been saved by the flames.
She also mentioned he had two children and that one of them was studying sculpture at my University.
We had the same age. She told me not to bug her again though, because she had fought with Wise’s sister in the past.
On the first semester I attended the optional lesson of sculpture so as to meet this student.
An optional touch that would be the cause of compulsory information.
Almost immediately our eyes were copulation in the void. Our causeless intimacy came more from our common background than from moral patterns.
He was a baptized ice-cream in the Darkness. On his face I saw my own and then Peter’s, my father’s.
Denial and rejection made the nostalgia to perform a tragedy. Maybe an Oedipus without the fairytale…
Three days ago I invited him to my apartment for the search of the man missing and his family tree.
He told me that his father had once transformed a turkey into a billy-goat to mate with a nanny-goat because she was feeling lonely due to his January chores.
He told me that four months before 1982 she brought her own azalea from his cyclamen and a rose. She asked for a flight identification document but he denied the annihilation’s baby. He had placed the arrows of Puti to another woman and by phosphoric chance a white rose popped out on the same month. He told him he thought I was a ton of cement and threw me in New City’s ocean like he had done with the French woman’s past. I kept my polar temperature and did not make a gesture despite all I had just heard and the fact he kissed me on the mouth.
Under her though, I was singling out Hera from the spike. I was sexually attracted to my clone. I wanted to be broken down into a thousand pieces and get blessed with seven years of bad luck.
On his face I saw the rejection of my enlightening progress. My father was the Echo at the first handwriting and reading. A clock whose thumb had turned backwards and I saw my father making a gesture at me to make me emerge as a mortal this time.
I was given the chance, with time’s retrospect, to commit his crash and surpass destiny.
If his candle melted, neither I nor my brother would give breath to Thor.
For many years I was dead at the wretched old lady who lives in a Cave, lame and isolated.
At the humanitarian sphere, I was processing the teenager who does not want to grow old but be mentioned from everybody as Antinous.
I could never undermine happiness.
Blood is thicker than water. Unless you get sick with leukemia. I was curious to see though whether the blood in his veins was red or blue.
“I am a naughty girl!” he told me and coloured his lips with a lipstick taken from his short pants.
He did not differ from a sweet, nerveless and odourless girl. I was looking for a hole to give him an injection. That would take all his blood to protect the country from the terrorists.
I also contributed to this child’s disengagement from his metropolis. A colony that wanted to surmount her own womb with radiance and her Octavius to be deified to everybody’s discrepancy.
The beginning of cuntarchy and the end of democracy…
Men and women were acting like natives who surrendered easily to the Visigoths. With their weapons they opened pits to hide their heads.
There is only one acceptable way of reproduction: that of the cathartic.
They wanted to accept the colony’s ideas unconditionally without remembering how the World’s Metropolis should be.
A marriage between children of the sewers. I had to perform those bonds.
“I want you to draw my face on the canvas” he told me in a sensual way.
He ornamented the chair that was next to him with his dresses. After all, in a few minutes he would become Dead Nature. He temporarily stayed at my death bed that now had become his own uniform.
His body was to my eyes the golden apples of Esperides that I had to bring back to my country in order to get by.
His arms and legs were tied with a leash. I charted his area which was in an interesting situation and I had to make a report so as the material found would be classified.
My stiletto landed on her like an extra terrestrial disc which creates untranslatable hieroglyphs on the English land.
Always cut the spike that protrudes. This is what I did too. I cut his entire spike in its peak and I gave it to him to eat it.
Mucus of blood useful for my canvas’s painting…
I decided I had to operate. You can tame all the natural coloured climaxes with the proper pressure at any human body’s pressure gauge. I wanted to make a painting from human’s colour. A nominal anthropology… An anthropology without any person but at the Day of Judgment…
My painting would be named: “Laius was murdered by Oedipus”.
I would write snake-like and pre-historic lizards instead of people. My brother was a great contributor and sponsor to this painting. This is Fraternal Solidarity.
After all, I did not do anything that had not been done in the Old Testament.
While I was operating him, he was looking at me like the patient looks at his healer before he dies. A mobile painting “Lesson of Anatomy” of the Netherlands… Nobody can compete with Rembrandt. Not even me… Thank God he is not alive or he would end up a brother…
Thunder struck and scared he left this world for ever, without a voice or a pencil paper.
There was no originality. The only moment of originality in this fratricide-Thucydides said that civil wars were the worst of all- was that I wanted to impregnate my brother after his departure.
A nameless child, without a father, like me. A child without lungs and heart, like me. A child carcass, like me.
I chopped his carcass and got rid of him once and for all with a common way.
A new night rises…
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 160
Damien Adaleux to Louis Martineux
30-10-1999, New York
Dear Louis,
I feel dizzy from the extreme actions of the lovers of my ex, present and eternal Joan. I constantly underline that the Pope of her heart is a man and unique. Harems do not exist in the palace of my Arts.
But I am dishonest, Louis. I am a Disloyal, superficial person. She swears on my mistrust’s governance. The difference is more than distinguished.
I invited two of my classmates to my apartment late last night. It was Raisha from Russia and Tsung Li from China. On their faces I saw Mao and Stalin.
If it wasn’t for communism, capitalism would not matter at all. It is possible, the opposing awe that doubts my interests in a fridge of planet Ares to be transmuted as an epidemic in my country, something which I deprecated and wanted to be aimed at its individuality.
I had the look of the arch that the pagan owners had.
Tsung Li had a skin of solar fog and her hair was black like that of Bernice. She was as little and plain as a small piece of wood in the Hippocrene…
On the contrary, Raisha, used to the Siberian winter, was a full moon and Antarctica, a rough ox-button, a bud ready to pop out of his petal. I was about to accept my defeat on her cold forehead and the decimation of Napoleon’s troops.
An unusual bear in its beauty. I would like to have her head as a trophy over my fireplace and her white skin as a rug to keep me warm during the Norwegian December nights.
We three followed a Bronx dance in a hip hop rhythm because I have the broadband and the right of the Pantocrator to doubt.
Sweaty as they were, they fell on my bed of casual crusade. I approached the sink to turn on the hot plate and make chocolate to pour on Tsung Li’s sweaty breasts and try it.
Mu hunger ceased the sit-down strike it had started in my stomach and moved on to her love’s Taksim.
Raisha was shamelessly flirting as an escort at the October Revolution in despair’s creek, not caring whether there will be a laurel to crown her Seferian achievements and save her.
While I was a tenant at Tsung Li’s ozone-spherical apartments, Raisha driven by her curiosity, moved to her lower levels to water the chosen plants of her studio flat.
Like a caring Samaritan she was willing to take what was inside outside since the tenant was about to move out.
Every kiss or stroke there, made Tsung Li to burst in lust’s cries like a cackle that suddenly stops and the next time echoes its vowels and consonants louder.
An upward sound climax that slightly affects my own employment. I had to throw away the chocolates with my broomstick like a lawful supervisor. I had poured all these in a vanilla ice-cream giving the surface another printer’s look from that of the content that has as its ultimate proposition to fool the consumer.
My kilometric hand wanted to clean the flat’s windows but the flat was closed due to renovation. Raisha moved the furniture to the living-room so as to place pipes on the beggar-walls where water gushed. A lust of a red garment…
I had to open the fountains so as the soil would go away and leave water to flow. I do not usually live in such flats…
I am the dauphin of grandiosity. At the palace of Versailles or at the villa of Medici, since one of my ancestors belonged to the generation of the “Bourbons-Capetids”.
Now I had to confine myself to Saint Petersburg and the palace of the Forbidden City. There was a chance I would be Japheth in tubular spaces.
When we try to avoid something, it will always approve of us in the beginning of every century till it stops existing with our death. Awe soon became action.
My tyrannosaurus found its natural place for the protection of his meteors whose shadows resembled figures inscribed in the depths of the caverns.
Thus, it had to reach the surface and one of them should override it so as every shadow could realize it has a downward pull and a special weight. If you are Romanos Diogenes, never show willingness to leave your eyes… Your destiny, which is the others, guides you…
My bread had been accommodated in Tsung Li’s garden. Raisha was melting her butter on my bread and on the side cookies to make it tastier. It was a game for tasters. The winners would receive a Dionysian prize on the footstall.
It is really honourable to think that you serve two parts: the one where you are visitor and the one you serve to the others.
A Xenios Zeus from the depths of Arabia… Proceedings and observer at the same time like a full moon phenomenon and an eclipse of a whole conjugation.
I felt a cookie moving on my burnt baking tin, like Saturn on the move, so as my fever would rise.
A Dionysian panther was stroking Tsung Li’s eyes his nitric rain from the hair.
