| A MEMORY AND DREAM SUPPRESSED TO MAINTAIN FREEDOM xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx rated X due to political expression. This piece is for consenting adults only. (note: this piece has not been spell checked due to the fact that operation censorship states that it is an illegal operation to continue. please excuse at your own risk, and excuse any typos. This is an edited and condensed version of a manuscript unavailable to the american public. It is based on an actual situation.) Warning! The following piece contains graphic content which is not suitable for children. It is a mature piece. It is based upon a real situation. It is neither fiction nor nonfiction The body of work is formatted in the style of Vietnam-era "anti" propaganda. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx Freedom of expression became her favored weapon and even if you could not understand her words her eyes told you that she saw the Devil come to slay and then he did veil her pain instead of blood the only kind who could appease the jagged edge of soul debris on soft organs and gentile flesh were those of wars who could not tell yet beneath their carefully stated words in silent breath whispered the eternal voice of death who it seems does not always appear the reaper so cold and cruel sometimes death appears and folds a ripple like a tear Not so sad when you do accept the embrace with a child's humble grace that some force beyond what human's know may walk amongst the flesh clad fools in search of those who pose as militia and chamber masters directors and editors lovers bonded not by mating but by love of passion like assassins perfection called a sin. Like the assassin who dares to touch the very essence of the infinite question: Where does life and death begin? Where does life and death begin? Someone wanted to take my LIFE that is how this story came to be Someone wanted for my life to end brutally and explicitly so that no one would dare question it a monster masked as a normal man like those we meet everyday who would notice who would care THE DEVIL he did or whatever the name of the thing is. Instead of a bullet, the Devil shattered my soul, and broke through to stand in front of the monster thing like a man, but different than any of the men - good or bad - who I know. Even the men I know who kill do not do so without a reason or a YOUNG WOMAN stood before a camera, tape rolling, microphones on, lighting bright white in her eyes; she was naked. In most films about the devil there is this moral fight between right and wrong, and it does not really apply here, not as we know it, for to most people both the monster man and the young woman were both wrong, and there fore not a reality to be dealt with, but the DEVIL, well, he thought different. It reminded him of a brief bit in time when there was no right nor wrong and the laws of the jungle became much more hardcore. A YOUNG WOMAN with no good or bad intention stood naked during an interview which would determine her life or death, she had thought she'd be asked her name and her entertainment history, instead she was asked, "Have you ever thought about what it would be like to be in a snuff movie? Would you like to be in one?" It was at that point that her soul was penetrated, leaving something feeling like shards of glass deep within her, which is not so bad, as it all just psychological and figurative, and it is - after all - better than being raped and tortured and shot in the forehead. For the rest of her life, she will feel a bit odd, like there are little pieces of glass engraving the new outline which casts her shadow, and illuminates a new light from her soul. And the Devil will always feel the dull throb of a broken heart, which is what was left behind from the shock which registered in her mind ..... It may seem strange, but the Devil's heart was tortured over the fact that for no reason someone would want to torture a woman so slowly, and that even worse, no one would care, and all of a sudden all time just stops while the monster like a man who stood on the other side of the white light in her eyes gets a bit high on the rot in his spinal column, it fills his cranium, slowly his synapse like a toxic shock similar to the toxic shock from his mother's dirty pussy so many decades ago ...... He, the monster man, not the Devil, hated all women though he did not know why, and if you asked him, he'd tell you he loved them all, but he really hated them - though he did not know why; a slight retardation with a taint like a shock which compels him to kill what he feels is not appealing; like a whore to remind of how worthless was his mother He liked to have them cornered play a long game of cat mouse and hen would not one would ever suspect him he would show up to make them realize that the only thing he really loved was the taste of the blood of a whore tortured and murdered for sins against jesus just like the baby the monster was sure he too had been pure "I think that is what he may have wanted." Said the man in uniform, "to cut out the womb. Throw it away while she lay dying. His cock in the cut flesh with a gun to her head, cocked..." "No motive." said another, shaking his head in disgust. But it really did not matter. Would not have had it happened as it was supposed to have happened. Call girls do not have rights like other citizens. "As far as can be determined, there was no motive. No reason to investigate this any further. She came here on her own volition. No need to further this