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From: frank_fowlkes@yahoo.com
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Subject: STUFF AND FUCK
Date: Tue, 09 Dec 2003 15:12:18 -0800
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===================
another story of mine; this is still a rough draft; though
I know how stories are effected by the author's time and place,
you should know it too, so any revisions will be influenced
by 'the present,' but know I will try keep my stories point
sharped to it's true edge, to cut, to cut deep.
=======
third draft, third pass
Please, this is fiction, give me that much, to tell the
difference between the two, the other being my gasp on
reality. Frank Greene Fowlkes
STUFF AND FUCK
By
FRANK GREENE FOWLKES, 23 NOV 03
They took her away when the boy was weak. The eighty-six year old man
stabbing at the embers with a green strangely notched stick remembered
the cold day well. Strong men on metal horses surrounded, then
assaulted, the small village, and, after purging the village's winter
stock of grain and meat, they lined up all the young women and chose
her to accompany the horde back to the place on the other side of the
turquoise double colored mountains.
He followed their path for a distance before thirst overtook him, and
there, on his knees, his hands gripping the hot earth, and the
mountains still distant, the country grew still around him---no
animals, no insects, no life---all except for a faint and strange
impression in the air; and soon after, the two suns slating a degree
cooler, alternating between strange points spaced far from the silent
dead country and the blue mountains, his eyes calculating water in the
distance, and his ears hearing her voice near, he felt none was
stronger than the impression shading his face from the red suns; the
mountains loomed against his retreating body as the cold impression
penetrated, her love is not strong enough; and, later, many years
later, in his thoughts alone with her when staring at the black
mountains, where they would meet like before, she beside him close,
and listening to him tell her of the high mountain, to only turn away
her eyes from his for unexplained reasons when he was through speaking
and the sounds of metal and smell of smoke filled the air, that same
thought penetrated deeper and deeper until finally the earth grew
still and cold. And all was dead and ash except for a fiery light in
the sky stirring, stirring away.
Old Shah, his tongue spiraling around his only tooth, cracked brown,
withdrew and twisted the green stick so multiple points touched.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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<25738 92730 35037 waited for him after everyone else had left.>
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[38472 92749 29171 pulled down 65170 99742 18653 pants, and her mouth
watered. This might be her only chance. She turned off her cell phone,
and
popped a breath mint into her mouth.]
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<She brought him a cup of hot oolong tea, and then sat opposite from
him.>
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<They both stared out of the window.>
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[You really want my gunk, don't you, baby?"]
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[She didn't need to know the moon was out; she felt it, dark and wet.
She smoked his dick; she always did when she got the chance.]
|
[He stretched out on the leather couch and watched her head to the
restroom.
She didn't shallow this time. If she wanted to live forever, he
thought, he didn't see any reason why she shouldn't get a real chance.
Picking up the phone he called his wife to see what time the play his
seven year old girl was starring in later tonight. She was going to
play the princess.]
|
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<The ground was cold, and some black trees creaked in the wind.>
|
[Breathing through her nose, she opened and closed the door behind her
as her other hand lifted up her dress. She easily positioned herself,
shoulders on cold tiles and her lower trunk resting on the toilet.
With legs and genitalia facing the heavens, the decision was simple,
no one needed to tell her any more---she made it long ago; she spat
the gunk into her hand and began working it into her cunt. The faucet
dripped, spat, spat, and some birds outside the window sang, chirp,
chirp.]
|
|
(Yeah, so what! The country was stripped; it was stripped just the
same but instead of five-hundred trillion more graves, many of them
dying in misery, and, coincidently , many of them looking and acting
like you, there were only about ninety billion more.)
|
|
{It happens, war, blood, and children protecting other people's
children, but some of those children die, all for, so you can live
forever, but that's ok, you deserve to live forever; that's why you
always have more than just one, just in case.}
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<"I love you.">
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(Yeah, ok, so fucking what! No more Hollywood heroes, no more bitches
in a thong, no more spending time in front of a mirror, all telling
you you're special. Don't blame anyone but you and your little selves
you all not living as long as you thought you would. Nothing gets in
the way of that, not good, not bad, it happens all by itself, ugly as
it sometimes is.)
|
:: Q: Where is your mind?