My erection caused double pleasure at the Pillar of Salt: For the one that felt, it remained silent and the one it could not avoid it wanted her to protest so as to seem more like a victim than accomplice to the immolator’s crime and declare her innocent in front of the jury-cameras. Or maybe she catches the crime’s reactions when she becomes an eye witness or an auricular one after she has forgotten its essence.
Raisha took a candle spider from the table and its fragile liquid started flowing on my chest.
I was taken aback by this and thus the pain was multiplied, like the Lord’s fish and breads.
“The candle of my life may start to flicker…” I thought.
China and Russia in the 19th century were enough for France.
The candle penetrated my body and became one with it. Finally I ensured Saccharin and I caused orgasms to Tsung Li with my candle’s simulator.
After the party was over, I gave them my painting which I had made with my brother’s organs. I cut it in two. Fair judgment and Solomonean. Since they could not admire the brother who was judged by Minos and Rhadamanthus, I gave them my recreated other self from a striker cloak.
I know you will wonder why I killed my brother.
I stop whatever suits me. I kill what I admire to stop it from surpassing me. I want to be one of a kind! Spherical…
When the chariot of Phaeton comes outside the emblem of my Lancasters, I observe any change that needs to be fixed in the sink since I am a Mercedes of many rules which exhausts its strength.
I give birth to the Shell-born in copies. Nutritious over the lips, to stop the smoker’s cough… Anti-wrinkle under and next to the eyes so as to eliminate the goose’s foot. Finally on the cheeks to prevent the spots of the laughters…
I exercise to serve the son of Hera. I will bathe with wrinkles of Akhaimenes and I will wear colourful clothes so as to be a living canvas… I was always a fan of the image breakers…
Images express something static. On the contrary, I am an idea-planet at the shadows of values. I do not contradict.
Painting is an art of images. I take its logos and give meaning to them via the roles I perform.
My position in art is the moving power. I have everyday friends and fabulous riches. I just hold a problem in my hand like an heirloom: I do not incubate anyone.
That is why I use the method of three to others, so as to feel I am doing something creative.
You see it’s the lack of values… I can bear anything I want and give birth to anything I do not want. I am an impure scum that I cannot be punished by any law, human or divine. I vent my spleen and I take the lives of others…
I am a historic person and universal like the followers of Church. The country that helps me to me is very near-sighted. I acquire everything with any natural cost. I will go to any place of the earth if I like it and without meeting embankments on my Via Appia.
I am your God on earth. I am your worshipped calf since you do not have the proper self knowledge.
Louis, I am the indoor inmate at your school. Sometimes though, I walk on your intestines like the sparkles from the friction of the ignescent stone.
The invisible man who commits tortures… And then becomes visible to many… He always seems pure though…
Like you and I…
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 198
Louis Martineux to Damien Adaleux
1-5-2000, Paris
Dear Damien,
Lucy had invited all the guys to her house to see extra scenes from the “Deep Throat” on television.
I, Antoine, George, Jean, Fernando, Henry, Robert, Jacques, Lorraine, Dominique, Francois, Cornelius from the Netherlands, Ivan from Serbia and Hakim from Kosovo.
Europe of the Fifteen at her feet and looking to milk her cow.
Agrippina’s reincarnation with a transparent night gown. She coiled her body on her hunkers in front of the television and while half unconscious she asked for an Asclepius.
Antoine was kissing her left ear and I was the right’s driver. Jean and George’s tongues were like reptilian eggs on Easter bread in her mouth. Henry and Fernando excelled at the anarchic and rightist party of her female hill. Louis was asking for a prediction from Dodona’s oracle. Jacques was playing her right hand’s fingers with his tongue like the piano’s keys. Lorraine was flaming those of her left hand like a harmonica. Dominique was preoccupied with the Alexandrian lips of the Foreign Office. Francois, with those of Home Department and with the trunk of the hateful rain. Cornelius was looking to bombard her Achilles heel that would not leave the turtle knowing the danger and the bombarding. Hakim was licking her left foot’s toes like he was eating bread without sponge cake. Ivan was kissing her right foot, since he did not know what her left one was doing, like a prisoner in Hague does to his fiancé behind the bars.
Sighs of repentance were penetrating our ears like the echoes of an electric guitar do to the criminals sentenced for life. He was the Yliki of our own sighs and Ms Basilica was choked by our feathers because she preferred our company to that of Ali Pasha.
Our Scandinavian migratory birds landed on a warmer place not to freeze her with the snow we had on our wings but to clamp the nerve of her immaculate waters, so as we could continue our flight to Tanganyika and whoever was not down with the Thai flu could leave.
Every time a bird was entering her lake’s wet surges, she was calling its name. Ducks, swans, quails…
Zoo parades. They were not getting wet but just tasting her curing waters. They were throwing her milk, honey and candies without doing the thing they wanted even though it was offered to them.
Tantalus’s doubles or imitators? On her body unfinished life’s vomits were flowing. These children would find their father only by IVF.
Our tongues had become brushes to create a copy of “Sleeping Aphrodite” with the dissolved fruits. On the first level there would be the twelve French and her. On the second one, the immigrants’ Unholy Triad and the proper Punishment.
The man from Kosovo, though sixteen years old, was like a tied-up rabbit accepting the Dutch’s stinger on the bolt hole of his hills and the Serbian’s Kalashnikov.
This soon changed since the racist Serbian took the place of the Kosovar rebel. Crimes are always committed from both sides in civil wars and you could commit them or me if we had the bad luck to be Serbians or Albanians.
The Serbian’s body was a court of law and a purgatory for the victims of a war of lust. According to their opinion he should be on trial in Pristine or Hague.
A court of law with subtle blames and innocent people or guilty. The Balance of Justice leaned towards the south of the Balkans. The other one was leaning towards the north furious with the Dutch.
The Serbian’s stomach was a place full of dehydrated munitions. He had to pay because he had molested the Kosovar without asking for the Dutch’s opinion.
I always liked Dirk Bouts and his Madonnas who like tulips were keeping their fluffy breasts to the eternal Kichle for the babies’ milk.
They were injecting vitamin D to the Serbian to boost his bones-guards of the racist leaders (1992-1995). A huge baby that had to be shrank because another one asserts its autonomy with its wealthy powers.
The Kosovar had ridden the Serbian. Four roses and two colourless glassworks had been created so as the demand of the political rights of the mutineers could be broken with an arrow. This was not the first time that something like this happened. Richelieu preceded centuries ago.
The Dutch, with the spirit of an ambiguous innovator, observes the real power.
His Swedish glasswork either broke with his solid pipe and when he thought it was to be broken he continued his course to the Voiotian so as to taste the sense of danger or because he was overwhelmed by boredom brought by the human interaction and the different should be finally chosen since something like this was not in a panoramic place.
That scene reminded me of Rubens’s triptych for the Descent from the Cross.
Same taste in another experience’s body. After all, the Gadarene Demon had been reincarnated into all the swines since they had the same metrical multidimensional phonology.
While our twelve stars were moving on your girlfriend’s mouth in the most frantic party, the Kosovar’s glass and blood were falling on the Serbian’s warehouse.
Needless to say that I sent her the letter your Chinese and Russian gave to me in a form of love letter.
It seems that the Russian Revolution made her breathe fresh oxygen and she decided, as revenge to your writings, to welcome your mates as a trophy.
Leave her in space like a Halley while you can! It is the best advice I can give you!
I did not want to eat what you daily ate out of zeal or curiosity…
I just wanted to show you that our friendship means more than all those Lolitas!
You are obliged not to these peacocks but to your friends and you should give them your energy and time! It diminishes your status as a man!
Girls have us on their hands like a string of beads. The “others” are for our diet. This seems to be somebody “else”.
It is beneath you to pull Santa’s sleighs!
You have to break up with her!
Can’t you see that she is poking her nose into our business?
She wants you to leave us… How long will you tolerate your Ptolemaic literature with her tongue as broom trying to take us away from you? Can’t you see she is a common person who pretends to be a Marquise?
She is Penelope’s tumour.
Do you remember when we were smoking the pipe of Aristophanes and she reacted telling you: “Your words are a disgrace… Your speech is vulgar…”
You were right to reply: “You never smoked the pipe of Nicias with me! Why are you so annoyed then?”
You silenced the slut, since you cannot seal her mouth with a normal way!
Since we respect you and we care about you, we did what you cannot do…
This silk breeder eats your intestines… You belong to me and we belong to you for a long time.
Last night, the twelve of us beat an old homeless man to death at the banks of Seine. He was filth for our city’s reputation… He was also detrimental to tourism… We threw him to the river’s bottom with my yacht so as that piece of trash could not be seen anywhere…
An immoral piece of art by a dubious, almost bankrupt artist…
One solution is possible. Either you break up with her or you will find her floating on river Styx. There is no middle solution.
