BG Part II
Anxious about time, I move through the maze like a hunted rabbit, conscious of a presence watching me, perhaps even following me. But then again, a criminal always anticipates getting caught, paranoia poisons the subconscious. Perhaps it isn’t really paranoia but a premonition of my eventual fate.
Climbing up small stone steps I pass a 6-foot-tall Ethiopian black cat carefully adjusting live butterflies on the crown of her head. She grabs the silver pests and runs a crystal needle with platinum thread carefully through the pupa’s heart, sliding one sparkling wing besides another, atop her dome. Large, white wings, hug silver dewdrops, so as they flutter and flap, light bounces around causing a halo effect on the saintly figure. I wished to have a crown like hers, I’d pay anything for it, but I didn’t dare approach the Queen of the Nile.
The Sphinx winks murderous green eyes in the mirror, licking her paws then dipping claws in a jar of fireflies, sprinkling a dozen or more of the lightning bugs atop her tiara. The slaves obey, blinking blue in just the right places. It was all so very enchanting, I was paralyzed stupid.
Mesmerized by the twinkling beasts in the sky, my eyes rise to meet an enormous, glossy ink, ghastly black octopus with a red bottom belly swirling with blue rings, sustaining itself magically upside down, midair. Its opaque black head hangs heavy like an obese belly, a slowly spinning disco ball with hundreds of dark eyeballs blinking, recording, and moving as slow as a blob of molten tar. The water carousel of curling limbs stretched hundreds of never-ending tentacles; blind arms move with a snitches mind, diving into purses, pockets and shopping bags, in and out of every chamber, snooping into every convo, tucked into every corner, monitoring everything.
I run out to the next room. This was much larger and more extravagant; centered by a blinding chandelier composed of dozens of clustered, rose gold starfish, fused into a crest around a huge sea urchin exploding a thousand shiny diamond pricks down the middle of the room, almost touching the floor. The fixture glows in neon toxic waste and if you look closely you can see, moving like tears, a school of crystal seahorses bobbing around the canopy. The sea monsters form a shrine in the sky with jeweled eyes, flashing brighter than Haley’s Comet. No Tiffany chandelier can compare.
A thick, peculiar mist fogs the air. The stench reeks of Eau Du Soir saturated with kitty litter, intensified by the gaging heat. I try to stop one of those penguins with champagne to get me water, but he pretends not to hear me. I try again, no luck. No one bothers to look at me or acknowledge my presence; it’s like I don’t exist. Now I actually feel better about everything, less of an intruder. If they can’t see me, they can’t stop me, right? I can do whatever I like, right? I’m deluded by decadence.
I’m going so fast now my shadow can’t keep up, through corridors and hallways into more opulent imaginings of unbelievable abundance. Two caramel koala bears chug on a magnum bottle of Perrier-Jouet Rose, rolling around the purple grass like peanut butter on jelly.
Menageries of charcoal sheep are huddled in a corner straightening their curly tresses with a clothing iron. Burnt wool smoked the air like a cigar lounge. I can see an assembly line of actions; after straightening their luxurious black fleece with a clothing iron, the sheep would vainly brush their long locks to lullaby counts of one hundred before shearing off their hair by a single electric razor dangling from the ceiling. Then, one of those retched rodents would gather the manes, tie it up into a long ponytail with violet ribbon and sell it off to the bald cats as hair extensions.
All the horrors of consumer fueled capitalism are on display. It’s everything I ever wanted right in front of me. Metallic snake print belts, white and pink ostrich leather bags, real tortoiseshell glasses, ivory bangles and millions of minks and marmosets. I’m surrounded by a jungle of print, python bags, alligator belts, peacock feather earrings, gold cowhide, lion fur, tiger fur and bear fur; oh my! Every animal part was sold piece by piece: feathers, claws, teeth, beaks, bones, skins, fur, even the meat is butchered off by the pound to eat. Such savagery exists only in the confines of far off leather plants, fur farms and forgotten documentaries. Disgraced by mankind and our insatiable greed, I look away to ignore the pain, but shame bites me. Who can protect me of my insatiable desires?