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|________
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|
#. . .copper, fire, sky. . .# |
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|
________|
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:: A: Yesterday, I was staring at the wall when I thought about how
man has created a purpose for himself as the provisions from hunters
and gatherers have grown larger. And like, I think their purpose is
not the one they created for themselves but to stuff and fuck.::
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:: Q: Stuff and fuck?::
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|
:: A: Yeah, you know, the things people do so they can eat so they can
have an opportunity to live forever. They eat so they can get a chance
to fuck and, if they fuck right, they then can get to live forever, or
something like that, which isn't as cool as building 300 kilometre AI
spacecraft.::
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:: Q: A hundred mile AI spacecraft?::
|
|
:: A: Yeah it would need heavy duty propulsion to escape all the
gravity field's of black holes, galaxies, and other cool stuff.::
:: Q: Who is going to build it?
:: A: People, silly; when they get their heads out of their asses, and
figure out their not going to live forever no matter how many
different
people they fuck, who they fuck, or how many times they fuck, but
that's only pertaining to some, for most, they didn't fuck when they
got the chance, or at least didn't fuck right. What else could they do
but build the AI spacecraft. But lately, and don't tell nobody, but
have you heard what I have been hearing, some people would rather put
up elaborate tombstones over their graves telling the rest of us till
clinging, how special they were, or still(in one of their children')
are if they fucked right.'::
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:: Q: Did you really kill her.::
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|
:: A: Maybe, maybe I didn't.::
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:: Q: They say she was pregnant.::
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|
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{Maybe it'll come to surprise you one day, those dead children will be
valued more than your children---poops, a mistake, your children,
that's wrong how could they be your children when their really you,
mind control or something I guess, but its just the same to suit your
purposes that we don't say their really you, only that their your
children,' fair enough I guess, it'll be our little secret: their not
really you, the stork really brought them from a special place and
you're just doing a community service---and maybe all war and all
death wasn't all about securing your freedom, or your fate to live
forever so you can perfect you and your little selves, nice and comfy,
forever.}
|
|
:: A: I knew that.::
:: Q: They say it was yours.::
:: A: Yup!.::
:: Q: Are you some sort of psychopath? Seems like you
should be locked up somewhere. You just want to destroy
the world.::
|
|
[Suddenly then, she gasped, the world stopping, allowing thoughts of
her grandfather and his third wife to surface; she bucked once or
twice, and then moaned." The decision had been truly simple---she was
going to live forever, and, by Jove, she would, the center will never
shift, not away from 65170 99742 18653, not away from here.]
|
|
:: A: Boss, relax, take a chill pill, better yet smoke my
blunt. People die all by themselves, civilizations die
all by themselves, and maybe the world will die all by
itself---I wouldn't bet against it. It would be so much
easier to kill myself than the world, don't you think,
especially when everything, including me, my crooked teeth,
and my ulcer, is dying anyway, and why would anyone want to get
in the way of that, much less accelerate it? I'm just another dude
with a load of gunk and one hell of an original idea,
AI SPACECRAFT, period.::
|
:: Q: I hear you like burnt black toast with your black/green tea?::
:: A: Ok, yeah!.::
:: Q: Last question, people don't like you. Why?
:: A: Well, can't say I blame them, they have every right
to live forever. I sure someone will be their to applauded them
in the end. To answer your question more specifically I guess they
hate me because I'm telling them there not going to live forever, or
maybe
they don't deserve to live forever, or something like that, and why
should something that isn't going to live forever, or deserve to live
forever waste the worlds recourses. The black patch finds it
perplexing. Anyway, tell them I'll be out of their way, soon, I plan
on dying once.