Remember your glorious past… Unless you want us to give you the baton and like Othello it will surrender to her arms.
The decision is yours but we demand your answer soon…
Yours,
Louis Martineux
LETTER 200
Lucy Sanguin to Claire Beaumont
5-5-2000, Paris
Dear Claire,
I am hanged now to the canyon of Samaria. Damien charms all the ladies but he always comes back to me.
I was writing a letter to my friend Simon in my office in the middle of the night. I heard an eerie creak from the window. I thought the pomegranate’s branches were the 1x1 that were frontiersmen with my balcony at the garden.
The Mistral was furious and from my window’s spinning wheel oxygen was being stolen.
Damien was at my balcony like an upset monkey. On his belt there were the faces of Isis and Osiris, vivid and with hieroglyphs.
He was attracted to Tutankhamun’s tomb and the Hellenistic land of the Pharaohs. But I could never imagine he could worship other deities apart from his own “ego”.
His acrylic shirt and his body showed even his most profane mistakes.
His nose had been pierced with an earring from selenite and opal. The bad stone’s moderator… He told me that, like an Olympic Champion, he had passed the fences and the dogs had slept like the Northern Star of the sea due to barbiturates… Then he reached my balcony from the ivy and came to my window like a glass breaker.
All this time, like Alcestis, I was writing a novel for him about an immigrant from abroad. More specifically? From Russia. Thus I made a few comments and I studied sociology.
When I read it to him, Damien was looking at me like a puzzled Eskimo.
“Are you still occupied with these fairytales for little children? They can’t bother a Rito!”
The size of Eridanus keeps growing when he falls on our neighbourhood.
It still looks like a particle when it settles like dust away from us. His eyes had lost the sea’s foam. He was spreading his asphalt, which was in dehiscence, on me.
I think I sometimes used the divisions of the air bombers to make him feel like a naught. Maybe because I wanted his solid wing to get wounded and his ashes to be thrown to the Greek open-sea, like the famous Greek singer’s.
We were an unknown champion’s ramp that could easily turn to the left like me or to the right like him. We had never met in the centre.
I was not Scylla but Charybdis whispered something in my ear and pushed me to the bed like a police officer pushes the burglar to the cell. He was holding his lips like a big catastrophe was about to come.
He made my garter his helmet and he tied my hands so as I could not resist to my excavation’s rubbish dump. I kicked his balls like a true Artemisia and he was howling like a wolf for hours. The anti-genetic ways of pleasure were at their peak for everyone apart from this happy stub. I would never let him brag to his friends and teachers for the innovation he wanted tom make. I had a reputation that could not be disturbed. My damaged honour had to be restored with a marriage. Anything else would be a painful defeat.
“I want a child to be born from your heart…” he had told me with his face beet red.
“Unfortunately this cannot happen. Metropolis is bleeding due to your apostasy…”
He was Ho Chi Minh and I was his Indochina’s cry.
It is weird not to give birth when you are bleeding. The unborn children will give you their message. They die not only in your imagination but in your calyx too.
Every new moon you commit a crime: “You have to give birth when you carry a child”. Your body’s ten rules…
Your biped will utter it, society, soul… But Voltaire’s Priestess tells you to become the Murderer of your personal pronoun in nominative case and in your first singular…
“We are breaking up for good today!” he told me with the thunder of Zeus and he turned to leave while he began zipping his fly.
“I will say Everything to your father’s brain!” I told him in a blackmailing tone.
“If you do this, I will tell your father that your first cousin became Porphyrion at the age of nine. You were not Sekhmet to avoid him and you hadn’t even seduced a Kou like me.!” That was his response to the glove’s fall.
Like one of the Vestales, I begged him on my knees not to do it. If my cousin knew this, he would go to Hades and my father would end in High Court.
I would lose the rod and sandals of Hermes, my wealth and my belongings. I could not stand this social imputation.
Relieved from my unhealed wound he told me like Cassander: “We will break up. You only make me pity you! Do not cry… You are cheap like the paper you use to write… If you go on like this, my fraternity will deal with you… You irritate me…”
His final words fell like razors on my body and not penetrate mandragor’s tricks.
I called Otus and not Efialtes that I was going through that moment-one of the two guards of the External Gate-and begged him to take Damien with my father’s car, like a birthday gift with a galactic ribbon.
I do not want my enemies to respect me; only to fear of me. I must find out who told Damien to break up with me so as my plain but like a swordfish nail will properly deal with him.
Yours,
Lucy Sanguin
LETTER 201
Damien Adaleux to Lucy Sanguin
6-5-2000, Paris
Dear Lucy,
We had to take different roads in life. If that did not happen I would transform your heart into sugar while you were sleeping.
I cannot control what I feel. Don’t ask why. It is buried deep inside my heart. The explanation we give to the facts does not have a meaning so as to make them different from the phenomena. Our replies to them are simpler than we think.
This circle is over. Another lottery will be erected now so another one will begin. The nozzle in his heart does not have any more space for us. Our hearts are the pulpits of the ancient Gods that slowly abandon this world.
When we do not admit it, we are the outfalls of ourselves.
I want to be bifid like Nature. “Whys are not bifilar. I do not prefer them. They are the roads that Anchorites follow before the leader dies and many of them quit. Few managed to see the beams of the grassy sun and not get blind like Semele. Without naming the details I settle with Cornwall…
We will never be born on our own. We are looking for a protective nine month shield in our whole life…
The temple is a substitute of that Hera in Italy, Alexander’s sister or Bellerefonte in your arms…
Your place broke in a needle at the blisters of life and bodiless descended with her into the void.
What we have, passed us by without our will…
We never betray the one who has betrayed us…
I do not have a safer advice to give you.
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 230
Lucy Sanguin to Claire Beaumont
10-10-2000, Paris
Dear Claire,
I managed to find my immolator in the school of Civil Sciences. I must be though an adjusting rubber to his mood that has the torch to know a Student of Letters. He is the toad-owl who will give the right shoe and become a prince in the carriage with pumpkins if he receives the proper kiss.
Like Alcamenes I will have to give the proper Pentelic shape to the marble owl from Paros. The work of Chalepas is an active procedure.
Phidias is the forerunner and the sculpture in any kind of transformations and corrections, a vulnerable God.
I will suck all his pollen like a bee until he withers.
A continuous work, detained like the cobra by her fakir.
As always I am a skillful archer.
Yours,
Lucy Sanguin
LETTER 240
Lucy Sanguin to Guillaume Papon
25-10-2000, Paris
Dear Guillaume,
I am on the brink of a precipice… Who will sing to push it away? My father refuses to see Damien. I do not know the christogramme.
He never introduced me to his Girondins. I had introduced him though to all my Sans Culottes in a letter of mine sometime ago… A meaningless discrimination… His shareholders believe that my aerial has not been glued to their television.
I must have been a little star in their space. Perhaps they did not like me controlling Damien, like a Bodhidharma who marks his student, not with granite punishments or expulsions but with recommendation of what he himself would have done. Instead, Damien took me out of his life because he is always in favour of his disobedient classmate’s jokes. They were not right to me. I always thought that jokes against Melians are sent by Cleon but are never delivered. A joke made in asphalt by professional clowns.
He told me in an undisguised tone: “We are breaking up. I do not know how to assume responsibilities.”
Thus I ended up an aneamic, anorexic, sensitive girl. Atlas’s rock which everybody was staring at with surprise but avoided to endure that burden. Maybe because the sky has an ace up his sleeve. Maybe because the end of the dinosaurs came from him. Maybe because the sky does not touch us until we feel he has to pass the need.
Struts in the sky without always noticing it.
I am on the edge of a table like a Bohemian porcelain between two men’s ends while playing football not caring whether I will fall or not. This nice zit must be about to break.
Perhaps they do not like my Diogenes nature which has sperms of stoicism so as not to get into Judaism. If the nerves of my left hemisphere die this can happen with sensitivity.
I just offer them what they fear the most: a woman whose heart will not be lively like a fish.
His friends sabotaged his duties. They confiscated his mobile or immobile fortune for an honoured bill I had received from their Bank. Every month they demanded an increasing interest. This happy laughter will be redeemed expensively.
My cold plate’s hour glasses are contrary, counting conversely like a time bomb in a huge building that nobody knows when it is going to blast or where it is hidden.
A meaningless half measure if the employees in the sky-scraper become dromedaries a minute before the explosion and are informed with a call.
Unsigned moves of work. Guillaume, can you make the trigger bend so if I buy a gun you will be able to kill me?
I do not care if I live or not. I do not even care if I am an existing person. I do not think it is worth it to capture these bums. Not that I can’t. The world’s darkness won’t change with a dot defeat of the ruined attitudes.