Circus animals tamely obey the humiliating commands by the ruling feline class. Pink and yellow pythons wrap willfully around slim wrists and ankles. Cobras, handled by the street rats, delicately puncture under eye bags with a micro dose of toxic venom that restored a pink, icy puffiness commonly found in children who’ve been playing in the snow all day.
Metallic snakes coil around necks; slimming, suffocating, impossibly stunning. Shiny blue green scorpions hang their deadly tails on earlobes. Elephants with gorgeous caparisons rip off their ivory tusks like split nails to be filed into bangles and baubles.
The wild animals are blindly obedient, as if the snake didn’t know how deadly his bite was, the bear ignorant of his roar, the elephant dumb to his weight, the gator feared his own fight, horses paralyzed, monkeys domesticated, lions doped up. How could they just lay down and die like this? Slaves to luxury, slaves to greed, slaves to the ultimate sins of wealth. The worst sin of all though is cowardice, at least die with dignity. The stupid thing about it all is that they aren’t even chained, no collars or leashes, no handcuffs or locks. They’re far worse off, mentally enslaved. No hope to break brain chains so I don’t bother to help.
I swiftly move to the next mysterious chamber, when something pulls me back. I tug a few times before turning. The inside of my coat is once again caught on golden rose thorns. They won’t let go and I won’t rip my coat. It’s an omen warning me not to continue on but the ardent excitement of extravagance overpowers the obvious. I gently pick the thorns off my coat so as to not rip the leather, pushing farther into the bazaar.
Centered in the latest hall is an exquisitely jeweled fountain of youth; a sight to see, believe me. The 30-foot mountain is adorned in a variety of dark crystals with pink moss fuzzing up the exterior. Adorning the interior are moons of amethyst clusters, azuria, quartz and sacred geodes from infinite planets, sparkling the water into a rainbow of dimensions. Playing in the pool are three, pink granite, naked baby angels, two male and one female, moving in super slow motion as they splash leisurely in a platinum, mercury like reflective ooze. Felines surround the fountain, staring into the water, probably fishing at the huge silver and onyx speckled koi fish swimming at the base, it’s sushi time.
Against my better judgment, I glimpse at my reflection. I see me, but the little girl version of me, only 10 years old, small and innocent, pretty and pure. I smile naively back at she, like a mother to her child. Disgrace replaces any nostalgia and I avert my eyes, ashamed at the monster I’ve become. She could’ve been so much more, so much potential, what have I done to us? She’s gone forever, forget about her.
To the right of me, an elderly cat sits entranced by her youthful demeanor, brimming brighter and more striking than she could ever remember. Adoring her reflection, she slyly grooms herself, licking her wrinkled paws, adjusting her grey whiskers, staring intently at her former glory. After a while of this she goes through her purse and throws a silver coin into the wishing well. One of the male of the baby angels, collects the coin as the baby girl passes the cat a half-ounce vial of forever.
The cat pierces the glass vial with a long silver syringe as professionally as a nurse and stabs the needle through her chest, into her heart. She freezes, moving towards the floor in slow motion like a dope fiend that won’t ever hit the ground.
There are many more creatures and creations in the labyrinth but if I were to name them all there wouldn’t be enough books in the world to contain it. In no way is this the handiwork of the most high, the supreme creator. No, no, it’s too artificial, counterfeit with copycats; the whole animal kingdom is completely out of whack. The food chain is broken, with cats, not lions, at the top of the pyramid. This palace made a mockery of the natural, the pure, the truth. What is truth? Only beauty is truth and truth is beauty, this is all I know.
Contemplating my exit strategy (I was over the whole thing, just count your losses and get the fuck out) something blocks my eyes. A mammoth black squirrel, at least four feet tall, with a huge, bushy, zebra striped tail. He scurries quickly through the commotion with a net full of multicolored, baseball sized bees, tied together in a mesh trap, floating in the air like an angry thundercloud that’s about to explode. The bees buzz left and right, up and down, even lifting the sasquatch off the ground a few times, attempting to break free.
