avid collector of objets d’artand, unless eclecticism is a specialty uniquely to itself, V had no especial field of interest other than her splendid collection of erotic artifacts that she had gathered at one time or another, one place or another. “Something from just about every period in art history——nay, Human history,” V assured doubters in what must have been a case of inflated exaggeration, a little white lie with shades of gray. “I do not lie——I hyperbolate!”Easy to mistake the difference.
“The Queen City Art Museum refused my donation. For free! For fucking free! No interest in the history of sex toys dating back to the Roman Empire, maybe one or two of them were up an Emperor’s ass. Imagine that? Back before that cult of one-godders brought down the Roman Empire. Shows what they knew.”
“Who knew? The Romans or the one-godders?” Lily asked with no real interest.
“I don’t remember.”
“Get out the bong and take a few good tokes, V. You’ll feel better in no time.”
“Suppose I do not want to feel better?”
“Hmm. I think there’s some kind of existential thing going on here, V.”
As regards the subject of Art, V’s only requisite was that she be “moved" by it and would continue being moved long after she brought her precious piece of Art home; provided the price was right. What more should one ask of Art?
V holds strong opinions, not only about Art, but pretty much about everything. She is careful about what she puts into her brain. For example: V reads only books considered intellectual, some of which she had no idea what she was reading, but she knew that one day the wisdom contained in those books would surface with clarity, engendering a positive shift in her point of view. She could not say how she knew she knew, though she knew with unwavering certitude that she simply knew, period. Ergo, damn the empirical. Full speed ahead!
“A matter of maturation and saturation, Lily.”
“Really?”
“I don’t know. Who wants reality anymore anyway? Do you really want what’s outside that window——needs cleaning by the way. Do you really want what is out there?” V asked with all sincerity. By the by, the next day V might extoll, with all the same sincerity again, an opposing point of view.
“It sucks, V, but you can’t remain inside forever.”
Easygoing Lily prefers listening while leaving V to do pretty much all the talking. Lily did not want to interrupt and spoil the elation V enjoys from hearing the sound of her own whisky voice.
Lily shares many of V’s qualities, although Lily is more relaxed, more confident, and not bipolar. Lily does suffer a fear of death, but only for short durations and they are always from the same source; just before her entrance——stage right, left, or upstage——when she’s certain that she has forgotten every one of her lines, when she wants to run, when her heart gets stuck in her throat; yet, she goes on without missing a beat, without dropping a word; reborn onstage and with an audience.
The long list of characters that Lily had performed, were all prequel to her arrival in Queen City. Since then, little of note.
THREE
jesus and the devil walk into a bar
What in blue blazes are you doing Maxfield the future is out of sync you were warned about folding spacetime with dough gum I know you know I just thought if I tried new things untested things to save the planet it’s too late you don’t listen you don’t use your best judgement too many bad choices how do you plan to correct this mess I don’t stop messing with universal spacetime I’m sorry but no but you’ve been messing around for centuries what will help what to do you tell me nope it’s up to you don’t freeze going numb afraid don’t go back to Sphincter Island I don’t want are you crazy the cockpions nope I don’t go back there but you do you go there in your dreams and every time you do you’re messing with the universe kahbluey off-kilter off-balance put an end to it or create your own my own alternate universe can I do that WAKE UP.
* * *
One of the Colfax Avenue hookers, the one they call Paradise, the two-hundred pound black woman wearing a stringy blue and red wig, two gold front teeth, the funny one, the jokester, the good-natured, the notorious one who wears the same tight black faux leather halter that squeezed her tits so tightly together they became a yin-yang symbol, not an easy feat for sure, causing them to appear ludicrously erotic, a bit disturbing, held in with just enough black faux leather not to be arrested for doing what Paradise knew instinctively to do; to have and to give sweet diversions and one helluva time!
Paradise levitated over the bystanders. She wore her usual black faux-leather cummerbund——to match her halter——that barely covered her hoo-hah. Spandex carefully sewn on the back of the cummerbund to accommodate the girth of Paradise provided ample stretching room. Her hot pink rubber flip-flops with multi-colored sequins, meticulously applied by Paradise one sequin at a time, covered every exposed nano-inch of her flip-flops, reflecting the sun around where Paradise stood on the air above anyone’s reach.
“I am beautiful!” Paradise declared as she removed her wig and tossed it to a lucky member of her audience. Her audience, a collection of Colfax regulars, fell to its knees. Except for a few who tried to take selfies with her in the background, but they were out of luck in the light of the blinding sun. “I am beautiful! I am the Black Madonna!” Paradise rose higher.
Her audience shouted, “You are beautiful! You are the Black Madonna!”
Paradise kicked her flip-flops off into waiting hands.
“You are beautiful,” the crowd chanted.
Paradise removed her cummerbund and let it drop into eager arms. Two-hundred pounds of naked Paradise undulated with amazing grace upon the air. She raised her arms and slowly danced her dance of Salome on the corner of Uinta and Colfax. Cars parked in the middle of the street. Folks stood on the car roofs to get a closer look as everyone for blocks watched Paradise levitate higher and higher above the street, out of reach, over the traffic lights. Her hands and arms swayed to unheard music. The faster Paradise moved her loving arms to the Music of the Spheres the higher she rose over Colfax Avenue and the louder the crowd cheered. They succumbedto the pleasure ofthe Black Madonna’s enchantment as she spread her come-hither arms, smiled with two gold front teeth sparkling, turned and danced the light fantastic into the sun; challenging science and mystifying religious leaders and their flocks; the Black Madonna of Colfax Avenue.
As one student astronomer from Queen City University explained it, “The phenomenon is caused by the gravitational effect of something huge. Maybe gravitational waves, or perhaps global warming has reached its point of hopelessness; or maybe something from outer space is coming! It’s coming for you! Ha, ha, ha! Damn it, Janet! Just joking.” No one thought him humorous, nor particularly informative.
The entire touring company of Cats, currently running in Queen City for the umpteenth time, fell victim to spontaneous laryngitis; consequently, the actors gave an exemplary performance in mime. The electricity of the audience sparkled. The audience was seduced by it. Something new. Something happened. Something they’d never seen before. Even those who didn’t love it, were amazed. Tremendous applause broke the evening’s silence. In unison, the entire audience rose to their feet and gave bravos to the “...a stunning new re-interpretation of a tired thingy...theatre is born again!”
As