I and a Moroccan friend of mine, Hassan, were planning my parents’ murder every time we embraced. “To death Ceausescu couple, my life’s dominant tyrants!” I exclaimed and with my hand like a spear held their picture like Samael’s Column of Stoning.
I had to play piano for all the generals at their symposia to make them express their flying feelings like an intruding gadfly attracted by light (even though she experiences darkness uninvited and sits on whatever food she wants). Thankfully these inspirations do not last long.
Damien was persistently asking me to bolt his neck with my nails. My teeth aren’t as ground as my nails. After all, he asks for this requital so as his blood-privilege of women-leaves.
When I was little, I pretended to be Artemis and my cousin was Actaeon when I was offended. A myth that occasionally alters its details…
I was not the daughter of Leto. I had just welcomed her face in a Marlow game that had been prepared by others.
Damien knows and I was blackmailed by him. At memory’s adolescence the father accommodated my impurity in our house and I asked for help from the imitator of Freud. You must never reveal your aces of spade when the solitaire is distributed.
He did not stay long and the Awe of the Possible Revelation disappeared.
Guillaume you are an amazing story-teller. I will send you a kiss on your cheek for the golden elephant which I have received as a gift.
A certain lucky charm…
Yours,
Lucy Sanguin
LETTER 270
Damien Adaleux to Louis Martineux
12-1-2001, Paris
Dear Louis,
I embroider her with citrus! While she was visiting a doctor, probably Hippocrates and not Asclepius, she fell off the stairs which she had moulded with her imagination like Nils Holgersson, fearing of the monsters which live in heaven… For a month and even more, I also thought that maybe my own face had been touched too.
I had to assume responsibilities since I was a man.
I had broken up with the living Lucy. Not the dead one that the functions of the Psychopomp were almost a horizontal line.
I had to descend to Hades with my lyre as a rose and bring her back to earth by kissing her on the forehead.
I do not simply despise her breath but also her involuntary exhalation.
She opened her haze infused eyes when she felt me, seeing not only the dew around but me too.
I ended up being a computer guided by her mouse-hand.
A few days later we were both at her room. There were no squares or rhombi… Only curves and enormous dots.
My hand was creating every acutangular of hers while she was alive and writhing with the combustion of corn seeds from her oil in the casserole.
Africa and Asia stopped being united in one body after the opening of the Suez Canal in the 19th century.
I had the exact same refreshing sense at the beginning of the 21st century, when I split her two continents’ secrets of millennia that existed under the civilizations of Zarathustra and the Pharaohs.
Observer of a natural technological miracle, a colonialist-successor of the French and the British who with illegal mediums was draining a country mercilessly captured.
Her nails on my back deleted Utah’s alphabet.
This parallel demonstration of power and obedience did not live up to my expectations.
A diamond drill landed like a lightning on my European pelvis. I continued my erotic excavation.
I was wondering whether I was looking for quarrymen in a mine of South Africa so as my procedures will have been finished in Suez where I had been charting and excavating.
Whatever is pale is not anthrax… In my unguarded drill I felt her rubies rolling on the juvenile wheel of my moon. A necessary humidity for my workers’ tools since hot wind and fever reduce the performance and the speed while working.
My Bengal Gulf was utopian for a draft so risky.
I wanted to promote my interests in this area but also reign by dividing them. Only this is how I win my rivals since I do not have a Turkish embassy or elevated throne to impose myself on the barbarian guests. Cry is always a means of intimidation…Nile was making the fields of Africa seem golden and Euphrates those of Middle East. My Mississippi was a kind of litany to make me transform into a rainmaker.
Sahara was the area-bond that had to be crossed so as the dangers that were threatening me would be processed and the undertaking would be balanced. The spasms proved the euphoric of my thoughts.
But when I went to her own ear like a vampire, she said while touching my shoulders with a sensual voice: “Guillaume, you are such a skillful lover!”
I may have been baptized by my parents with as many names as the earth’s gentians. They gave me the name Damien by chance. Naming is for the human beings a state of emergency like the skin or intestines are for the human body.
A man’s brain has the tendency to categorize human beings. “He is a bum”. “He is a rival in a love affair”. “He is a skillful lover”.
In this case though, to my astonishment, my name did not coincide with that category.
I felt like an actor when he does not hear his name-even though nominated for an Oscar- trying to realize what exactly had happened to him.
I felt like a Norwegian canoeist at the fiords. Passages everywhere without seeing any destination.
My imaginative assignments at the Pyramid of Giza were intercepted with the name “Guillaume”.
After all, Iacchus is the man’s Nature unless he eliminates all of her and directs it to his Persian caravan. The subordinates gradually but progressively left for Cairo for our own Ambassador.
I dressed like a clap, like a Casanova who is scared of his big brother’s lost honour. It felt like Golgotha until I left from her house in my Citroen.
A thought was always on my mind: “Who is this Guillaume at last?”
Also, how could I handle this situation for my own benefit in the best possible way?
But my blood was boiling in my veins like a chicken does in a pressure cooker. I had crossed every permissible boundary of my driving.
When I got home I phoned Louis and told him to find a few handsome men so as I could throw my anger on whoever I found.
It did not take long for them, who would be getting well paid, to arrive.
It was Sergey from Russia, Martin from Germany and Janus from Poland.
While they were unfolding their fibres like the Three Ladies in Charleston, I was drinking a whole bottle of whiskey like a true Bacchus wondering who will pull my leash, who will unfold it and who will cut it in the end.
I gave the German and the Russian a bottle of cenotaph. I ordered them after they had drunk in those two seats to give birth to chopped echidnas of the earth. They obeyed happily.
I ordered to empty their summary on the back blessed by the Pope with the craters of the Polish. Perhaps I wanted to cover the chasms of the earth with their antidotes. I never wished to see lava in others. Only to feel it on my feathers.
I wanted to make the land fertile since sometimes fallow is not enough. I need willing and loyal tools to better the quality of production.
I ordered both of them to lick his back with their mouths so as the torrid board to have a title: “The Colonization of the 20th century in the European Land.”
With the handcuffs on my bedside table they tied the hands of the Polish man on the ends of the pillar-like bed. The first level was completely absent. The diachronic on the second one had transformed into a temporary one.
The Russian and the German and the third Roman soldier were whipping him without sadness and I was the informer of the whippings.
On the throne the neutral judge-Christ.
“The whipping of Christ” of Piero della Francesca had once greatly impressed me.
This time though, the painter Jesus preferred to put his Polish ideal type in the place of himself. For every time bomb I gave them one euro.
They will dismember Poland so as to split it in two. The German was hitting the west part and the Russian the east one.
What if though I was Montefeltro on the imaginary first level and my assassins were Lucy and Guillaume?
The Polish man was spitting on their faces when that was allowed.
The Germans’ Protestantism and the Russians’ Orthodox Christianity were like an agent with the lighters on his wounds since he suffered complete burns…
Blood was chipping his body like the crossing rivers were doing to Germany and Russia.
His palate was burnt by their two cigars that had a reversed course than the expected.
I had to give a bottle from the sea battle of Arginousses to the collection of the dead.
I sealed the nozzle with a message to an unknown recipient that the paper included so as a few days later the English Channel could be supplied.
It was not enough for me that the bottle came close to the vulgarity of war. I wanted to be a protagonist at the battle of Pydna.
He lit my cigar so as to get third degree burns. It was a matter of time or natural specs for these three seats of fire to be damped down.
In the huge fires the villagers pray for rain that never comes. The same happened with our little Polish. We sprinkled his land with water from Epiphany and we hallowed everything so as the impure creatures would be released to the fields.
Unique archetype of a religion you would say but as alive as my vision!
Three debauched bishops we were who banished his goblins so as to admire them in all their glory.
Like another Napoleon I was charmed by the one pretending to be my Maria Valefska.
I was as competitive as the other local super powers which were fighting in Berlin for who will finish first or simultaneously.
When my vases-thoughts emigrated to Guillaume and emptied the place, I had to think of a plan.
The Polish would become Guillaume’s wax doll. A role reversal…
I always prefer natural ingredients to artificial ones when it comes to my art.
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
��LETTER 300
Lucy Sanguin to Claire Beaumont
10-8-2001, Paris
Dear Claire,
My Parthian arrow finally managed to make the apple over Damien’s head mosaic.
He is simmering inside. It is not enough for me. The spirituality and the end of omnipotence in Guillaume’s envious eyes will stop.
The cause of feelings is the most successful indicator of results.
I have the golden larnaxes of Vergina in front of me. Should I not take advantage of their discovery by their over exposure to the audience of the Museum d’Orsay? Lots of dollars will flow…
The hooks will be presented as golden pagoda… Guillaume was manna from heaven… Damien was Daniel for the lions.