I follow it down a dark corridor, past a room with billions of royal silkworms spinning colorful scarfs, ties, handkerchiefs, camisoles, lingerie and stockings. It rushes down a long tunnel that gradually gets shorter and tighter. My heels made an awkward clamp on the hard stones as I ducked under the four-foot low ceilings, but the squirrel couldn’t hear me because of all the buzz the fat bees made. There’s a faint red light at the end of the tunnel illuminated by a gas lamp over a stone cellar door. The yeti rolls the stone to the left, I swiftly follow the shapeshifting shadows of the walls and slip into the enormous cave before the stone rolls tightly shut. I quickly duck behind one of the giant copper vases’ decorating the chamber.
Crouching uncomfortably in my heels, barely able to breathe in the musty cave, I immediately regret following the stupid beast. How am I going to get out now? I search the concave for an escape, only wide wet stones stack the walls. I can barely breathe; the rank air spreads like a fungus in my lungs. Light spits from a giant fireplace on the wall. Crowning the mantelpiece of the huge 30’ foot oven is a bronze bust of Venus. Her face is fixed in agonizing pain, crying tears of blood like the mourning Virgin Mary. When her crimson tears hit the blaze, mini blue-green explosions crack like fireworks. Her hair is wild and serpent like, kissing the licks of the crimson flames.
Directly in front of the fireplace is a king size, stainless steel bed, hanging off long rusty chains in the center of the dungeon. A naked, pale woman lies face down on the bed. I know sleeping beauty is a woman because she doesn’t have a tail like those monstrous cat things upstairs. Her skin is so light, almost transparent by the flames, reflecting the curves on her nude spine down to her delicate ankles.
On the foot of the bed a gorgeous being accepts the buzzing balloon, that immediately freeze to his touch of the flossy ribbon. He is the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Dark brown hairs curl the back of his thick, long neck. His childlike face is of a young prince with dewy skin and full red lips, but his eyes look aged over 100 years. Cunning blue eyes are veiled behind heavy grey shades of experience; sly eyes that can smile when they are lying, eyes that can cry as they kill, eyes that I feared to ever look into. Long marble limbs tower at 7 feet, chiseled like Zeus, with zero body fat, stark naked with just a gold tortoise shell covering his privates and winged golden sandals wrap his feet. The talaria aren’t Jeremy Scott or Zanotti wings. No, these are palm sized gold feathers, attached at the ankles, swiftly soaring the surgeon two feet above the stone floor.
‘Obliged Imperial Hermes’ said the sasquatch. Aha I was right! He is a Greek god, not Zeus but his son, Hermes. What a world! I’m a secret fan of the divine trickster, not because of the brand, I despise the Birkin. It’s a completely overhyped, Veblen good worn only by divorcees and the nouveau riche. This Hermes is the most clever and mischievous of the Olympian gods. He is the god of wealth, trade and thieves, the guide between the worlds of the visible and the invisible. I try not to worship pagan gods but there’s something so romantic about the literature of the ancient greeks; stories of demons and deities battling constantly over human affection.
I wonder if he’ll help me escape this dungeon like he freed Ares. It’ll come a cost though, one I’m not willing to pay. There was nothing I could do but watch and wait.
Hermes is busy at work with a violet bodied, black striped bee as big as a grapefruit. He stings the girl’s right ass cheek with the bee’s prick, plumping it double in size. He then does the same to the left side, balancing the bubble butt. Hermes moves in striking gestures, applauding himself after every incision, elaborately adjusting the posture of the patient, magically molding her body to faun like dimensions.
A wall to the left of the fireplace slithers with a slick layer of darkness: midnight colored snakes’ braid through the stones on the wall. Hermes carefully picks a turquoise cobra from the snake orgy, whispers something into its mouth and throws the snake midair. The serpent whips itself straight and dives into the blossomed buttocks, mouth wide, venom dripping, fangs shining in the light of fire and sinks into her back crack, melting on her skin transforming into what appears to be a, yes its exactly what I feared, a tail. The makeover continues, with a whisk and a whirl, Hermes easily flips the girl onto her back.
A pretty little magenta nymph with emerald iridescent wings sits cross-legged inside a terracotta bowl filled with clear, veiny, bulging multi colored worms. They look like jelly worm candies, bloated with fat. She grubs them up, one by one, slurping with a detestable sucking sound. Hermes stretches an arm to her; she wavers to share two wigglers. He holds the maggots by their tails as if he’s about to eat them, no he hasn’t the appetite, instead he air kisses the slimes and sits them on the mouth of the young girl. Immediately they get to work and worm their way inside her face, inflating her pucker into a Koons like blowup clown pout.