Sorry you, I won't be their to congratulate you in the end but I'm
sure someone will.::
|
|
|
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<"I love you too.">
|
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Shah untwisted the green stick, and said to the approaching foreign
body, "You want to go further."
"So he found her love for him not strong enough, and although she
would have disagreed if still in his arms she wasn't anymore, for
she was in the arms of someone stronger. Or, was it, years later, when
he grew stronger, and crossed to the other side of the mountains, he
discovered a little promise that can never be kept: she said she
didn't want to bring a baby into this world unless it was his, well,
after leaving her alone to go hunt someone close smashed her head in,
raped her, and took her away with the horde to the other side of the
mountain; it appeared later she had no objections to her broken
promise, and not only did she forget her promise she had many more
babies; she even ended up giving her first son a baby girl fifteen
years later," the foreign figure said. "Cine ce pofteste lesne crede."
Old Shah smiled, his single rotting tooth shining in the dim fire
light. Shah picked up a clump of dry grasses and placed it on the
embers. He looked up expecting to see the stranger's face but there
was only darkness. He returned his gaze to the small fire and watched
as the fire began to die and ghosts came closer.
"A point is not on your twisted stick, old man" the thin figure said.
"You hide it. Her love was strong, she just never loved him."
Shah paused and thought for a moment. He was listening to the creaking
sounds coming from the mountain.
"I still dream the day the boy returned to his village defeated, and
soon after his return home," old Shah replied, "when everything
returned to normal, or so it first seemed, the clouds started to go
away,
the grass hopper began to disappeared, and all began to slowly
changed."
The foreign figure bent itself into a strange shape upon the black
ash.
Shah put the green stick on his lap, and spoke of the boy's return and
his future meeting with the witch doctor Bjal.
The witch doctor peered from the village's periphery, and saw the boy
speaking to an old woman. She was barking her council as usual. He was
sad and broken. There was no need for ceremony or explanation---some
men were stronger than other, some men were smarter than other, and
life goes to those
who are stronger; the center never changes but makes those stronger
stronger, but the old incontinent hag was barking her usually stuff,
something about love, strength, truth, and justice. She paused to
catch her breath, and then looked around. Nobody was around except old
blind Caqwa.
She touched his arm and motioned to the hut but the boy shook his
head.
She uttered a curse, and then stomped off.
Four moons passed, and the land became covered with yellow snow.
The boy watched as black smoke rose from the isolated tent. His
stomach rumbled.
Eighteen days ago, he was sent away from the village to go hunt, just
like all the others, one at a time, and never in groups. Old Pachu
surrounded with some of his wives, a couple of them smacking on
tender meat, their little children playing right beside their feet,
told him not to return without game. The old man also told him
cryptically "the center does not change; we will take our chances the
rains come after winter," and though the boy didn't understand him at
the time, he would, and, ten moons later, they would find out for
themselves otherwise centers shift all the time, all by themselves
too, and, sometimes, with dark skies and no light, they even
disappear, all by themselves. He bowed his head and headed
towards the exit. Life, a matter of waiting, maybe only a matter of
knowing where to waste an only chance, he mused as he exited the hut,
cold air again touching his skin. Hunting was a matter of place, time,
and chance he knew but still he was a little afraid to leave since he
had no bait and all of
the others before him never came back. He chose not ignore his memory,
for those stories old men told did change, they change as often as
every couple of days, and, plus, the meat tasted funny, and, double
plus, he remembered all of the boys before him, and he could never
believe they would fall and fail to return unless by treacherous
means. He took as much as old Pachu would give him; he placed the
hardtack, just enough for an eighth of a moon, some twine, and a
knife, into a leather sack. Later that night, he left. Party music and
women's laughter were still heard coming from Pachu's hut as the boy
against all advice to stay within range of the center climbed a hill,
village in back, smoke rising from several huts, and continued towards
the double green mountains. He would waste his chance there.