Men are beings which you can play with, like a harp, if you know their Achilles’ heel. Achilles was a man and Thetis the mother that gave birth to the man…
Women know men’s secrets better than themselves.
Paris or Menelaus? I haven’t decided yet… The verdict will come a few seconds before the winner’s confirmation.
To tell the truth, I would like Damien for my lover and Guillaume for husband-intellectual… Women’s supremacy? When we are pregnant it is only us that know who the father of the kid is…
Guillaume is the perfect victim for me to bring Damien’s dead torch back to life.
Guillaume will offer me money and Damien emotional assurance…
No Boeing of my interests will be misled or bleed from the pilot’s cabin at the Bermuda Triangle.
I feel a bog in my soul that has swollen up like dough.
Yours,
Lucy Sanguin
LETTER 310
Lucy Sanguin to Damien Adaleux
10-8-2001, Paris
Dear Damien,
You received your degree in gynecology and obstetrics over a night. You are a jumper with awful performances. On the contrary, he is the fascinating Fersen of his queen.
He speaks thirteen languages and has a diploma in Political Science. How do you lead your life?
He is doing his doctorate in the Balkan civil wars. His father is Welsh.
Metropolis is getting its revenge for 1776. I expect the Twentieth Century to outlaw your memory.
He wrote to me that you are a heterozygous pathetic son of new born twins and that your hair has become turf from every kind of opium.
He asked me to reunite because you needed me. I showed him lots of your drafts and he said you are a new promising Ensor. He also assigned you a new poetic composure that has been attached to my letter. (1)
I am his heart’s golden intersection and he comes into my cave’s womb like Host.
In his eyes there is an acclivitous road paved with Calycotome villosa as satellites. In yours I see the declivitous with the garlands of Saint Xenon.
He is the philosopher who shows the sky of the Athenian School with his hand and you are its marble ornaments.
He is Saint George and you are the ideal winged dragon. I am Andromeda tied on the rocks with your chains…
He comes from the sign of Boo, you from the sign of Oph and I from the big Dog… A true starry empyrean.
I do not know whether I have to choose Julius Caesar or Marcus Antonius. I feel his mind is a labyrinth and I have to find the end of the strand! But how can I come out once I come in?
He has the eyes of a Byzantine sea eagle and I am the Empress Zoe if the head is not bowed. His heart offers me a lion cub’s tail. His chest a garden that you will never have. There is a kangaroo feeling in his Hermes for the weird names he has given his children. His body is a tropical of testosterone. When you give him a plate with food he carries the whole world in his hands. He is an investor actor of others that understands French Revolution and the ways it affected Europe.
He will be the triumphant.
Yours,
Lucy Sanguin
LETTER 338
Damien Adaleux to Juan Lamouz
5-10-2001, Paris
Dear Juan,
It would be dishonest of me to claim that I’m not a maniac these days.
Surprise is more preferable than block. I decided to approach the ideal husband so as to sink his ships in Actium along with her who belonged to the South of the empress which I will enfilade.
She is the South and I am the North. I missed the West and East to make a Latin or Greek crucifix.
I steered myself in his mind’s Marseilles with a letter. Place of meeting?
My house of course… The palace of my Parisian Rome…
After all, the cathedra of the Popes moved for many years from Vatican to Avignon in France.
I have the Infallibility and I do not plan to give it away to others.
As her Pope, I had to find a way to eliminate my illegal enemy since I will have to return to my Holy Cathedra one day.
Spiritualized… I do not disagree… Of a humble origin though and a shaking morality… Son of a fallen family… All his wealth was lost in the altar of the New City’s Lion.
My fingers became chords in an Apollonian lyre when I impressed the notes he needed on the score…
The contract he signed with his soul’s blood had one condition on the numbered paper of absolution. He would do whatever I commanded.
He was not given thirty pieces of silver… One million euro was a start… I always believed that all people have a price…
The volume, the weight and the quality determine the value of the products. Transmutation brings the data’s rapid change.
I, an ambassador of the Eternal Flowing… The Great Teacher of Imputation and Fallacy…
My manuscripts are illegitimate or forged I dare say. The compass that crosses them is doubt. Only then they are transformed into originality.
Whatever is visible does not exist, but is. Whatever is is visible but I doubt it exists. Whatever exists is not visible but it may be.
Whatever is dictated to him, he will write it and do it.
My Cleopatra will be unwillingly bitten by my megaphone.
My hand is a snake of infinitesimal calculus.
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 350
Lucy Sanguin to Damien Adaleux
20-10-2001, Paris
Dear Damien,
Guillaume is throwing down the glove. He told me that you cannot make a square in chess with me, Louis and Jean Pierre.
When the cross evolves from a baboon to a person it will become the fifth terminus in row on the five tangential spots of the circle. Guillaume, without touching your band, claims that Aeolus took the two plane tree’s leaves on which you stand at his branch. He says that the one plies in Gibraltar and the other in the land of Aeetes.
He also saw that I laid out your derivative. Your true father wrote to me that he does not have your surname. Apart from everything else he told me the divine words that you chew LSD like Pythia. He mentioned that you are a conscious Van Gogh as if he knows you from the future continuous.
He must be a native Calchas. How can he know all these things without having his Canis Majoris on your area? I expect your reply.
Yours,
Lucy Sanguin
LETTER 360
Lucy Sanguin to Sophie Caron
26-10-2001, Paris
Dear Sophie,
I became the statue of Milos. Guillaume asked for our hands to be united. His word is a Californian ghost. In my room I am Teresa from Avila. I do not drink. I do not eat. I do not speak. I only wet my sheet. Without explanation. I cry over nothing. Is it possible for a Tristan to neglect his Isolde and have a positive sign when he sends her to death?
Two equitant layers of nicotine under my eyes and next to them the feet of a duck.
Ho can this youth go together with its deterioration? Nobody calls me anymore. Who is responsible for my misery and for shutting out my friends? Who?
I miss Damien now. Only he knows how to love me for who I truly am…
We are made from the same material. Cherries on a birthday cake and all the banqueters are poisoned. We do not care to ruin the lives of others. We just use them to hurt each other.
But this cannot really happen. You cannot shoot life. Nor give breath to death.
We are both fire-proof. How can your liver be appreciated by your belly? Everyone was betrayed but ourselves…
Babylon’s pyramid-like gardens! Do you know which our previous reincarnation was? Pharisees, Jewish cantonal judges at God’s crucifixion, a responsibility totally ours.
In 1330 we were reborn as fleas on mice and we exterminated half of Europe’s population with the bubonic and pneumonic plague.
In another life we were guillotines for the decapitation of royal heads but also for the elimination of the people of Revolutionary France.
We are the idea of Typhus and Anomy…
We are Jesus Christ’s miracles! Nothing would be possible without Him!
He gave us a fertile land and our privileges! A better generation than our own sad one will come!
We are not all God’s creatures… Do our mushrooms cause you any problems?
Sophie, when you hurt others you benefit yourself.
Yours,
Lucy Sanguin
LETTER 400
Damien Adaleux to Louis Martineux
12-1-2002, Paris
Dear Louis,
The sun’s coronation brought my empire’s rise. Lucy came like the moon in vertigo. I waited for her like a lion waits for the unconscious deer.
I kissed her forehead like the living bury the dead in mausoleums.
In the half lit living room, the electrocution of my kisses penetrated her body’s fire-flies. A new light was sparkling in the half opened door of my room.
A cage with the mystery’s decoder as bait. She laid her red raincoat on the table ready for the undetermined ritual. My hands were hotel keepers in my pants’ pockets having the humidity of the night…
I had chosen a privileged death for her amongst myriads that were out there.
Her hearing on the separative line between lying and truth was stimulating to me, giving it a small push like when we close our house’s door to the canary which came for the locals with bait.
I blocked the door with the keys of Saint Peter and I unlocked my darkest appetites.
The fox that all these years showed me she would be sentenced to death in our arms.
Every small or big Sunday would be drafted on her body by me. She would be paid up for her affair with Guillaume with an increased bank rate.
I stumbled and slightly hit my leg.
She tried to elevate her dignity. She asked for the reason of my action. She had not realized that Louis and Jean Pierre were carved on two chairs in the empty space for painting. One in Japan and the other in America were mobile only with the Floridian asianism.
When she realized it she became a sun with clouds in front of me. She fell down, kissed and cried on my knees. The weaned water of the Repentant Sinner…
I felt like a little God. Every Jehovah though must be affable for his crucifix. I did not intend to quit from the grass. I should not only be part of a miracle but also be the miracle. Nobody had the right to steal my Resurrection.
After all, her tears did not clean my octopuses but only my dusty shoes. Abraham’s sacrifice did not matter at all.
