1000 Days of Theory: td038
Date Published: 4/12/2006
Arthur and Marilouise Kroker, Editors
His head was between her legs, something like a flowerbud
between thighs of scissors. A phone was ringing. Indeed, her thighs
were steel-edged, his tongue edgy with blood. Taste of iron petals.
But a phone was ringing.
His stock broker --
She: in the midnight hours?
He: lips, he said.
Karl Marx: "All of our inventions and progress seem to result
in endowing material forces with intellectual life, and stultifying
human life into a material force."
so a metal fish in ravenous hours of water San Diego Fwy south 1:30 a.m.
Jaguar curves down Mission Bay into Baja Peninsula awake and alone red
electric shark among night surge of ferrous feeders one among many
65mph his penis between tides of thighs in the black seat no radio no CD
trance of oceanic silence neon streakt highspeed submarine chrome fins
blood leaks from the BMW ahead squid propel with oily tentacles octopi
drill glasseye into drivers brain anemones cling to roadside, gas
stations bars cafes suck in soft bodies from crackt shells clutch
the lethal wheel between hands of water
his father before him his father before him. the Baja coast, eden:
surf fish abalone perfect sand. live lobsters in a bucket 50 cents each.
before the highway unrolled a long desperate tongue from TJ to La Paz.
shacks visible from 2 lane road, colonias locas rigged with rusty bedsprings
truckdoors appliance crates, cardboard and wind. brown butt kids no
diapers no underwear, barefoot kids running goats sheep over rocky
pastures, squirting warm milk into glass jars. below Rosarito Café Lupe
the old couple kills a chicken when you arrive. outside at rickety tables
cerveza and 7Up, the old womans flapping apron scares up a bird her
husband grabs, hold the head on a stump, one whack of a small ax. the
headless beast rums around and around in terrible circles until it grows
tired seeking the old life in such a strange world. all blood spurted out,
pluckt chopped tossed in sizzling lard skillet, this happened in the kitchen,
woodstove, handmade tortillas. you were served tacos with your own personal
chicken. he died for our sins. green hills undulate to the sea, lunar
beaches, tidepools of the beginning. when the new highway reached kilometro
50 they were gone. Via Dolares sweeps by leaves all erased in gringo dust
cross the border like any American. better. wave at the Mexican guard.
como vas? salud, jefe! they know his face. almost 7 years San Diego based
software setup any service any business anyway SMALL TECHNICALITIES, Inc.
in fact no questions asked.
over the border it is still America. turistas,
Revolucion, highschool boys wetdream tequila blackout chewinggum
putas on every corner age 9 lose yr virginity on a 43 year old bruja roll
down barrio ditch into wet mossbed rank with trash and bottles sleep 5 hours
and awake a virgin, all over and over again. the only sex stink of slimey
green and Dos Equis, because he remembered nothing. beyond the official
line it was still America until the south south south road turns into
another dimension. diagonal into el otro pais. sudden cessation of masks and
neon cocktails. the relentless children sleep 4,5 to a bed, the relentless
night dreams one moon. in the darker suburbs taxis cruise without lights
y las patrullos vienen solo por la muerte, buying or selling. when he
crosses this border his sex changes. one white fish in an ocean of brown
flesh. always the bones loosen, chest belly anus are vulnerable. cinderblock
nations crawl over maps of his body like cockroaches. he became a woman,
haunted by surrender.
in this dark he drove by smell. arc slowly west
as if downward to the sea. metallic and cool hunger remember salt air
is blood. shark sensation, he'd been here before. global buyers, arms
deals mercenary arrangements, private club on the alta playa, utilities
bounties girls. more sinister than the border he passed through 1,2,3
guarded gates the drive curved finally to the entrance of the surreal
palacio. a boy took his Jag and he walked into the Life. patio mosaics
bougainvillea geranium pink arcades of stone scalloping a central
fountain, which was lit like a holy person from inside. the music of rich
voices the rich music of voices a ballroom 12 piece band, a few dance,
young men amusing wives and daughters of others. around the walls in
suits of power los patrones deal. everyone looks good in the glow of
he finds a table spread with liquor bottles, punch, condiments,
glass, ice. a Sonoran mosca mixes drinks drops in mint and lemon with
suggestive brown fingers. the godfather is the pope bent over, gaze
into a dark mirror of reversals. so his face is the good blond country,
innocence by default. he turns around to be introduced, the known voice
of Lopez, Tijuana rug merchant, or friend of his father Verrano border
realestate of the old days. here we are again, when green hills rolled to
the sea etcetera. tidepools thick with exotic creatures. Verranos hands
fanned wide. we're still here, guero! Lopez flashed gold but his eyes
always swam as prey. the woman moved in on him, someones deal closer.
a tall gringa, 40 plus too tan too flaca, she maneuvered him around the
room kalaidescope of glistening fed flesh, naming names he didnt need
to know, her cigarette and highball smoking in one hand.
