Christopher WunderLee - Moore's Mythopoeia

“Well, what the fuck have you been doin’? Did you do any of those goddamn things?”

“Not one.”

“How the fuck old were you?”

“Thirty-nine.”

“What the fuck were you doin’ for so fuckin’ long?”

“Living.”

“You did none of those fuckin’ things.”

“Existing, I should say.”

“Oh! You’re a fuckin’ tragedy?”

“No, spoiled.”

“Others will think you were a fuckin’ tragedy?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Ah… um… well…”

“Seriously, it’s not a fuckin’ hard question. Do you want me to fuck you like a prison guard?”

“A what? Can you? I mean… are we supposed to?”

“No one fuckin’ cares… just say I’m supposed to…”

“Why?”

“Why the hell do you think I’m fuckin’ standing in front of you?” she said Nostradamusly, turning her head slightly so that he could see her face. “You should fuckin’ take me now.”

“Why?”

“Just fuckin’ grab me and rip my panties off and treat my cunt like your own private asshole.”

“Why?”

“Right now! This is the place for it.”

“But why would I do that, why would you want me to?”

“Come on… you’ve never fuckin’ fucked anyone?”

“But I don’t want to, I’ve never considered it before.”

“Bull fuckin’ testicles… Yes you have.”

“No.”

“Yes, you have, you’ve fuckin’ fantasized about it. You’ve dreamed about it, you’ve never admitted it, but you’ve thought about it. You were in a department store with your wife and a shop girl, probably about twenty, bent over to pick up a box for another customer and you saw her panties. You watched her go into the back room and you wanted to follow her in there and fuck her raw against the boxes back there.”

“That’s not true.”

“You were driving your son to a friend’s house and you ran into a neighbor you’ve always thought was fuckin’ hot, and she leaned over to chat with you, and you could see down her blouse, and you fuckin’ desperately wanted to just grab her and pull her towards you and kiss her and get your mouth on those fuckin’ tits and plunge her like a stinky toilet. Remember?”

“None of this ever happened.”

“No, it never fuckin’ happened, you just fuckin’ thought about it.”

“I don’t remember ever thinking any of it.”

“Grab me… all you have to do is fuckin’ grab me, Joseph. I won’t fight you and you can have me. All you have to do is grab me and fuckin’ take me… whatever you want… make me feel ravishing and you can’t help yourself… just kiss me like you want to fuckin’ eat my lips, tear my clothes off, don’t let me go and ram your fuckin’ hard cock into my hot pussy… Now!”

“But I’d never do that to you.”

“No… well I’m not going to fuckin’ kiss you and take you off to fuckin’ bed. I’m not going to slowly remove my fuckin’ frock and touch you tenderly. Do you hear the winged chariot, it’s in quite a rush?”

“You asked if I wanted you to fuck me.”

“Yes.”

“Not take you.”

“What’s the fucking difference? That would be impossible.”

“Couldn’t we just have a good time, couldn’t we just wander off and see what happens?” Joseph asked rather Hookly.

“Fuck… you’ve lost the surprise, you’ll never get me to turn my back on you again. We could wander off, but as soon as you laid a finger on me, I’d kick you in the balls so many times you’d have a cunt.”

“What if I didn’t let you?”

“If you were going to fuckin’ do anything, you would have done it by now.”

“Is that it?”

“Another moment got by us.”

“It’s not fair, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to just grab you and do it right here?”

“It’s not up to me, Joseph.”

“I couldn’t do it.”

“I fuckin’ know.”

* * *

“The rabbits lived in holes beneath the ground. They lived in there because of the foxes. The foxes wanted to eat the rabbits. The rabbits only wanted to eat carrots and enjoy their lives. But the foxes wouldn’t let them.

“The rabbits were sad much of the time, many of them were eaten by foxes and they did not like living in the ground. The oldest rabbit, Edgar, did not know what to do but all the other rabbits looked to him. He went to see the wise old owl to ask what they should do about the foxes.

“The owl received Edgar — do you see the owl greeting the rabbit? Good. The owl received Edgar and told him that the rabbits had to wait until one day a black rabbit was born. This rabbit would know what to do about the foxes.

“Edgar went home and waited. That spring, a tiny baby rabbit was born with black fur. Do you remember what that means? Good. The tiny baby rabbit with the black fur was named Sable. Sable grew up amongst the rabbits, playing in the tunnels, eating carrots and avoiding the foxes.

“One day, the old rabbit Edgar went to see the young, black rabbit Sable. He said: ‘Sable, do you know what we should do about the foxes? They’re not good, they want to eat us.’ Sable, who had never spoken to Edgar, thought for a few moments and said: ‘Someone has to chase them away.’ Edgar left Sable in the tunnel and went away.

“A few days later, Edgar came to see Sable again. This time he asked: ‘Do you know how to chase away the foxes?’ Sable smiled, he was very happy. ‘Yes, I know how to chase away the foxes,’ he replied. ‘Will you tell me?’ Edgar asked. ‘I can’t tell you.’ With this, Edgar left.

“When summer was over, Edgar called Sable to his tunnel. Sable arrived and ate carrots with Edgar. ‘Sable, can you tell me how to chase away the foxes?’ Edgar asked. ‘I cannot tell you, but I can show you,’ Sable replied. After one last carrot, Sable stood up and walked out of the tunnel. Edgar followed him. Do you understand what they’re doing? Good.

“Sable walked through the grass, outside of the tunnels, while Edgar hid in a hole. Edgar watched Sable and grew scared. ‘Sable,’ he called. ‘Sable, be careful. When the foxes see you they will eat you.’ But Sable did not stop; he kept walking in the grass. He came across the foxes waiting by a rabbit hole. They were hoping one would pop up and they could eat it. Sable got behind a bush and began to growl. Sable growled with such force, Raaarrrahhhh, that the foxes became scared. They thought a bear was nearby. Sable continued to growl, Raarrraahhh, until the foxes ran away. After that, the rabbit’s did not have to worry about the foxes. The foxes went away.”

* * *

Wet. Cold. Buried. Sediment. You are awake in death.

She was so casual, I can smell her still beside me. A flower’s fragrance, organic.

A marching band, a drummer beating the clouds. The conductor and the third lady from the left, they are screaming. No. He is not screaming, he is afraid of it. The clouds are collapsing under his drums. Stop the drummer! They are rushing him, his symbols are golden eagles. They’re interrogating him; they’ve removed the drum from his chest. He’s bleeding; his ribcage has been torn open. This is a true musician.

The eagles are escaping; they are falling through the clouds. No. They are being pulled from below by the blue arms of the dead. She has been penetrated by a diseased arm, he is impaled on the horns of a goat’s head. The devils have invaded. They are attacking our marching band, the dancers are scattering. They’re screaming, the women are screaming, the men are guiding them, holding their hands as they run. But the devils have surrounded the dance floor. They are armed with their own dismembered limbs, the heads of comrades, the legs of fallen friends. The devils rush the crowd, the marching band defends itself with tubas, saxophones, flutes, clarinets, the cries of the instruments hurtling outward from the melee. It sounds like a chaotic overture, Symphony No. 666, by Johan Wagner Beelzebub.