She kept apologizing to me for the shadows she had taken off my body saying that to convey somebody else’s words was one of her most provocative mistakes…
I acted with the Viking executioner’s instinct. I pulled her hair like Neanderthal and threw her roughly on the bed. How could she believe in Thoth’s miracles if she did not take part herself?
They taught us that believing in our God is a universal value. How are you going to teach his religion if you do not suffer his own tortures? But you have the right to steal the name of an anonymous God and be written in the holy incidents of life. Every one of us can become God. Just as long as somebody has the guts to accept the fact that this right belongs to all people until someday it is taken from them. I do not disagree. Bitter acceptance… Necessary for Mother Earth…
I threatened her that if she does not obey like a scout to my wishes I will send her loved one to the Underworld since I will reveal him her dual Aristotelian and her numerous lovers by their names and addresses.
I keep my promises. Fear had become a satellite over her head while Charon was threatening her loved one. I was a mason of the universe and at the same time a God-lamb.
I would once again sacrifice my soul to save the world.
Salvator Mundi above our heads… And us four like guards in hypnosis.
We would face the light of dawn like a pearl and with chameleons discs in the sky as a sign.
I always appreciated Piero della Francesca as a fresco artist.
A vertical sober power which does not doubt its value… Almost like Poussin’s… I am attracted by the monumental… How could I be deified without recruiting painters and religious images or students like Louis and Jean Pierre?
The third cockscomb was blackmail’s four-leaf clover. Of a practical nature I would say…
I would describe details to her Saturn from her rape by her cousin.
Her eyes acquired a tempest like before we were arrested by Efialtes.
Louis and Jean Pierre rose from their chairs and with human bodies stood on the left and right side of the bed for the Rightful Judgment.
Her hands became aeroplanes and hit the Twin Towers. These had collapsed from over heating.
Lots of corpses were flattening her little town. New York became Jerusalem and her mouth became a dump. I should have been a worthy descendant of Innocent the Third at Holy Land.
The remnants of the Birth and the temple of the Resurrection and Golgotha lied heavy on me. I had to reconstruct them with a crusade of dogmatic style and raise my Holy Crucifix.
As king of England, the conquest of Cyprus was a distractive plan.
The Mother of all Nations had received all the believers in her papal mitre while on her knees at the remnants of the Twin Towers. The constructive repairs lasted long.
I preferred to dig her ground so as to steal the cloak under the Altar.
Her papal mitre became river Jordan and I received the fire’s baptism after the flood.
The other two were surrounding me like animals in the barn and she was John the Baptist.
Perhaps we were the three magicians who offered her gifts… A female Jesus! My right side of the left heel… After all, gods cannot be confined in waterproof cases or genders.
I felt the shakes of her buttresses in the cathedral of Reims. I hid in her basements to escape from the outer bombarding that shook my faith and my lion head.
That church was antiseismic. If she resisted like it happened in Paris when conquered by the Germans, she would transform into an African-American fairy.
Knowing though the difficult position I was in, she did not resist at all.
This unconditional faith without precautions could add new fans to those already existing.
I do not pose any new demand for the time being.
Our bodies’ unity was the sumptuous feast of the Christian liturgy.
The friction of the bodies with other believers announcing during liturgy causes cacophony and lighters in the soul that you have as kindling under your clothes. I now saw Louis and Jean Pierre more competitively. But differently too…
Who would take the gold, the silver or the bronze medal in her body? Medal is not enough. Our performances mattered as well.
Who would throw his child further to the hymen which was taking various inclinations?
It seemed like your ectoplasm was rolling on your bathing suit. Nails that were trying to get over each other.
The balloon was about to break. Her look was not much different than that of Catherine the Great. At some point I felt like I saw goddess Astarte.
Thankfully, I quickly baptized her Unholy Altar with toothpaste so as she could write a New Testament.
The other two baptized her and baptized themselves with lather.
The Big Catastrophe always comes from a clarification of calculations. The need for catharsis even stronger…
After this hieratic paroxysm-Louis a catholic and Jean Pierre a protestant- I can claim that Christ’s church endured the reprisal towards the Catholics and the slaughter of the Huguenots without a grumble.
It was a religious cry of intercourse.
With myself beaten by the waves every time Guillaume pretended to be me and projected my most macabre thoughts on Lucy as if they were his.
Our bodies were like seaweeds on our feet carried away by currents of indefinite direction.
We thought touch was an anonymous identity of the flesh, knowing the texture and not her origin. I did not care at all about her details.
The feeling that we were a portion of a New Year’s pie whose levels we had tasted before and not at her completeness which was enough…
It seemed I took my revenge from Guillaume like an angel-avenger, but in reality I had revenged Lucy who was unaware of her breakdown.
A double triumph. I would not have the temples of Rome dead like Augustus. Now I was not only an Emperor but a God too.
This double quality assures you immortality. Why not a vast arrogance like the desert’s grains?
The torture was completed at the same time with the miracle. Combine business with pleasure.
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 480
Lucy Sanguin to Damien Adaleux
4-11-2002, Paris
Dear Damien,
Guillaume described to me what happened that January sunset with every detail as if he was a witness.
He had called me Mother Teresa and I was so furious that I wanted to erect his stamen and make his hippopotamus emerge.
He wrote to me saying that he will be citizen of your Rome if you obey the following Ten Commandments: 1) you must have sexual intercourse of deconstruction with your Holy one and Louis as your accomplice, 2) you must have sexual intercourse of masons with your “Lucrezia Borgia”, 3) you must rape Abel for his sacrifice, 4) you must become subject and object of a sentence at the same time with your friend Jean Pierre joining too, 5) you must express your love with actions in Lenin’s Mausoleum, 6) you must taste all kinds of addictions with wine and lamb over night, 7) you must be a child molester in Thailand, 8) you must make a woman fall for you head over heels and then break up with her so as she become depressed, 9) you must truly love a boy by kissing it on the mouth, like a lion, and your feeling should be bottled, 10) after you do all these things, you must invite him home to show him in Trilogy (Birth, Peak and Decay) your recorded achievements.
The Ninth Commandment is as impossible as to turn your Creator into Isaac. He specifically told me that only when Christ becomes king of hell will you have pure human feelings and that you are unable to do many things.
He says you were born with lots of “must” and you maintain a proper fame in society like a virtuoso.
He wrote to me that he already knew what kind of hideous actions you will do.
Thus, freedom of will is a rank lie which some people infuse in human beings’ souls so as to tame the caged beasts and keep them from being released and devour them. He told me he dared you to make me realize that you were not the best from those three in the box!
I was the satirical drama and you were the three tragedies. He claims he had won the first prize in the Great Spiritual Dionysia.
He underlined that it is impossible he had contributed in your soul’s rotting; this had happened long ago…
Is he the man of my life? I don’t know… I am sending you Guillaume’s letters so as you can gain Poseidon in your Aphrodite like the Great Wall of China which has been mildewed. I confess that Guillaume has a greater impact on my thought than your sphere of influence.
Yours,
Lucy Sanguin
LETTER 520
Damien Adaleux to Louis Martineux
4-2-2003, Paris
Dear Louis,
The eighth miracle of the world! Myself! Guillaume succumbed to my money and I persuaded him to break up with my Assam!
My Babylonian communist queen of Star Wars got trapped in the scheme I had planned.
In the corner of the Eternal Geometer, the greatest rival, I dropped his Saturnalia. I took advantage of the situation of Luck and Need.
Poor her! She thinks that her father does not know what her cousin did to her when she was little… She deludes herself… An adulteress with a leaden parental signature… A callous hand holding the lantern. Ignorance is defeat’s best student.
Guillaume was a gift from God. He helped to make her humble-loyal. I fired him when he started having feelings for her. I managed to poison their relationship.
This fortune-hunter, though, must be displaced. I am the culprit… I will make sure she never finds out…
Let her live with her Chimeras! Let the cast of the non-emancipated be away from me. I must have been a Hindu prince in a previous reincarnation.
I believe in Milk of Curable Spurious of Greek Pensive Joy and Sadness and in His good grace. All pathetic people must thank him like Lucy and I in the Olympic Stadium.
How can you appreciate health without sickness? How can you admire the pigeon if you do not separate it from the bat? How can you separate the dump from the beach?
I do not allow anyone to interfere with my private life and decry it as if we have been friends for years.
I am an important person of society. I am not just somebody…
Judgments or prophecies about my name are unacceptable. I am on the peak of my decay. Did anybody ask to be saved by him?
I do not ask for redemption. The county’s nature and my beauty’s charm are gables on my Evening star.
Nobody can count though the size of worms I have inside me with decimal numbers.
