Drove all night, arrived at dawn… The Hottentot Venus, Saartjie Baartman (Sarah), cool morning dew showers blanket the green growth of yesterdays, tears blur the lines. Will you call me she asked no. Can anything be as painful as the anticipation of loss, old dime store croaker can’t get it up. Tell me something kid, why do you come here looking for? That girl? Old Hottentot, she can’t even hardly see no more. Lost to the generations of distrust by mad captains and sneering children. The rains pours out like tidal waves drowning the oglers and washing the blood from her legs. The sacred feminine alive and well in the technological prison of the 21st century, I tell you kid it was tasty!
If only I could remember the why and the what for, for God’s sake! I mean really what in the Sam Hell is going on here, pinwheel spins out… photo montage spins out… radar blink on the cosmic dial and ole sarg ain’t around no more. The sound of the machete cutting vegetation snaps him back, his nostrils burn with pungent smell of Mayan black earth. Just one shovel full will turn an acre of desert into an oasis they say, he doesn’t believe them of course. His ivory league education let’s him know the score and no ancient savage could have more knowledge than a real white red-blooded American scientist. Thwack the machete hits bone! What on earth are you doing?!? One of the negro bearers falls to the jungle floor grasping a gaping wound on his calf, the locals don’t like me he thinks and this damn sure won’t help. Oh well he sighs and moves on.
The coffee’s cold in the Disneyland cup, one last swig and it is gone, morning is always the worst. The day breaks like eggs in a skillet, shell fragments along the edge… careless. Each day we are born again and what we do now is who we are, some old sage wrote that I suppose and perhaps it is true. Maybe we are always going back to a time when it is more manageable, to when we can maintain the steady flow for another day… Mayan Black Earth!
Elongated labia (also known as Sinus pudoris or macronympha and albeit nonmedically, as khoikhoi apron or hottentot apron), are a feature of certain Khoikhoi people, whose female members develop relatively elongated labia minora, hanging up to four inches outside their vulva when they are standing in an upright position. The "apron" designation was apparently gained from the tendency of early European descriptions to misidentify the pair of labia as a single, wide organ, which they called, in French, a tablier, or "apron"
1:29 PM Where did you go, she asked me, hesitating looking around for an answer, I had some business... work. Her thighs thick and round squeezed into blue jeans that would have to be cut off - an African beauty. Large round breasts peaked out from behind long layers of white dreadlocks, perfect African Queen, thousands of years ago her ancestors were royalty, smooth arched backs and elongated necks and labia, this goddess, the keeper of the black earth. Pheromones proceeded her wherever she went, the smell of power and musk, men spontaneously battled after her gaze, fighting to death for unknown reasons... goddess / Duden of the black earth. Each cat like step taunting me, arousing me, making me weak and heady.
The air was hot and sticky, you could feel the thunder coming before it was heard; this day would be the day- what does that mean? Forcing ideas now unable to relate, unable to breath, beat her... Where are you now? Are you thinking of me? Do you remember the night we met? I will never forget the salty taste of your skin, the moon reflected in your eyes. The rolling thunder the lapping ocean, and you there almost your people around the fire - drums beating in my head... mushroom medicine... the distant cry of something wild or was it you. Slick wet bodies moving in rhythm, drums louder, head spinning like the pinwheels... fade out... remember, relax it’s not real; she’s not real... she is the jungle... fade out... you are the jungle? Remember the morning is coming the day will break and time will start again, remember what she said - the mushroom medicine, the wild place. She is pregnant with anticipation for the realization of the moment of dawn, can we still see her or will she stay hidden with tiger stripes. Round belly tight and overdue, swollen milk filled engorged, encouraging forward motion and breaking on the shore. The moon is an African Queen goddess, keeper of the black earth and disciple of the mushroom medicines. Today is the day... I think?
A subtle movement in the distance, rolling thunder and sad clowns, dried caked makeup stains on old spotted shirts. Hanging from the gallon pole, bad memory, sad clown; dried up fortune cookie brittle breaks - inside a moth chases the flame but burns before he realizes what he has caught. We are all prisoners in this game unable to see clearly through the screen, television was just the beginning - rewired… reconstituted… reimagined in docile pods. Will these days come back again? Of course, they will in the future when it’s all been burnt down, we will come back here to when it was still manageable, when we still had a chance and return. Fade out - pinwheel sunset in the distance, mountains, valleys and the jungle, always the jungle moving in and out of focus. The clown makeup smeared across the sleeve of his dress shirt, expense Italian leather shoes and necktie; the sort of man you would not expect to find out here…
Searching for the black earth in this god forsaken jungle.