then a famous name, a stunning mezcla, her american father
nearby. the gringa leaned into him, selling or buying, and the daughter
who is Sylvia, smiles. old news photos of electric prods running shoes
burning tires the Zombi chases nubile blonde thru black trash alleys
she escapes, good footware. Tonton Macoute. el padre gets in his life the
result of what he creates with 'only images.' this midnite flower, born
to love/power. her Brazilian soapopera mother dies in a fiery planecrash
on location in Venezuela, nasty divorce or narcotraffic, some C. American
druglord/politico pissed with failed PR campaign. caught on film, the
stars explosion backgrounds sad/romantic funeral sequence. the
daughter had her mothers dark gold looks but taller, smarter.
introductory words a cleancut opportunistic allAmerican boy, and now
they are joking about voodoo dolls
this is true says Sylvia. baseballs and Cabbage Dolls both made in
Haiti $2.50 day wages 60,000 workers. and their little cachuchas!
exploited or saved? you tell me. they love America
i could sell 60,000 hackers
such people hack with machetes. we not only clean yr toiletbowl we make
yr toiletpaper. and yr douche spray. and yr vibrating finger up yr ass.
we know you so well. we watch you on tv
she could deliver serious news on Telemundo. warm hands slid another
cold drink in his hands. he described his operations, chaos control
keeping the lid on Disaster apocalypse systems plagues riots freetradezones
e-coli world melons workers squat shitting in fields no facilities genetic
damage engineered health clusters organmarkets shift via liberal birth
spacing anorexia Ebola child dictatorships. your hard problem our
soft solution. SMALL TECHNICALITIES. need my company.
well, a man glanced one glass eye. i hope you are in good company.
small is beautiful. bueno, si. as for me I want only one big thing said
Sylvia. there was a flash of light, many teeth glasses raised among
glittering thoughts and her swimming shoulders.
then lights and
music dim, a hush of oxygen. all turn and Sylvia expresses everyone
in one sigh. on a dais in the middle of the room a long lavish blonde lay
nude her creamy arms flung above her head, thick yellow waves of hair
wild growth the nausea of tendrils overflowing the deeply red plush
chaise longue. either side, 2 naked brown children ages 4-5 one boy one
girl each clutched one full breast in small hands, they kneeled sucking
as if milk did come from their golden mother. her eyes half closed her
body carelessly tossed with a kind of fishnet now you see erotically
everything now you dont as she shifts a massive thigh and pelvis, between
her legs a youth, slim and dark, short hair, bare chest, tight beach trunks,
wrists cuffed held behind his back by a very heavy pockmarked policia
tan shirt pants gunbelt, 2 others move to pull her thighs wide open
the boys face shoved down into the wet gold cunt, stink of games and
hunger Eat, hijo! la comes! may all enjoy!
el mundo consumes 75 million barrels of oil daily. how much cunt,
vato? how much tuna!
jefe from behind squeezed his shoulder. one glass eye man it seemed
was Lopez' brother
pues, these ninos perform well, buen faena. we send them home
with bellies. esta muy simpatico, hombre.
some hallucinogen dropped in his drink, magic in the club water. the
dais seemed slowloy turning, then his cellphone rang he turned around like
a dog inside his brain but couldnt find the answer. Sylvia stood before
him, sudden extension of the dizzy tableau. Can you feel the pulse of the
world, she murmured, more than drunk, close, her breasts and thighs moved
against him. Life is good, huero guero. babies born blind still smile. babies
born deaf, they laugh! she didnt miss a beat. a drink in each hand, she
kissed and licked his cheeks, one side the other, lipstick or blood. he took
his glass then free arms wrapped around each other warmly they seemed
to dance. she was almost as tall as he, he could hear the seas voice in
the whorls of her ear
you know the Georgian mother, Russian I mean. yes, he knew of it.
when she went to the hotel with her 8 year old daughter, so poor so crazy
with poverty! the bathtub was already packed with ice. she sold the
girl alive, to 2 men. immediately they took la mozuela into the bathroom,
slit her throat, extracted the organs right there, fresh. she paused to
kiss him deeply on the lips. but think! certainly the buyer from the
Caucasus mountains, the Caucasian gentleman that is, he paid for a
childs organs, no? child size! surely they were meant for his own child?
a beloved son or daughter, o nieto. in the end, an act of love, yes? we must
consider the whole picture, el globo. todo el mundo, siempre. her face
nuzzled into his neck she hummed
all horror as a form of love, he considered
the reverse was certainly true
then her eyes open glistening, acts of discovery.
but as we've just seen, el pobre y la rubia, it is eating itself that is
awful, don't you think? her white teeth unbelievably neat. el sexo is so
innocent and sharing. but to eat, we are among the beasts, carnivores.
i'm hungry he said, nibbling on her lobe.