I can walk on the sea’s storm and lead you to the Promise Land through it. Christ blesses people like me! Sinners of the world blessed by Christ! My father and I had the Star of David on the ring.
I would not be a Christian if he didn’t lavishly give me privileges. I would search for another boss.
I am a lamb in the sheepfold for whoever makes the most beneficial offer.
Don’t forget! Christ once had a traitor for his student! It seemed he loved traitors and rotten figs very much!
Lucy gives me her scarf knowing I corrupt her so as she can benefit me. The other guy offered her everything and she led him to disaster.
I will not say any more details. I am a discreet person.
Unfortunately, Lucy can only understand about him what she feels.
Since you understand you can take anything and make peace with others.
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 550
Damien Adaleux to George Labrousse
25-4-2003, Paris
Dear George,
I am sending you a photocopy of Lucy’s letter. Guillaume’s family is about to be broke. I decided to get rid of him with the cleverest way.
Her father is a puritan. I sent him letters I had that he had sent to Lucy with totally sexual content to seem on one hand catechetical and nice and on the other hand to threaten him and leave her alone.
Complaints and lawsuits were thrown into the downpour. Kill two birds with one stone! Christ’s miracles are nothing compared to mine… Why does everyone admire an invisible God? Why don’t they admire me that I live amongst them? Why should I be deified after my death? I have grape fruit ideas. Like Christ got past Old Testament, I will get past New one. I must be the third in succession. The poor man of God thought he could mess with us Patricians without dealing with the expected consequences.
Where to find money to give to a broke man for court battles? He retreated like a vulture with a wounded wing… Everyone at his place and all of us in our nest…
I am the surgeon and the dissector of the human soul.
My scalpel can estimate sections accurately and cure or butcher. This will depend on my interests or mood.
Us members of high society we use people and situations for our games in order not to be bored. Their right place is in the garbage bins.
I am the state and whoever acts against me will have the end of Fouquier-Tinville.
I want all objects in order and cared for. I want others to be the pawns and I do not want to receive sudden incidents.
That person of divided morality should be away from Lucy. I just helped her father for truth to come out. My ascetic truth…
I am the black sun with its halo. Admire me!
I was honoured by August 11th 1999…
The beams still exist in the darkness. A nature’s miracle…
I know everybody’s weaknesses and I move depending on them.
Even if I chopped her, she would glorify my name during the cut because she forgives everything I do.
I like to step on her foot just to see her kick me. Guillaume swore at her once and she refused to see him again.
He was not blessed with my virtues! I am an amazing lover, painter, sculptor, poet, novelist, composer, lyricist, singer, great hypocrite, band member, founder, director, dancer, journalist, athlete, blogger, hacker, video artist and Lucifer’s admirer and hunter…
The catalogue of new is incomplete. The gift of my persuasion has been spared.
Be sure that since I am good looking, even if I eliminated half of the earth’s population, judges would find mitigating factors and dismiss me.
I have the looks of Bush Jr. God willing I commit crimes without doubt and guilt.
Whoever died by the hand of American Presidents are anonymous. Everyone you know I killed had a surname and a name.
I wish I had the power to exterminate all the earth’s population! For the extra terrestrial civilizations of space! We are the greatest threat, not them…
Greater proof is that the worst kind of man is man, is myself and my memoirs.
For the time being, I enjoy my victory over Iraq and Serbia.
I am the Capitalist of the Round Evil.
I like smashing with my boot everyone that does not belong to my tastes like a cockroach.
I am sure I will get everything I deserve and that I will enjoy everything I deserve for a long time.
All girls must follow Lucy’s example. Treat everything that matters like it is a garbage bin and make a statue for everything that is garbage.
Only such women should exist so as everything I stand for can triumph.
Why then carry a cross on your shoulder while I and my friends achieve everything without labour but with our cheap soul?
You succeed with corruption and immorality. If you look at Sistine Chapel, God gives breath to the creature with his hand.
Whatever the painting is, this is what its Creator is too. Are you something different from what you excrete?
We are our actions and our thoughts. Not the ideas… These belong to Heaven and to the dead so as we Gods can resurrect them and make them owe us dinners.
We kill them and we resurrect them. What is simpler than that?
This way we seem important hunting dogs.
Yours,
Damien Adaleux
LETTER 720
Lucy Sanguin to Sophie Caron
10-8-2008, Paris
Dear Sophie,
What would the revolution of the Franks be without the enlightened nobles of the Tennis Court? Ganges does not flow backwards. The New French Revolution is a fact.
Pierre revealed everything to me. The king must be transferred to Kerameikos from Versailles. I am tired of waiting for him in Trianon’s circle to promise he will multiply the few ignorant pieces of bread.
I possess all his letters to Jeremy. The clones of his letters are in the hands of his own ministers. Much more so, his revolutionaries.
The scene of the phallus’s fall, which was described in a letter of his to César, is everywhere in the circles of high society. Definitely a Menander’s scene.
Our Louis became Paradise’s Adam!
The libels that circulate against him have no precedent.
Before I do those actions though, I avenged him in a different tone.
I invited him to an exotic dinner. I, he and Louis who had demanded we broke up. The place of meeting was an unknown to them apartment of immigrants in the capital.
The house belonged to an anarchist friend of mine whom I had met in Sorbonne. I had taken its keys so as our king and his Kalon could be locked up in Korydallos.
I was the virgin of Leucippus between Castor and Polydeuces.
Why experience Paradise alone when you can embrace Hell with someone else?
If you do not throw the seed for the almond tree to grow and get bigger with your mouth’s liquid, how can she produce blooms and leaves?
How am I going to imitate Dryope? An offering of green blood should be made.
An angelic knife came out of my bag. Their shirts fell on the dusty marble ground like revolutionary nurses, highlighting the muddy memories that somebody can have from a life without golden coins.
A life stung by a sting. I drew a heart on their shaven by arson chests.
Maybe because I wanted not to reforest but to found a New Civilization.
A Gothic civilization… Or maybe because their hairs were not from chlorophyll.
I wanted red trees and rivers, like the soul’s flames. I gave a lighter tone to their contentious chests with my tongue. To be exact, a rosy one like life is not.
I drew Damien our relationship’s sunset without him having any premonitions about it.
Their clothing scissors and their intermittent cardboards had been taken away without any hesitation.
I had taken the position of a tiger on the half-weathered, dusty bed.
My flexibility was like an erection that offered Louis various expressions depending on the displacements of Damien’s head: one time at the temple that was on my two hills and other times on the reversed side of earth.
Damien was cleaning the path that led from Omar’s temple to my Vatican.
His mouth was a Spanish sea. From his tongue’s religion to its heresy or its intention, so as I get troubled for which path to follow and taste virtue’s garden.
His waves were about to swallow the two most sacred cities of Christians. A subsea earthquake in the Cretan Sea of a magnitude of Pharaoh’s ten wounds was coming to drown all Christians.
Jews and Muslims of those areas. I felt the lack of land like the castaway fighting with the waves.
I was melting too… I was almost absorbed by his liquid, magic wand and I was about to drown with my guards of ancient cities, like Atlantis.
The culprit was the collision of the African slab with Greece. Or better the collision of interests of Sickness and Power.
All believers would get drowned from the comet Louis would throw on earth. Rome and Jerusalem would be of the sea now… Instead, their immoralities in continuous tense.
At some point my mouth became Bagdad constantly bringing missiles and bombs of Louis.
My teeth were collateral damage asking for their toothpaste.
Maybe Damien thought that having a father from America means he can blame others for the mistakes he makes.
I am afraid this cannot happen this time… The American guy and his friend may have eliminated cities and killed non-combatant with biological weapons but time had come for: “The payment of the tax.”
Christ was absent in the middle of the composition. The arrangement of the fantasies was circular. Damien gave knife and will receive more knives.
I converted to Judaism. Suddenly the Door opened. It was not Christ… They were my ten Seraph Labradors.
“Peter” and “John” were upset for the tax their God had to pay to the Tax-collector’s temple.
They froze with mechanical procedures. Their hands were Gordian as it is common before the time of the guillotine comes.
Those two thieves with the big teeth and the long ears… They were screaming… They were yammering… And I in the middle waiting for the end.
I was the Elevated Christ of Antonello da Messina to initiate heaven.
They became ancient Minoans by a razor with forest’s strip to remind to everyone that there is always hope in Sahara and to straighten the sail in the reprisal. They were mercilessly whipping them with stock whips for forty minutes.
Their condemnation was guilt. The ten jurors declared it with judicial and religious conditions without a chance of appeal or absolution.
Acropolis was a holy place to the Alkmeonides.
I decided to send their microphones with a scalpel to the guillotine to silence them.
Prices were a little atrocity in two plates with tomato and acorns.
I devoured the fish so as they will not thrive anywhere else.