"They climb perpendicular," a voice came from behind the boy. "Don't
tu
n around."
The witch doctor slowly withdrew the knife from the boy's neck.
"So Pachu and his buddies sent you away to go hunt, but you were smart
I
see, they just needed enough to get through the winter but didn't have
enough for all, especially for those removed and distant from the
center, and if you stayed within range, maybe they'd put you to good
use
before they used one of the little ones. But I don't see why you came
here, you just could have stole one of Pachu's childen to eat and
dry---they do it all the time when its really bad, at least Pachu's
older wives do when the younger wives are sleeping, a young child
mysteriously dies during the night, and a couple of days later, tender
meat---and take your chances at the western shore, where blue water
crashes white, and some see strange white objects on the horizon."
The boy heard gravel laughter, then a long pause.
"So they told you the same thing, they will protect the center while
you go hunt, gather, or fight, more or less, for they deserve to live
a little bit more than you."
"Who are you," the boy asked.
"Bjal."
They both stared at the perpendicular mountains.
"Don't put too much in promises, they break; they'll break just like
her
after her third cock."
The boy turned and attacked Bjal but Bjal easily repulsed the attack.
With Bjal's blade inches away from the boy's neck, Bjal said, "flesh
and promises break! Don't you ever forget that." He thought about
killing the boy because he did need meat but instead withdrew the
knife a bit, he could always take one of Pachu's children, the ones
who weren't as close to the center as they sometimes believed because
of being born too late, and besides, they tasted better anyway."
"You want to live forever, boy?"
He waited for a response, there was none. A distant crashing sound was
heard, another rock slide, then timber was heard breaking.
"What cheek shall it be? Her word, her promise, her love, the
future is not hers to give, boy. And you too may find out right
before you die it's not all yours to give either. Flesh breaks, ugly."
The boy's body twisted, and then he fainted and collapsed.
The boy was snapped to and fro, one second, below strange clouds, and
thinking about her and wanting to live forever, and the next, buried
deep in cold dirt, and winding up dead just like grandpa's second
wife, the old and incontinent bitch Uzyil. Strange symbols then
appeared,
some breaking apart, and other uniting. He suddenly felt he was
drowning, like being pulled away from her that cold day. He fought; he
wanted to live
but not having a reason to, she wasn't there anymore; he begin to give
up, it didn't matter anymore, he'd rather die there, deep and hidden
in black water.
Bjal knelt and repositioned the boy's head so he could breath.
Night fell, and the boy opened his eyes. "Bjal?"
"Yes!"
"I want to live for as long as I can but I don't want to live without
her."
Bjal felt the blade of his knife. He thought of his experiments, his
observations. He imagined the boy returning to his village, close to
the center, yet not as close as others there, not as close as other in
distant lands, and forgetting about the girl, not because of blows but
because of time and wet urges; he would find another, even if it was
one of the old hags with a couple of Pachu's children, all close to
the center and yet not close enough to profit; he would just pretend
they were his. The blade twisted and its point butted against bone. If
the boy can't live with what I'm telling him, he'll forget, go on to
fuck, and if he fucks right, he'll live forever, but if he fucks
wrong, or doesn't fuck at all, then most likely he'll kill himself, if
not the baby, or someone else's baby/child though murder or treachery,
itself, Bjal thought.
"Forget her, she has forgotten you, a couple of blows to the head have
a way of doing that to a person no matter how strong their intent."
"She said she would love me forever."
"It's not her love to give, not then, not now, not a thousand years
from now."
The boys turned his head and stared at the fire; strange figures
danced to and fro. He tried to form a picture of her in his head; he
couldn't, too much time had passed.
"It's not her fault."
Bjal stared at the boy. "You're right, it's not. It's not your fault
either, the centers here, on the other side of the mountain, or in
distant lands, are still too strong."
They were both silent, and high above, from the pentad mountains,
creaking sounds of black trees were heard.