investigation." In the city hospitals, where dead whores are brought The dream she was trapped in felt a bit too real. "I see no need to further this investigation. She was, after all, a reputed sex worker. Mark it Jane, call it a bad dream." Instead of waking up I have this weird spasm like convulsion. Three dimensional beads containing moving images not all visible, but connected; they pass before me out of sync and mechanized time. I try to recreate a dreamscape to allow my dream in, but instead the devil whispers to me that it is all alright, and that - for now - the rights to my memories belong to him. "Because they hurt your sense of cognition." He said. "So you just relax, and I will hold onto this unpleasant memory system. Don't worry. I'll get him." He smiled like a bounty hunter with a new set of secrets to head after, "Consider yourself an honour, like a vietnam veteran hero never revealed with a purple heart medal." He laughs, and I can not tell, but I do not think it is at me - finally I think someone laughs for me. And I start to cry, but I do not know why. Tears just flow until he snaps his fingers, and they dry! "Come on now, do not make me uncomfortable. I mean, it is good to cry to get it all out, but ...." He said I was not being punished or anything, that I was just an unexpected guest. "It may be Hell, but well, most existence is! You are now in Paradise, just so that you know that, but if any wayward souls pass through on their way down, ask - tell them that you are hostage, my dear, that way no one knows that we are ..." Awake asleep it did not really matter it was better than the white light in my face, and that voice of the fucking asshole, "Are we friends?" I finally ask him. He shakes his head viciously, "No. No. No. Absolutely not!" But I think he may have lied about that, because the rest of the film was not ever shot. He sat at a big desk with a view of the Metropolitan.From the high rise you could tell just how rigid was the isle of Manhattan. A cinema scope beyond dimension and human capacity. There is still a bubble of attempt at comprehension. He takes a syringe, and injects me with it - no malice or ignorant exploration. The bubble of the past disappears, and I concentrate on the view. Suddenly very relaxed, my heart not out of sync, my breathing very calm; "A shot from the Garden of Eden." He quietly opened a mahogany drawer, and smiles at me - "maybe we can give him an injection of hydrochloric acid. I hear they still do that in some states."He closes the drawer quietly, so quietly, respecting that sudden noises make me too alert, and tense. "Such is about as bitter as your tears of late have been." He's gone. I'm alone in my apartment, an electronic ticket reserved in my name via another's phone. Like a black hole is my expression, a trait left by the situation. Like a black hole I've been told, and it is bothersome because it is a bit what death is supposed to look like, and that is part of why he is attracted to me, it is - because I saw death, and though shaken, I'm still standing. That is why some people do not like staring into me, because I stood up to death, and it is often mirrored in my eyes - at least when I am sober. A little while later all is better. Time stopped, it is no more, except that the Devil says just remember, "Day to next day after night from dark it is light and sometimes it is loud but it will again be quiet." Suddenly I am on an airplane flying from home, on an airplane landing so far away until I can figure out what to do, or until it is done for me. I concentrate on that, and the bubble visions disappear, and I don't think about why anyone would want to hurt or to kill me, especially not in THAT way. I don't think about anything really. Crystal clear vision. The only thing which I think about is that each day turns to night from dark it is light and sometimes it is loud and sometimes it is quiet, for a long while my whispering such is the only sound besides the strange and irregular beating of my once steady heart. For a while, noise gave me such a headache. Any noise. Talking. Television. The radio with all of it's obnoxious dj's and frequency fluctuations. I still do not like to be crowded. Still wince when white light is thrust into my face. I almost always feel a bit detached. My temper is a bit shorter now. Especially when anyone attempts to upset the pleasantry I've created around me like a halo, or an arena. If you have a problem with that, well then fuck yourself wide, and hard - man. Maybe i'll even make a movie of you like made of me maybe you won't think it an issue after you know what it feels like to stand naked and blind and be told you are about to be in a snuff movie! This ethereal essence I call the Devil returned when it became apparent that I still could not stand on my own. A chasm, a labyrinth lay where once was simply soul. Every time that I tried to think about the next day, I wondered if I'd wind up in a room naked like yesterday, except that in the next round, there'd be no one else around, I'd never leave, maybe never be found. And paralyzed I was with a fear which choked my heart, and made me feel like I was buried alive while everyone around moved so happily about; not really noticing I suppose - who cares really? Apparently some ghostly essence did, a cold embraced me, and felt warm with understanding. An invisible blanket of compassion. I was having a nervous breakdown, and it was the only thing which kept me together. A cold echo of solace who's name I do not