We left them half-unconscious in the lake of Bartholomew.
I was later informed that their disability was spreading like a cancer in hands and feet.
They remained deficient. Unfortunately not in the head. But this was not enough for me. I had arrested all his friends at the port.
I sent all his letters with his hideous crimes to the tabloids.
The government collapsed. Damien and his father asked Russia for refuge so as not to go to prison.
It is too late for Guillaume though. I heard he committed suicide.
I will go to his grave tomorrow to leave an orchid knowing that sooner or later Brick-Fielder will blow her dried leaves to the four points of the horizon.
Yours,
Lucy Sanguin
THE END
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Google & Gay Blogs
While I am in the “appeal” process with Google, my hopes are not high that I will get access to my old account. In doing some research I found that Google is picking on Gay Bloggers. The issue appears to be nudity. When I opened my 2nd blog that did have nudity and men in sexual acts I kind of suspected that I would risk being shutdown. I thought about opening it as a separate blog and now wish that I would have. Then I think I would have a better idea as to what happened.
Google disables access but you will NEVER know why it happened. Much of this activity I am to understand is done by Robots and not humans. In fact I found a phone number for Google and called it. I tried to talk with a human but was told that they do not offer live customer support at this time. Instead I was redirected to a web page. You can easily wind up chasing your tail going through web pages, forms and forums.
My understanding is that you complete the form that Google provides when your disabled and want to appeal. You then should post in the Google Help Forum telling people you got shutdown and ask for help. A middle man will then relay your request to a Google Employee. Then the middle man gets back to you after they hear back from the Google Employee and you either get or do not get your access back. They don’t elaborate as to why things happened it is just that way. There isn’t such a thing as a 2nd or 3rd appeal but people have tried.
In short there is a ton of road blocks in place and no one is in any hurry to get you a response. So to guard against this make sure that you have your Blogger theme & content backed up on a regular basis. Better yet if your really paranoid don’t post nude photos at all.
While I understand Google is a free service and that said service is “at will” meaning they can terminate your account with or without notice, they are also trying to take over the world, much like a Microsoft. They give you free e-mail, free cloud storage, programs like Google Docs, They branched into social networking with Google +. They want you to use their service BUT if you offend them or do something they don’t like they just pull the plug. Now how in the world do they expect people to trust them? To my knowledge this hasn’t made it to main stream media and I honestly doubt it will. I mean it is just something that affects the gays and it’s porn so why put it in the lime light.
I understand some of Google’s point but at the same time, under the Constitution I am entitled to Free Speech. I should be able to say what I want and post photos of what I want. I agree with warning people ahead of time that they are about to enter an Adult site. However, if you click past the warning then you shouldn’t be offended at what you see. I mean especially when the words homo and sex are in the title and URL of the blog.
Since I had a gut feeling things would go south I checked on what Google’s policy is regarding Nudity. Here’s what I found.
Adult Content: We do allow adult content on Blogger, including images or videos that contain nudity or sexual activity. But, please mark your blog as 'adult' in your Blogger settings. Otherwise, we may put it behind a 'mature content' interstitial.
There are some exceptions to our adult content policy:
Do not use Blogger as a way to make money on adult content. For example, don't create blogs where a significant percentage of the content is ads or links to commercial porn sites.
No incest or bestiality content: We do not allow image, video or text content that depicts or encourages incest or bestiality.
Child safety: We have a zero tolerance policy towards content that exploits children. Some examples of this include:
Child pornography: We will terminate the accounts of any user we find publishing or distributing child pornography. We will also report that user to law enforcement.
Pedophilia: We do not allow content that encourages or promotes sexual attraction towards children. For example, do not create blogs with galleries of images of children where the collection of images or text accompanying the images is sexually suggestive.
Hate Speech: We want you to use Blogger to express your opinions, even very controversial ones. But, don't cross the line by publishing hate speech. By this, we mean content that promotes hate or violence towards groups based on race, ethnicity, religion, disability, gender, age, veteran status, or sexual orientation/gender identity. For example, don't write a blog saying that members of Race X are criminals or advocating violence against followers of Religion Y.
Crude Content: Don't post content just to be shocking or graphic. For example, collections of close-up images of gunshot wounds or accident scenes without additional context or commentary would violate this policy.
Violence: Don't threaten other people on your blog. For example, don't post death threats against another person or group of people and don't post content encouraging your readers to take violent action against another person or group of people.
Now on my 2nd blog, I did have a content warning up. I figured that since they permit nudity it wouldn’t be a problem. I’m no pedophile and totally support protecting children. I mean your only a kid once. You will be an adult for a very long time.
Realize that all of this is supposition on my part. It would be great if Google or their robots would communicate as to why they are disabling or taking away access from people.
I found the Counter of Shame and a list of Gay Blogs that have been closed. A link to the page and the counter appear below.
http://googlebloggerclosesgayblogs.blogspot.com/
As well the Counter of Shame appears in my sidebar. If I do regain access to my old sites, I am tempted to just put in an entry directing folks here. Let me know what you would like to see happen if I get my access back.
Thanks for stopping by. Talk with you peeps later.
Posted by Jeremy Ryan at 9:28 PM No comments: Links to this post
Labels: F U Blogger, Old Blog, Please Comment
Fresh Start
New or Old reader ….Greetings and welcome! For unknown reason Blogger decided to delete my old blogs. I have been going through the appeal process to get them back, but with so many horror stories on the net I decided to cut my losses and start over. Hopefully, this blog will be safe (crosses fingers) and be able to stay on-line for many years. If you remember me you will recall that I had two blogs. My main blog was on-line for around 7 years, so loosing all of those posts really hurt. Not to mention the hours I spent designing this new site. Time really passes quickly when your engrossed in a project. The hard part for me was doing the tweaking and making sure everything was just perfect before I forged forward.
For the new folks, read my profile to learn about me. Just in case you can’t tell by the name of the blog I am gay (shocker, I know). I have a partner and we have been together for many, many years. Our children are our cats, we have 7 of them. 1 Momma cat and her 4 kids. The other two are strays that we took in. Actually the one stray TAZ had been coming around for years and once we brought him in he brought along a friend. His friend is male and has not been neutered yet, so he howls to go outside because he wants a female. He sprays the house to mark his territory and TAZ is really his only friend in the cat world. We love them all but they don’t all love each other and always get along. Cat fights or disagreements are a little too frequent. Someone is always hissing, which drives me absolutely crazy.
I am in the Technology field and have been unemployed for 16 months. I have had plenty of interviews but no offers. I suspect but can’t prove that the reason why it’s taken me so long is because one of the people I used as a reference was actually giving out bad information. I only say I suspect that because last year and again this year I had to places interested in me. Suddenly after they talked to this person they decided to hire someone else. So I am now using a different reference in place of that person. The problem right now is getting interviews. Last year was great but this year not so much. Funny thing is when all of this happened I thought it would be a couple months. Boy was I wrong!
Given the fact that I have been living on unemployment and didn’t know any better, I tapped into my 401k. That hurt me on taxes as well as wiping out a good portion of my retirement. Fortunately I am young enough that if I get back to work soon, I will be able to save some of that back. I am in the process of filing Bankruptcy. It’s not like I wanted to but I am backed into a corner and really have no choice. Turns out I didn’t need to touch my retirement after all because it’s protected and exempt from creditors. Damn! If I had only known that sooner I would be in less debt and have more savings. When you know better, you do better. So now I’m telling folks about it so they too are educated and if they are in my shoes they don’t touch what they have worked so hard to save for.
What can I expect to see here? There will be some photos of guys on occasion. I will be talking a lot about my life and what I am going through at the present time. You will hear all about my partner, cats and what ever is on my mind. I enjoy music a lot so you will see music videos. Some advice and commentary on current events. That is pretty much it in a nut shell.
I welcome your comments, feedback and suggestions. Feel free to share anything. Comment moderation is enabled so if you post something that you don’t want me to share with the rest of the world be sure to type in ***DO NOT POST***. Otherwise, I will publish what you write.
If your gay and just coming to terms with that or have questions about gay people, I am more than happy to help out with any advice. I know it is not easy being gay, it can be a difficult thing for you to come to terms with, let alone dealing with how other people react when you tell them the news. Younger guys hang in there when you grow up things are much better. The important thing is that if your having any kind of problem be it sexual identity, bullying or whatever TALK to someone, DO NOT hold in your feelings. That only makes things worse. The hard part might be finding someone trustworthy. If you want that person can be me. Otherwise, seek out a parent, close friend or counselor.
Well the hour is growing late and I need to prepare to turn in. Thanks again for stopping by. I hope to hear from you and see you here again real soon. Take care!
https://newhomoblogo.blogspot.com/search/label/F%20U%20Blogger
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