The diabolical operation continues. Dr. Evil bends down to a floor crowded with snails, leeches, crabs and hundreds of creepy, crawling mollusks. He grips two palm sized, pointy, white conches specked with pink glitter, it’s the Lord of the Flies all over again. Carefully he positions the spires at each temple of the girl, taps their shell twice and the slugs spin quickly, drilling into her skull, parking permanently at her cheekbones. The disfigured doll dies of her old self, rebirthed in the vices of perfection.
Hermes floats over to a water tank filled with glowing neon, lions mane jellyfish. Bulging heads bobble purple and green light in the muddy waters. He carefully selects two double D bells with one hand, moves back to the body, dangles the electric tentacles above the victim’s chest till the jelly legs grab a hold of her nipples, sparking currents all through her rib cage, into her heart. Hermes mumbles some shit in Greek before dropping the electric orbs on her chest. Her body shocks into convulsions, heaving up and down on the verge of breaking every joint in her body as toxins strike lightning through her nerves. She’s foaming at the mouth, weeping and gnashing her teeth, which will probably be replaced by porcelain veneers.
The bouncing blobs merge magically into her chest, swelling her breasts. After a few more shakes, the seizure stops, and a limp tongue falls from the patients mouth. She lays motionless, chest still, heart quiet. No EKG is hooked up, nor any of the machines of modern medicine but she’s presumably dead.
A deafening silence takes over, broken by demonic whisperings. The incessant chatter reverberates everywhere from an unknown source. Though I could not see them I could feel the very breath of their lies on my neck. I turn to see nothing but my thoughts in the dark vault. The atrocious sounds seep from the walls, echoing off the floor. I want to run but I can’t, my legs don’t move, my body is stiff. In fact, nothing moves, the room is frozen. Even Hermes stands staunchly still, idly observing the corpse.
After what seems like hours of tormenting stillness, the patients’ body finally jerks up, her mouth gasps open with a piercing scream, breaking the spell. I fall over on my ass as movement is reintroduced to the ward. She then exhales a long, metallic, hourglass ghost figurine that moves at the command of Hermes’ hypnotic hand. The spirit dances with the psychopomp, twirling at his lead, gliding towards the furnace. She looks back at her lifeless corpse in contempt and reaches around Hermes’ neck, dancing slowly yet.
Two hellish guard dogs made of iron are chained on either side of the furnace. They’re rabid at the disturbance of the intruding silver vapor, howling violent threats. Entranced by the dance, the soul follows Hermes’ lead, spinning, dancing alone as she waltzes towards the flames.
Venus awaken at the commotion; marble moldings come alive, hair hissing in disapproval, thrashing, raging at the atrocious horrors she’s witnessed throughout the ages at the hands of man. The banshees wail attempts to warn the poor soul before it enters the netherworld but it’s too late; like water to a wildfire she is immediately consumed, spirit faintly dancing in the effervescent fire. Venus’ deafening cries don’t quit, tears of boiling blood feed the voracious blaze, tears flooded as if they would put out purgatory’s plasma.
Her terrifying moans shake my core, I thought the entire building was going to collapse. Hermes dismisses the whole thing, cackling at the profound trickery conspired to consume this soul. Yes, he was quite pleased with himself, you could tell by the smile in his eyes.
Acrid fumes of sulfur smoke up the dungeon. The screaming won’t stop. Afraid of what’s to come I panic, turn to run, shattering the vase I was crouched behind with a loud smash, trying to find the passageway back to the place I was before. I thrash at the boulder trying to break free when out of nowhere Hermes appears to the right of me, saying nothing, just eyeing me with those violent lights, turning his head sideways in a state of confusion, or is it curiosity. He then waves the boulder open for me. No time to wonder, what did this freedom just cost me?
I jet through the murky red corridor, consciously not looking back though I feel the demonic chanting biting at my blowing hair. I run faster till my legs are padded by purple grass and my eyes meet the familiarity of the stuck up cats and the sneaky rats. I shove through them begging for a way out without an answer to my pleas. They walk past me like a shadow, unmoved by my fear.
