Date: Tue, 5 May 1998 15:36:04
From: diminou
Subject: The calamary

At the airport, I watched the body of this beautiful old man, from far away.

His body was slender. Small hips that showed power; a narrow back, compact and dense in a loose dark shirt made of silk. He was looking all over, constantly at other women. I watched, his momentary manhood having the potentiality of a child's envy to grow so to become a man. He kept pointing his gray beard towards all sorts of female legs, wondering if they were mine. Wondering if he would be pleased in bed with them. I could read in his wrinkles.

But I kept, for a while longer, in hiding.

Trembling.

I had worn, just in case, my high-heels-fuck-me-shoes.
A useful conceptual approach to theoretical challenges.

And I knew exactly what I was going to tell to him :

Dear Empedocles,
Welcome to Canada.
I am your servant.
Maybe forever.
And I am here to show you your mistakes
And to sincerely greet you into them.
Accept me among your favorite pupils.
Do to me what you do to them.
Transmit your knowledge in my ass.
I want it.
I want to learn, love, like the best of your students.
And I may be able reward you.
But this I don't know yet.

Master
Beautiful Master,
you taught humans how they thought.
Blood, did you discover, carry our ideas to our heart.

It is so true, Magnificent Man.

But how do you know, if I don't deeply bite your flesh, that you have blood?

How do you know, Philosopher, that your body contains blood and a mind of its own if I haven't first wounded you ?
And drank selfishly your sweet heated drops
revealing that you do have a spirit circulating in your desirable body ?

You only learn, Dear Master, out of that pain I can create upon you.

Your knowledge, a result of perpetual suffering.
You have no other way of knowing but through a scar.
Like the one of a crater, like the vagina of the Etna, where you will end.
But I, Great Man, do bleed punctually.
Normaly losing my mind once a month.

I send back to the world what is sterile.
I expulse the thoughts which have not been put to use by creating other systems of ideas.

You are a closed circuit.
I am constantly an opened one.
Retaining nothing.

At that very moment, dear, you bent your head and saw the tiny white rope of my Tampax under my skirt.
You said that my essence was being absorbed.
And you recognized me as your true virtual pen-pal thrown unto the earth, the air, fire and water. You pulled the thread.
And my thinking followed your gesture all the way down to my knees.

And I felt admiration.

I led you home, love.
You unzipped your suitcase.
Took a fresh calamary out of one of the pockets.
And explained to me that this was the first contraceptive ever used.

There was an eye inside the calamary.

Thinking, did you specify, is not a matter of privacy.
And you fucked me
And I felt much more intelligent
At last, with a total sense of belonging to you and the poulpe.
I am so glad you came.

And with whatever blood was left in me
I wrote a message.
To say the tentacles
Had remained in me.

Dear Rose, at the Picasso exhibit in Ottawa, do look at the Minotaures for me. Perhaps, are they beautiful.


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