know. The Devil from the original Garden, before Satanism was about rebels and morals. "Like a porcelain doll very fragile," he said, "porcelain dolls can not be cuddled for they may hurt or they may break, yet they seem to outlive all of the one's made of plastic. A body so soft, yet an expression which is not. Too old for, and too beautiful for a child of a man, to sensuous and experienced for a young man - too painful are the reflections from eyes into which old man like to gaze when feeling youthful ..." So the Devil stayed for awhile. He usually comes and goes, and lets chaos explode, but this time - he sat in order to stop it. I'd say we are friends, but we are not, you know - that would be mental, and stupid, and rather juvenile. See - now He is my guardian. An assassin. Or he was, I do not know. We never talk about my years as a nationally circuited prostitute, never talk of his private business or the Vietnam War; which is why he understands torture and the sort. It does not matter, though, what matters is that he prefers me as a Dominatrix, and he has trained me to take care of myself just in case he has to go away or fades away or was never there to begin with ... may kill in the name of god or country with the passion of souls unfilled into the mouth of his brother the devil like during war turned to raw wasteland prism paradise lost and regained by murder (Or the attempt to do so.) Sometimes I do not want to go to sleep. If I do it all goes back to a white light and the sound of rolling tape and the voice with a resonance too deep and filled with disgust as I stand to what I thought was a challenge, but it was not, it was something much different STOP! CENSORED! STOP! CENSORED! RED ALERT! WE ARE ON RED ALERT! Someone find that fucking footage. Seal it. Confidential confidential confidential confidential confidential WE ARE ON RED ALERT! (LADIES and) GENTLEMEN! confidential. now maybe let's say between 69 and 72 far away eurasia maybe STOP! RED ALERT! SEIZE THAT FUCKING FOOTAGE! SEAL IT CONFIDENTIAL! But not in time to prevent a woman like any other woman on a day which would be discarded from all universities, law libraries, black market agencies the most hardcore around the world screaming in horror and compassion unrivaled somewhere it happened maybe at the crossroads in Vietnam maybe Cambodia Maybe in Burma down the river from defiant yet determined young American Freedom Fighters a woman is gang raped while her fingers are sliced off one by one as a warning that all not in favor of communism would be slaughtered she screamed in pain as a cock in her ass pierced forth towards the gun in her mouth until image once solar goddess is a raw beast spouting blood as the dick of a man with an unseen face comes hard for the camera and the lower rank men must all kiss his gun much prettier are the women in the black market shops in brothels, and she was not like that - she had been a school teacher; an educated woman who believed in something other than what they filming the scene believed in. She maybe had believed in freedom. The politics of business and warfare are so much different now a life support mass brainwashing system to corrupt and alter pay back prove a point and I never got to ask, "Are you mafia militia military broke wiseguys with no one else to sport?" it is kind of similar, but she was teacher, and I'm just a student classified more as a hooker to prove it my own disease, and not society's, and if I die, I'm going out with more than a mother fucking whimper, I am, and I'll make sure other people feel the pain of every minute - whether anyone films it or just witnesses it. All women are without purity. Except for their womb, an extension of their pussy. "Have you ever thought about what it would be like to be in one? Have you ever heard of a snuff movie? Have you ever thought about what it would be like to be in one? Have you ever heard of a snuff movie? Have you ever thought about what it would be like to be in one? Have you ever heard of" It's echoed enough now that it does not matter. The question rolled all of the way down to the bottom of the abyss once my soul, and it rolled back up with a new and distinct resilience to such a comment, and it is better each day light to each Light dark and after a while it is noisy and then later it is quiet each day passes another one just is, and I do not even know if I would feel it if someone was to murder me. A strange and ethereal essence embraces me, and I do not let it go, for it is the only thing which reminds me ....; That cold feeling which chills my heart keeps it from dissolving and stopping in a sweat laden false ego. It is alright. Each day light passes to each day now night and sometimes it is quiet and sometimes it is loud and tomorrow is around the corner not a monster man - he's not allowed. For now. I suppose. For now. And I begin to feel the warm flush of fear, and I embrace even more tightly my strange cloak of cold. "Why should there not be a patient confidence in the ultimate justice of the people? Is there any better or equal hope in the world?" Abraham Lincoln, Inaugural address, 1861. this piece has been revised, and condensed. The original is available by contacting the author. A Memory and a Dream Suppressed to Maintain Freedom is based upon an actual situation which is still pending legal attention. Please notify the below listed e-mail if you would like to utilize any part of this piece in your format. LILII7@aol.com |
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