eating is cannibalism
to the side of the room, slanted like dos borrachos, long tables platters
dishes bowls half replenished with fresh items half plundered by the
feast. guests stood around still talking, snacking, some chewed on the
genitals of adolescent girls, filleted, human fingers they were gnawing
the joints pickled and anonymous. there were ears boys testicles
nipples an international variety of dips and sauces. 2 plates napkins
forks she turns from the extravaganza she offers on a cracker between
her fingers aimed seductively at his mouth what looks like newborn
vulva, the labia spread with bluish cr¸me paste
pate of baby girl eyeballs $2000 for brown $2500 for the rarer blue
blue like his
she leans forward flicks her shining lizard tongue into his mouth
your own personal taco
he would recross the border at dawn before that time
unwind the road out of a dream, the chemical night. always it had
flowed in one direction a gradient FULL to EMPTY dependable as money but
now at the end the flow reversed, mysterious Alive a periodic slimemold.
return to America as if a tsunami followed him, loomed up inside his
rearview mirror of Visions.
he knows he will awake one day find everything being removed in
bodybags. or there is no direction in the sea
because isnt this what it wants, to drown dissolve itself in the instant
ocean. immune boundaries permeate and destroy once and for all, DESIRE,
the plasm of One. the tube film neon eyes boombox beat it into yr
skin. one among many. torsos flanks gray naked shoulders and brain
revolving slowly northward through watery lanes, 20 100 1000 tides of
8 billion fish flesh needling into some punctured shore or border.
to just rest, surrender name identity account into the spreading stain
of the world. inside beyond a luxury to lie back become amoeba all over
the magnified body with no face. Tijuana and dawn. going north was not
going home. he was a spine inside a sea of evolving objects of dreams
but who had known there would be so much acute flesh. bones like knives
stuck out of doorways, ribs elbows pelvic shivs of revengeful hunger
bellies not soft, voluptuous, they were murderous. a conscious shark in the
thick sea. so many nostrils gullets anuses body holes without distinction
sex dinner and murder as the same act. where you cross the borders of
Distance, where bodies go in and out of each other
that all civilizations are only different positions in the sexual act
of one giant melticellular organism continuously fucking feeding
reproducing consuming excreting itself. cf that Frenchmans
waste and redundance. the great feast
workers rapists slaves abandoned babies the pope the pentagon the
presidents twat a ring of children dancing in a park who just
so what did they want of him. they would send him to school.
of what. fish?
but can you feel no sorrow for the world
but all this is for the american guest.
his intentions as always are only good
he crosses thresholds to eat, consume hunger. returns followed by
starvation and appetite. export and import. supply and demand. demand
and demand. germs dope seeds women children microcosms sanddollars
biochips electric shoes spleens cameras toxic lotteries mudslides
theres a job, at this party, for a caterer. one who feeds needs to eat
need not be eaten. who did sharks? orcas, the sea itself. nothing small.
his mind enjoyed playing with metaphors but the fact was, glancing at
day coming in the windows, he was young cleareyed useful and very clean
when shaven. corruption in the beholders eye, he could see none. this
is the genius of the american face. you learn in a sea of foreign eyes who
see necessary evil day and night in each other, it is their fact of life.
this ancient scenario was not his. one older brother a San Diego court judge,
sisters married into hotel chains and Hollywood cosmetics. there was
nothing he could not do to achieve more and more then speed away
into the technicolor sunrise. son of gods of good intentions, didnt we
pave all these highways
the border was stuck, both directions
a ricochet zone of uptight fish. for miles and miles into tundra north
down through debris of the Southern Cross, inexorable traffic of workers
and consumers. barely awake, already pissed. agglutinated strangers
waiting for something to move. no frontier at all but a bursting
corridor a rush to the bridal death chamber each wills for the other.
one radio station, bilingual and loud.
yes it is all from Love. murder. merger.
he could not speed forward, or reverse or dream
ooze like sludge into alta california. the pragmatic effects of america.
a rusty lovely pallor of urban morning, some kind of cartoon takes
itself seriously. a skyline with teeth chews up famous names red spit
in asphalt like an accident license plates read DEATH, every combination
of numbers dredged up from the sunken night classic Tacitus, VENALIA
CUNCTA pornographically the billboards are smiling big metal fish eat
little metal fish, factorial wombs on all horizons spawn efficiently more
and more if you slow down the mouth behind engulps you whole and the
mouth behind that is a huge wave full of everything thats been
and the mouth ahead of him and the mouth beyond that
he wondered if he should stare into it or choke or swallow
Barbara Mor, native of southwest American coast & desert (SoCal, AZ, NM). Work in Orpheus Grid, Sulfur, BullHead, Mesechabe, Ms., Trivia (US); Ecorche, Intimacy, Spectacular Diseases (UK). Online: DissidentVoice (6/14/04); Trivia Voices (2/05), CTheory (8/4/05). Author of pagan eco-feminist The Great Cosmic Mother: Rediscovering the Religion of the Earth (HarperSF 1987, 1991). A 4-page excerpt of HERE appears in Against Civilization, edited by John Zerzan (Uncivilized Books, Eugene, OR 1999; Feral House, Los Angeles, CA, 2004).