Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Gonorréico Maldición Deseos

"usted mayo, el Señor Nuestro Fader, mantenga estas damas de la naturaleza gentil salvo de maleantes, malhechores y cascarrabias la ... y puede que los bendiga a todos, en nombre de la Fader, del Hijo y del Espíritu Santo ... Amén." Dios no ve ... no se reconoce en usted ... usted tiene todavía que nacer ... muerto, que es lo que eres ... entre los muertos vivientes 'de vida.

Over the doorframe to the Hall of Sinners, painted in wide brushstrokes, was ‘Gonorréico Maldición Deseos’ and underneath, scrawled in a child’s messy hand, a drawing of two dogs stuck tail to loin. The Sisters of Clemency hold a rummage and grope every Tuesday afternoon, the proceeds going to inoculate whores and sinners, those who have been in close proximity to sinners and whores and anyone who had defrauded the offering. It was common knowledge that many of the congregation, from the most faithful to the most dishonest, were known to dupe the Sunday endowment, exchanging wooden nickels for silver; others pinging the bottom of the plate pretending to drop a coin into the alms tin. One congregant, a moustachioed banker who wore a rainproof hairpiece under his hat hoping to find the missing whore’s glove, saved all his money for bribing haberdashers and clothes merchants. The priest gave him a God fearsome stare every time he arrived late, which was almost always, motioning with his head for him to sit in the back pews away from the other congregants and altar boys. The Deasey quintuplets sat at the front of the church taking up an entire pew, the eldest reading from a Book of Teutonic verse called ‘Eines Morgens ein knabenhafter Mann bei einem Buchhändler’ while his three younger brothers listened on. ‘No man is incorruptible’ said the priest to the half-dozing congregation. ‘and what of the woman?’ shouted one of the congregants, the anger in his voice showing signs of past cuckoldries. ‘they too’ said the priest wiping his nose with the sleeve of his vestment. ‘and children and cripples’ yelled another congregant’. ‘and the mad and insane’ shouted a third. ‘yes they too’ said the priest sternly not wanting to encourage anyone else to speak up. ‘we’re all going to hell’ whispered the youngest quintuplet to his three older brothers. ‘so why all the bellyaching?’ The last time Poldy attended Sunday Mass he tore the arm of his jacket on a loose nail ruining his one and only suit.

All proceeds go to immunizing whores and sinners; any monies left over will be used to procure machines for shocking the incurably insane. Hervé Salamanca Henrique Boyacá, a middleweight from Ponce de León, sold women’s haberdasheries from the boot of his car; a nineteen-seventies Vauxhall with matching drivers’-side ashtrays and a luminescent foxfire roof. Henry Poincaré, middling shoe salesman vends women’s footwear from the back of a eighteen-eighties handcart, left to him in his great grandfather’s living will. ‘When angels cry so do the devil’s children’ his da told him drunk on spiced rum and pentene. ‘it’s just the way it goes’. Not once all the years he lived under his roof did he argue with his da, as incurring his anger would invite a lengthily beating followed by a father son dress down, neither of which he found appealing. Don Juan Teoria Tirofijo, known to his friends simply as don Tirofijo, sells bullets from the boot of his 4-Wheeler, 27 for 10,000 Pesos or 54 for 17,250. The rebels who hide out in the lowlands and mountains that makeup the five-mile buy their bullets by the half-bushel, Don Juan Teoria Tirofijo giving them a discount on tobacco and spiced rum. Sainte-Blandine lives with her ailing mother in a bedsit over a tinning factory overlooking the stadium where the Herschel Liege pantomime troop performed their first recital of Goethe’s 'Faust' using only hand-puppets and gelding straps.

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"Poetry is the short-circuiting of meaning between words, the impetuous regeneration of primordial myth". Bruno Schulz

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