Archive for September, 2013

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20 – Father Tillicum

Arkin threw him to the floor, looked down at him as if he were a spider and not a priest. “I need a reason not to remove that fucking dress from your body and roast you for my dinner.”

Father Tillicum stayed down. He’d never seen the Mystic so furious. “This anger can’t be good for your health,” he said. “High blood pressure can weaken a person’s ability to stimulate.”

Arkin flipped a table. Papers floated where they wanted to until they landed on the floor. A candle-lamp was the next object of destruction.

Father Tillicum shielded his mind with his hands. “I cannot control the whims of an entire priesthood, Mystic. They wanted what we wanted and then they wanted something else. I underestimated the deterrent of fear.”

From  a  distance,  Bann  watched,  smiled.  He  wished  to  see  this outcome. His joy confirmed everything.

“It is not too late to salvage this disappointment,” Father Tillicum said, closing his eyes. He’d rather not see himself die. “From the locals I can find a vessel. I swear.”

“You swore you’d already have the vessel, you nitwit.”

“A second oath is more a true oath.” Father Tillicum opened his eyes, took his hands off his head. “We’ll have a vessel by the end of the sun.”

“I’m not sure if you should listen to his lies, Arkin.” Bann walked out of the shadows.  “Promises are easy to break since they lack material, no?”

“Bind my promise by my life,” the priest said. “Chain me to your wrist until the sun falls out of the sky. I’ll not run from my word.”

The Mystic lifted Father Tillicum to his feet. “By the end of sun?” he asked, breath smelling of urine.

If God had not granted Father Tillicum a strong bladder, he would’ve soaked himself by now. “The Dagen children can search,” he said. “They look like seekers if ever I could describe one. By this time tomorrow you’ll have your seed growing in some servile bitch.”

“My children cannot do this thing,” Bann said, and he had no reason why.

Arkin snarled, let go. “Bann, make sure your children follow through. Or yesterday will have been your last tomorrow.”

Inwardly, Father Tillicum smiled. Perhaps the Dagens could be of use. He’d retract the order to send them to hell.

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Tim Minchin is comedian-musican and an actor. His genre  is a fusion pop, rock, and classical, mostly played on the piano while he sings about subjects in taboo ways.  Below are three videos of Minchin doing what he does, making fun prejudice, religion, and censorship.

 

Don’t You See

Posted: September 17, 2013 in Poetry
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why we can remove the lines
From our bodies
And dissolve them in the blankness
While time sits on its hands
Watching the sands erode
From a wave of glances and gazes
Riding on the winds of change
Which money stacked upon money couldn’t even make blow
With such a force to transform the matters of the past into obese balloons
Floating high enough to reach that strange land
Where footprints never touch the ground
Because of the hungry air-eating sounds of Cupid’s wings
Overshadowed only by the hissing arrows
That pierce hearts into loving absence —
The absence of everything but you.

You were a flower
I was concrete
Yet with each petal plucked
My walls turned into some substance that could be cut with scissors

You were supposed to be paper
A delicate thing I could crumble
I was supposed to be a rock
Forged from the hard and harder

But you weren’t a flower
And I wasn’t concrete
You were the sheet
That covered me

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19 – Father Tillicum

On the left and right, sixteen priests sat in comfy chairs. Eight fools to the left. Eight fools to the right. Seated at the center of them all was, for once, Father Tillicum tightening his cassock. It was nice to look out from the head of the council rather than to be staring at it. The enclosure now seemed twice the size it had been when Father Panis led.

“A group of anthropologists discovered one of the spaceships from Earth.” Father Welcome shifted the spectacles on his face, rolled up the parchment of human skin.

“And what did they find inside?” Father Tillicum did his best to shift his testicles without notice.

Sometimes he imagined what it would’ve been like not to have them. And then he tried to forget the thought all together. Castration would make his life safer but it would also make him impotent. Besides, he wasn’t sure if he could survive without boys. That release of hardness was his greatest thrill. Of course he enjoyed the good it did the youth as well. Of course.

There was no better sexual union than between a man and a boy. The Greeks, especially Aristophanes and Socrates, understood the importance of such relationships; they’d both gone as far as granting the highest value to male-male copulation. And who argued against Greek knowledge? After all, they were founders of philosophy.

Father Welcome passed the parchment along to Father Nocum and Father Nocum to Father Willkomm. Each priest read and passed with no more than a mumble of “Oh”.

“What did they find inside?” Father Tillicum asked again, and he pounded the arm of his chair to emphasize how he expected an answer.

“A warehouse of pornography,” Father Welcome said, tucking his other set of eyes into his pocket. “Mostly filled with visual books and movies. But what are movies to us now? We haven’t the means to watch them. Obviously the books are the only artifacts of any value.”

“More books,” some long-nosed priest said. “Is that all that is left of our ancestral home?”

“Art is all that history leaves.” Father Logrip crossed his legs. “Perhaps we should give more money to artists so we aren’t lost in time. People will always need books.”

“Keep the artists starving,” Father Income said. “No good work has come from a well-fed writer or musician. Hunger keeps them hungry.”

“Enough of this small talk,” Father Tillicum said when finally the parchment reached his hands.

“No talk is small,” Father Income said.

Everyone should’ve taken note of his tone. But which priests actually did?

Quickly quick, Father Tillicum read. “Over 500 years of Playboy.” Now Father Tillicum was intrigued. “Do we have any actual physical material or just words?”