Obsessing over erotic things, consumed with the simple and unable to release image from the mind… the psychotron machine still active, burning away in some ruined underground base flashing red light beneath the bones of the dwarf. City street empty just before dawn, rain wet streets damp air… Charlie scurries past the bus stop up to the corner and quickly past the shoe store. Camera pans in jerky diagonal movement, gun shot, no, was it? Image focuses in from blurry green, gray; naked woman standing on the Empire State building, exaggerated labia hang nearly to the ground she is the queen of the black earth. Moving forward and backward in time burning up the easy scores, taking advantage of the times before the times when the shit gets ripe. The sun god has lost his temper boss, the dwarf cries out from under the ottoman, he really pissed this time. The same question may be asked about the horned serpent. But all these seem to be quadruped, although their overlord is the dragon, the Greek word for which (drakon) also means serpent. The horned serpent appears in 16th century Latin alchemy as the quadricornutus serpens (four horned serpent), a symbol of Mercury and an antagonist of the Christian Trinity. But this is an obscure reference. So far as I can discover, it is made by only one author.
The great four horned serpent symbol of Mercury, idol of the worshipers of the black earth, it is said and thus I have heard that the four horned serpent eats the souls of the nonbelievers and shits out the black earth, such things are never fully true but do contain a sliver of so-called truth or fact. Knowing what can be meant by this is in its self a mystery and likely not to be deciphered. Many paleontologist has whiled away in dust libraries discerning the meaning of the four horned serpent and the black earth, why Jung himself spent time with the serpent to little avail.
Maybe it was something she said, maybe it was the way she said it, the tone or inclination, perhaps even the timing that can be important of course… Why on earth would anyone ever wear sandals she thought I mean really just go barefoot, let the black earth squeeze between your toes. There is a certain electrical connection between the body and the earth one that is disrupted by shoes, it is needed to recharge the batteries. Barefoot connecting to black earth can generate enough energy to produce one white hot image and one white hot image can send you back three days. Surprised? Of course, you are the Mayan knowledge was lost to the small pox and it was no accident believe you me, control in full affect but anyway. Her gown was made of silk spun gold and slitted in the front long slender perfect legs escaped the slit one in front of the other in a sway that was helplessly erotic. Moving side to side in an ever-increasing forward motion she moved across my mind, bopping and swaying like a dowser’s wand - hottentot venus the queen of terra preta.
You could smell her sex in the dark room all night, it kept him awake, he would drift into an uneasy sleep and his nostrils would jerk his eyes back open with the pungent smell of her. Strange rumbling sounds barely conceivable were in the air, sort of like thunder but so quiet kind of evil but not ominous the sort of sound you expect to hear before you disappear, or something appears. Hot sticky humid night belly full mind spinning Ferris wheel phosphorescent orange hue, gondolas of ripe bananas and dirty boys floating down still muddy water - the jungle is always waiting - the silent rumble not louder, not more intense but more somehow. Maybe it was something she said… That smell I can’t take it all sticky night with this erection the jungle in my ears those fucking bananas, that goddamn gondola I am losing my fucking mind… terra preta the black queen laughs.
The black queens firm breasts point used upward slightly, perky solid and round covered in some sort of red mud with animal bone necklaces and jewels onyx crystals and beads of baked black earth, shells of small snails and other water creatures. Below her tits an intriguing pattern of scars and cuts which designated her as a queen. The hottentot Venus, goddess of black flesh her sex smell could be detected for miles in any direction. I was her slave at the time a black dust zombie held captive willingly, wantonly, the black dust or yage is ancient concoction produced from the root of the ayahuasca vine and a shrub called chacruna. Only one shaman at a time knows the secret formula, he mixes the Queen’s medicine in the skull of a fallen warrior with long antler bone spoons carved with the four horned serpent chanting wildly only the whites of his eyes showing carefully mixing the ingredients with specially prepared black earth and menstrual blood. The smell is ungodly not foul but ungodly and causes the whole tribe to contort in orgiastic convulsions moans and screams of pleasure fill the night air as drums beat wildly. At dawn the first sun’s rays fall open the warrior skull and reveal inside a fine black dust, the Queen them seducing a helpless man of her choosing in a moment of weakness blows the dust in his nose rendering him a helpless servant of her desires.