"The old men at the village told me flesh doesn't break. They told me
they and their grandchildren were proof of it; flesh only grows
stronger; and death only comes to those who deserve it."
"That's what all the others said too before I paid them a visit," Bjal
abruptly said smiling but then his smile turned into a frown, those
days were over, "centers change, flesh breaks, and all by itself too;
if anyone tell you they never do, don't worry, it's a lie, and they
all won't survive long after you die anyway, huddled there close,
pretending like their safe and expecting to live forever, while trying
to forget all those who have already died, black and ugly."
"How do you know all this?"
"Symbols, symbols higher than pictographs, symbols higher than the
mountains."
"Tell me how to use these strange symbols, Bjal."
Bjal remained quiet. The boy wasn't ready yet, he probably couldn't
handle it, few people could, Bjal mused. "Instead, for now,
let me tell you other things."
The night passed. Grey smoke rose above the yellow horizon as the two
of three suns rose, one dimmer and further back than the other, and
shouts were heard coming from the tent.
"I want to burn the village down, and destroy their precious pantry
they think they don't need to live forever. And when I'm through I'll
cross the mountains and burn, poison, and strangle everything I find
there, including her, including all of her babies."
Bjal bowed his head to keep his smile away from the boy's notice.
He was trying to remember how many small villages he destroyed in the
stealth of night when he was younger and physically stronger than any
of his peers---180,293, maybe 190,000. He learned how to make and
preserve fire for long period of the day in leaves wrapped around
certain dried trigs and grasses. He would go when the wind was
blowing. Their would always be one
person guarding the pantry at night, and nothing like the armies old
women told their children were protecting them, and their right to
live forever. They need just wait and the battle would come to them,
no need for journeys to the dead steppes of blue mountains, no need
for trips to dead cities in deserts, or no need to leave the cozy and
walled
center. He would first sever their voice from their body and mind.
When they knew they couldn't call for help, they attacked. He would
twist them around and then sever their spinal cord, separating mind
from body. He would watch their eyes dart and their mouths move for a
while---a useless mind with a body, and still a useless mind without a
body. He would then pat them on the head and say, don't take it too
personal, you're just dying before I do. After the fire, yells, and
screams, a centered just shifted somewhere else. I just watch centers
shift all by themselves now because of no food in the pantry to begin
with, hunters and gatherers knowing that first before the rest of us,
not to mention my age thirty, he thought as he looked at the boy.
"Just for fun I guess you can destroy only two but you can't destroy
them all. They might serve a greater purpose yet than just to further
flesh deeper into cozy centers, and besides, we need to get our meat
from somewhere when the ground is colder and barren."
The boy, ten moons later and his curly hair twisting in the wind,
stared at his small village. He saw the old incontinent bitch yelling
at one of her grandchildren to pick something off the ground. The
child picked it up, walked some distance, and set it down somewhere
else on the ground. She then ran to the old woman, and the old hag
picked the child up and hugged her. He watched other things for a
couple of hours before he left as the sun third sun set. His village
was farther removed from the center than he previously remembered. It
was slowly dying, and any day now it would disappear all together, and
there was nothing he could do about it but stay there and make matters
worse. He would give them a chance, which was more than they gave him,
even if it was slim to none the rain will come, and bring the Jhaila's
migration route again this way.
Still later, two moons, Bjal taught him how to cross the mountains.
The boy memorized all secret passes, all the escape routes, all the
tunnels and caverns, and all the ways to destroy man or god who
trespassed. So when the ground was no longer cold, and he buried old
Bjal into the ground after
chance turned and he was killed by over three thousand angry
villagers---they surrounded him as his was studying a new plant on the
western side of the land; they accused him of preventing the rain from
coming; they accused him of eating all of their children; he tried to
defend himself, but they wouldn't listen, the meat that mysteriously
appeared when some children disappeared was from the gods; so, they
attacked, and Bjal put half of them down easily, and would of put them
all down but as he was going to kill another dozen, the mountain shook
and sloped, and his footing gave way; the villagers were only able
then to overcome him; after, they all cheered, hands raised, yelling
and whooping, but not for very long, it still didn't rain, and the
gifts from the gods, meat, were only getting tougher, so they too
eventually meet Bjal fate but anti-climax with a stretching of the
truth---he crossed the blue mountains.