Father Welcome clapped his hands, and as soon as he did, a handful of handsome altar boys entered by the main doors. “I’ve done my duty and looked over the findings.” Of course he had. Father Tillicum wondered what the man had already kept for himself. “I don’t know why they call it Playboy,” he added, as a slender boy placed a copy of the visual book in Father Tillicum’s hands. “I’ve yet to find a single boy on any of the pages.”

Father  Tillicum  flipped  through  the  pages.  The  book  contained nothing but nude Earth women that looked so unflawed that it was hard to tell if they were, in fact, women at all. He’d seen enough female breasts to recognize the difference between a creation of technology and of God. How could one achieve arousal by staring at inorganic material?

“A man attracted to females couldn’t even appreciate this.” So he didn’t vomit, he clenched his jaw. “Take it away.” He handed the book back to the boy. “Did these anthropologists send anything worth our time?”

Another altar boy handed him an instrument shaped like a phallus. All the priests released their laughter. Not a single one remained quiet.

“Does it come with instructions?” one priest asked. Since he held no power his name was unnecessary.

“What does one do with this?” Father Tillicum shook the foreign object. “It is called a dildo,” Father Welcome said.

“I’ve read about these strange toys before,” Father Logrip said. “Shakespeare wrote of them in his famous play A Winter’s Tale. They have been around since the dawn of recorded history. They’ve helped many women control their urges.”

Father Tillicum was appalled. A toy such as this could rid Masago of virgins. Where would he find virgins for the Mystic then—across the sea? “I want all of these toys brought here. Kill everyone that knows of their existence.”

“The history of the dildo cannot be questioned,” Father Welcome said, coming out of his seat, “but the people of Masago have already developed many other uses for it.” He snatched the toy from Father Tillicum’s hand. “Allow me to demonstrate.”

Slowly slow, the priest inserted the fake penis deep into his mouth. When he put it in as far as possible, he quickly quick removed it alongside of his meals. Vomit covered floors. Many noses were pinched in horror.

Father Welcome wiped his mouth. “The dildo can be used to incite regurgitation,” he said. “A magnificent remedy it is in case of a poisoning.” Father  Tillicum  snatched  the  dildo  back.  “I’ll  keep  this  in  my trustworthy   hands.   We   don’t   want   just   anybody   surviving an assassination.”

*  *  *

“Then it is decided. In our church, relationships between a man and a boy will be held in the highest of value amongst sexual unions since they promote, as the Greeks say, leadership and virtue. The union between a man and woman will be second for its inclination toward procreation. And unions between women and women will be, well, they will be for pleasure. Such a vile word for us men of God.”

All the priests chuckled, some snorted.

“Most vile,” someone said quietly quiet, but not quiet enough as to not be heard.

With a hand Father Tillicum silenced the crowd. “Now, for the next order of business, as we always say. We’ll vote on the possibility of using Cassandra Dagen’s womb to create the Mystic’s new heir and wife. Please, by a show of hands?”

Eight hands went up and eight stayed down. Perhaps this was where Father Panis and Ferret could’ve been used to break the tie. Such a shame they had died, Father Tillicum thought.

He tightened his cassock. “Father Income, explain what you want.”

“I already have what I want,” Father Income said, and he smiled. Not one bit did Father Tillicum like the answer or the smile. No, that smile looked like it would last forever. “In the breeding process, a Dagen will always overtake a Jormungand. A Dagen’s hair is too dark; their eyes are too blue.”

“This is truly true,” a silly priest said. Unbeknownst to him, he’d be dead tomorrow for agreeing. Father Tillicum would make sure of it. “We have to think of odds. If the child doesn’t look like a Jormungand we’re all ruined.”

Yes, Father Tillicum would kill that silly priest twice. “Then what is the vote now?”

It was unanimous. Not a single hand rose in his favor.

Freeing Me

Posted: September 14, 2013 in Poetry
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Freeing Me

I come from the walls

Triangles and sticks

My mother had no breasts

So I fed off myself

Long before I lost my father’s name

 

From the beginning I stood on my feet

Learned what bullshit was

From reading classic books

 

I neglect history

Have made enough of my own

 

I am the first and last of my kind

Not a monkey man

But a man of the mind

Fragments are the answer to slowing time

And if you survive a thousand falls

You’ll evolve into what I am

 

The inhuman voice

From a different age

Past and future fused

The philosopher sage

 

I hear colors

Smell words

Touch feelings

Taste sounds

 

I am what the ancients called clown

A master of oral lore

Heartless but undamaged

Ruined but remade

Logic intensified

 

I came from the walls

But my fall was from the clouds

 

*Freeing Me was first published by the Rusty Nail.

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18  – Bann

Bann relaxed against a hallway column, as a few Dancers of Paradise walked past him carrying snakes. Somebody was about to be entertained. “What do you need in order to persuade the council to vote in favor of upholding my daughter’s virginity?” Bann asked softly soft.

Father Income slipped from the other side of the column. Both his eyebrows were dyed green. His eyes were green, too. “A name can say everything, can’t it?”

“I thought it would’ve been harder to negotiate with a man without testicles,” Bann said.

“I love the feeling of watching things fall apart,” the priest said. “Besides, I never was an intimate of Father Tillicum. The man has a vice for every finger.”

Bann pulled his cloak over his head. “So you’ll help me in exchange for money?”

“You’ve misread my name, sir.”

Bann lost control of his eyebrows. They went up on their own accord. Still the price had to be paid.