"Es una cueva que se mueve y un mar que también se está moviendo", explica Barceló (Felanitx, 1957). "La cueva es una metáfora del ágora, el primer sitio de reunión del hombre, el gran árbol africano donde sentarse a hablar, y el único futuro posible: diálogo, derechos humanos. El mar es el pasado, origen de las especies, y la promesa de un futuro nuevo: la emigración, el viaje... Me gusta esa polimetáfora, y creo que es posible que el futuro sea así: una cueva y el mar".
7:28 PM The prophets of strange religions, the black dust priests, the influencers of different sects: art, religion, fashion, politics, data etc. Each a special kind of shit emitting data pheromones whipping old women and twenty nothings into star-eyed frothing mouth frenzies, the dust priests are the zombies of the black Queen Terra Preta.
Unable to reconcile years of tortured visions the priests become burned out and unable to produce white hot images this leaves them impotent and useless to the queen. An advisor from a government black ops project formally control, now referred to by codename Weeping Angel Program enters - look here queen uncle sam’s got a hard on for that black earth and we want to help, that long count calendar of your is a real gem I mean genius, we got some Nebraska boys make good priests you just teach us that time travel trick you concur up. Greedy Americans think the four horned serpent bargains, why? He got all the time in the world and knows exactly what to do with it. Greed American bullshit thinks all time bows to free market horseshoe, disgraceful and goddam stupid. An old file falls from the cabinet it reads Cistern Reports…
In iridescent lagoons belching sulfur gas writhing in uncontrollable fits of agitation, the judge, a scoundrel of untold infamy and inexcusable horror. Why the very vestige of the man inducing terror in nuns, children, plants and animals, I mean a real shit and not one bit ashamed of it either. Pale globular masses of flesh hanging from gigantic bones or unequalled girth, student of the elemental nations and hunter of the black earth, the judge had no equal, data pheromones tracing his outline where ever he goes. Quit staring at me and suck this fat dick you stupid bitch! The only emotional connection is physical, an outward expression of the nihilism of the soul; making faces at himself in the mirror while he pisses. Hemingway talking of bullfights, McCarthy’s Judge Holden and Melville’s description of whaling; dried rose petals on the stained carpet - glue drying on a children’s library craft. One thousand vintage big tit photographs and a cup of lukewarm muddy coffee, old arrowheads missing the point - missing the point indeed this whole goddamn shit show is falling apart, and the emperor is too fucking stupid to fiddle. Fade out… turn the knob Sarg it’s getting fuzzy can’t quite make it out, plane crash in the jungle.
Fighting our way through the jungle and then this, then this, this fucking human garbage trying to take it all away from us… the black earth, the queen… Well shit I couldn’t tell you where we are if my life depended on it. I mean the screen is all filled with noise can’t get a good reading. The vegetation is so thick the sun can’t get through and I’ll be damned if that judge ain’t up to something. Private I am sick and goddamn tired of your fucking excuses, maybe you are up to something, the influencers say your mother came from Russia, what about that. What about that bottle of Vodka under your bunk, that’s right I had your room tossed you decorticated little shit. Arrest this man and send him to the queen he is an agent of the judge and can see them data pheromones dancing off him like jelly. Two strong yellow skin men in black uniforms advance on the man as he spontaneously sprouts little eyes all over his face and arms and starts blinking and crying and shitting his pants. Dear god the general explains it’s just as I thought… fade out… big tit pictures burst into flames; waves of nausea fill the viewers as the lights brighten.
What was that? Someone exclaims in a shrill high-pitched whistle, I thought you said we were going to watch some new experimental cinematic masterpiece. This is pure shit! I don’t even know what in the hell I just watched!
Meanwhile back in the jungle somewhere in the Amazon the Queen smiles, we almost have enough to get back…
The virgin suicide killer was caught last night outside a bar on 16th street, nude under a long greasy trench coat smelling of stale bread and beer. The arresting officer’s report: I just walked up to this guy all hunched down in the alley like he was making or something, totally oblivious to me just starring out into the street mumbling about some black queen and black dirt. So, I figure well this guy he’s crazier than a nuthouse, “What’s goin’ on here?” I barked at him, but he don’t budge, I grab him by the shoulder and jerk him to his feet and my god the smell and he’s totally nude under that coat. He drops all these pictures… I couldn’t believe it I let go and grabbed my gun. All them dead mutilated girls; I went numb, head spinning, I could hear myself telling him to lay down on his stomach and put his hands behind his head, but it didn’t sound like me… all echoey and weird. The alley got real bright… Next thing I know sarg is telling me good job kid and patting me on the back and that guy is laying there on the ground handcuffed. What the hell happened? Who the hell is this guy? Black earth?