When he got to the place on the other side of the mountain he like it;
he forgot all about her, plus, he forgot all about the steppe, plus,
he forgot about Bjal, for, there were so many more women than men---a
large army was sent to a distant place for battle and to relieve the
center, at the same time, only coincidence the King said, and not
one-tenth of them returned; the ones that did return were surprised to
find out they were already fathers though the children didn't exactly
look like them they at least looked like their mothers. He almost
forgot himself there, fucking all those women, getting drunk and
listening to their plans---house, career, thoughts, and, of course,
living forever; if they wanted to live forever he didn't see why they
shouldn't get a chance. So he fucked them, sometimes drunk, sometimes
sober, but he fucked them all good; he would let them raise their
little selves to grow up strong and perfect, and maybe, they'll inch
their way closer to the center as time passes on, and on.
Then, it happen all by itself, volcano Kzaqual erupted and blanketed
the city with black ash. He was away when it happened. When he
returned a day later there was only ash and hot steam, and, there,
amongst black ash, with no sun, he remembered Bjal telling him years
ago, centers shift, and flesh breaks, if you live long enough you'll
see that. The
dude was right, even while still in the grave, the black aftermath was
the proof.
He sat underneath one of the black trees covered with ash, and
remembered the day, cool and breezy, when they accidentally bumped
into each other at the university; she didn't recognize him, he even
thought at the moment she turned her head away from him. He wanted to
say something but he didn't know how she felt. And so he didn't say a
word, and neither did she, they both continued in separate directions,
one towards the center, or at least close to it, with her capture, and
the other somewhere far and distant alone.
The sky and ground were covered with black ash; all was dead. When it
cleared up fourteen moons later, and after he gave up hoping she
survived, and would appear to be with him, he would respect her choice
nonetheless, alive or in death, metal towers blasted into the air,
metal horses galloped, strange lights reared the darkness and distant
stars away, and a big pink Taco Cabana sign loomed high and strong in
the black sky.
He looked around; so maybe this wasn't the steppe, he thought as he
headed towards the pink building.
He ordered a beef taco and a cold Tecate. He didn't have any money so
he told them he'd be right back; when he returned the order was ready;
he just picked up the tray from the counter and headed towards the
door. At least he didn't have to steal anymore more of Pachu's babies
like in the
good-o-days with Bjal, he thought, just a dine-and-dash now-and-then
when times got really tough. Maybe he won't live forever like all of
those people crowding close to the center, and maybe it was harmless
letting them pretend, he thought, but maybe he didn't need to do
either to live forever, he was
going to decipher those strange figures Bjal claimed to have
deciphered but to scared to reveal, flesh wasn't ready yet, something
about a copper vessel, fire, and the sky, or something like that, and
write about them far and wide, damn the council of that old
incontinent bitch.
As he was walking, out the door, his attention was focusing on someone
entering, he looked kinda like Bjal.
"Hey Bjal! Is that you?"
The figure looked at the boy and smiled.
Shah threw some grasses and dust on the cold embers; there was nothing
at
first, but, after a minute, smoke slowly rose, and then purple fire.
Shah
looked at the strange figure, no face and still ash black.
"There is still one point yet not touched old man."
Shah threw the green twisted stick into the flames. All was quiet,
snap, crackle, pop. "I know."
The figure was expecting the old man to look up at into the sky but
instead the old man looked into the fire.
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|________________________
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|_______________________
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|He wanted to return to the time when he thought she
liked him but to return would be too much now, maybe
she never liked him the way he had hoped.| |
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_________
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.