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.:  The Divinity Chapters  :.
Cunto 01
Cunto 02
Cunto 03
Interview 01
Cunto 04
Cunto 05
Cunto 06
Interview 02
Cunto 07
Cunto 08
Cunto 09
Interview 03
Cunto 10
Cunto 11
Cunto 12
Interview 04
Cunto 13
A short 'mindstream' novel about a man's descent to hell and subsequent resurrection. His critical review of the novel, as captured by reporter Marvin Gander, and the 'mindstream'© process is interspersed throughout the chapters and may be included in the final work, in accordance with the author's wishes.

Any unauthorized publishing of this will precipitate excessive violence on the part of the author. Please ask. It's all ©2004.

DIVINITY

CUNTO VIII

Covered in oil. Not enough surfactants to get me clean. Cut to the bone. Bleach. That might do the trick. Good for killing the virus. If the virus is kicking, reparations for yesterday. Blackblack sky, trickling star light. A ghost in every dancer, the way their hair swings in the light. The way it's tucked behind the ears. The brief hanging image of a young woman's breast I recognize, caught against the flash of light on the far side of the river. Spitfire of a Roman goddess, a Norse Goddess, maybe Greek. If the Franks had gods. I'd ask. Hand on the pike.

Athena stretch out your hand. Sweet aegis over the breast. Keep us both from striking at what we should not, at what will only bring the dark down over our eyes. Silent Kob, the light already dimmed in his eyes, nodding towards the river, towards a man pockmarked with holes, unholy stigmata for one who fired a temple. We have something in common. I have a desire to fire temples these days. Where are you? Not so long ago, you were

wellseated - mounted
upon this temple of cock
stone genuflection

Devil that's no longer sleeping in my bed. no bed to lie in. Where are the arrows cast from? Please, Athena. The styx is upon us, and gentle Phlegyas, the old king, kind now, dutifully readying the ropes to cast off for the journey. Crossing water, water, filled with drowning everdrowning souls, and Phylegyas, pushing his way through them, the pole thrust in among the bodies, crying and who are these? The wrathful? Were these the angry ones? Who counts themselves exempt?

A still spot. Oil on the river. Kob is looking at me, asking why I am soaked in it, annointed. I cast off the annointment long ago, I say. A break in the muddy lamenters. A break in the cries. P mumbling to himself about the lack of good bodies to use as leverage, Kob looking down into the mouth of the elder stars in the water. He sees me look deep into the black water with him, thinking of a woman I swam with in lupine water on nights when I was young. Many years of looking down from the height of a tall bridge. Wondering about the depths, wondering if it would be deep enough. The glow of deep lakes, the mystery of night rivers. Sacred broken taboo of naked swimming.

'Blessed irradiance of water.' says Kob. 'And those who notice.'

'True,' I say. 'But this is no simple water. the meniscus is too low. fat and sperm level with faces like typewriter keys and the money so miniscule, insignificant and the words so obviously surplus and it is time for then and the end of finality bring it to that 101 breasts and what does that mean.'

Kob looks at me, concerned. 'Try not to become infected. Do not look so long into the depths here.' 'Why, do they also look into me?'

Rare white toothed smile.

'Of course, they look into you. It all looks into you...

interrupt.

...but also I into it. And this is where the fear comes in for them. I am looking all this abyss in the face and doing so unblinking and they must look at me now. I, the hater. I with eyes wide fucking open and I with a mouthful of bile and ready to spit in Lucifer's face, if the chance arises.

Be careful my friend, for it may come true.

And that rings true. To spit in the devil's face, all for her. And with a fistful of ash. Angel's envy. And ask, shall I trade you an eternity to cut your cord? I get what I want, and you get your peace. Piece for peace.

A murder of souls, stand collected cackling black on the fringe with the scent of fall, scent of heavy rain as we near the river's edge. Leaves turning down under a contagious sky. Moon infecting them, at least, such is my sense of it, for two men, as they say, are a murder in hell. Arrows fall from the walls of the iron city in the distance and strike the poor ferryman. Loud. He does not curse, but shakes his head and starts to withdraw the arrows.

'Every time. And I thought I'd paid already.'

Unknowingly, I reach over and touch his back, the wound oozing deepred blood. He turns and smiles, appreciating the gesture.

'Thanks you sun, but don't do that son. I'll be fine, as it is.'
'And all this for burning a temple down.'
'And still all worth it. Every little barb. To watch those twin spires burn and topple. Go now.'

He is still smiling as the shafts strike his body and he is watching the burning city with pleasure, bidding us farewell. Feet on clay, thick and sticking. We approach the iron walls, demons with their wire beards hanging over the bricks, hanging bodies off the walls, closer and closer and they are hung by their own innards and are not yet dead, neverdead here and squirming, kicking the gallows dance. Young girls and boys, tied together. Demons stare down, bows drawn. Kob is in the van, demanding entrance, but the demons are laughing and throwing spears at our feet. Smell of burnt sex in the air and winged buzzing, the sound of amplified butterflies. What is on the other side of this wall, I ask? Burning burning. Kob cries again. Let us in. No. Who are you to deny us this? What? This, is this not the house of woes?

I chuckle. Do not be so old fashioned, Kob. We will enter. I start to lead him around the side and the demons howl from the parapets, and they are distorted by the heat coming off the walls, old iron, red and cooking. House of woes, indeed. The mistake they've made, by forcing us to come in the back door. Spears rain down around us, but they won't touch us, can't touch us and all I can see when I look up are the dancing soles of children's feet, and the heat is touching me. I say. Come, Kob, my pike is strong and I am angry. Yes Kob, get ready, for the heat is touching me. Yes, Kob, the heat is touching me and there is much demonflesh within reach and we will not be denied this.

Come, Kob, the heat is rising and we with it. The hiss of ragged wings.

 





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