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Subject: {ASSM} from TxM6 CJ Parker II
Date: Fri, 15 Sep 2000 21:10:07 -0400
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Copyright (c) Sean Thomas Farragher All Rights Reserved
from TxM6 Hyperfiction Novel. 0235xagad.doc
http://www.txm6.com
http://www.txm6.com/enfer/ (updated 9/14 2000)
http://www.farragher.com poetry site updated 9/14/00
From the Desk of the Managing Editor,
BERGEN SENTINEL: Peter Jackson Campbell
December 1, 1991; 04:25:10
BERGEN SENTINEL': Peter Jackson Campbell.
Confessions of CJ Parker as told by her as the
Spirit, Grace, as witness from her silence
inside body of Christ on earth, as CJ healed
after being beaten to almost death and back
again by Antonio Corvino, the Man Called Abel,
and his sister, Maria Theresa Corvino, Lilith.
Herein more the tale: Meet Cindy Jane Parker
another of Abel's Victims. Written as I
recorded it. The Gadfly takes no position on
these matters. What do we learn? Nothing. What
will change, nothing?
"Am I nuts," The Gadfly said the words to test
the recording device, and then laughed.
Probably. (A disembodied voice)
"Who said that," saying it like he knew the name.
Am I paranoid? Not important."
"Now, Are you listening? (Anonymous female character.
Older woman with a dark sensitivity and grit.)
"No, you're wise and profoundly order at the
next chicken fricassee special."
"See what this seminar means? (The voice again)"
"What time does it start (another anonymous voice,
higher in pitch, younger, sweet, ethereal)?"
"Who said anything about a fucken seminar, the
Gadfly is cross? Henry, is that fucken you,
screaming. Come here if your have anything to
say."
"Henry. Who the fuck is that? (The un-named
voices agree say their names walking out into
the room having materialized as Faith and Chrissy)"
"Not me. (Another unrecognized spiritual voice
from Brooklyn)
"Who the shit? Thought so."
"You're supposed to know, really everything
the male voice said and then added, "Fuck you, Peter."
The Gadfly, who was not alarmed by the sequence of
strangers preferred more orderly arrangements of
the flow of voices when he was invisible himself. He
appears and starts to pace the floor.
Too many, he thinks and moves away. Unhappy until
he notices Henry skulking around his Editor desk.
"Nope, it's not that snot," the Gadfly snickers. He
knows who is there, but wants to play, "Who the fuck,
now? Identify: man, woman, hyn? Answer somebody?
Shit. It must be Henry Whitman."
Voices whispered, "why get unglued? (Voice #4 likes
#3 talks to #2 and then dark voice #1. We have a
small cast and have to double parts. We are all
females except for Henry. He is standing at your
desk. He is not invisible, can't be."
"Who the fuck said? Henry why the fuck you have to
play games here."
Henry walks around to Peter Campbell, AKA the Gadfly
a notorious muck raking journalist on the Sentinel
Bergen County's only original newspaper. Does it matter
Henry speaks up close to Peter's ear. Let's get on.
What the fuck am I doing here? OK."
Think good, kindly thoughts like Patricia Murphy, saying,
"dear one, don't get your trousers in a twist, Henry
thought waiting for Peter to speak.
Suddenly that sweet voice, Chrissy, whispers, "honey, her
name is CJ, OK. Means Cindy Jane, and has no utters,
no cunt. What good does she expect," the voice lied.
"OK, CJ, now I can forget. OK, who is master of
ceremonies? "
"Frivolous answer, of course," Peter who had been taking the
measure of Henry answered.
"Acting does it," voice #1 said, brisk, moving away, her voice,
animated, visible and redundant. The voices in unison claim
their territory and the cacophony makes Henry and Peter close
their hands over their ears from the torturous sound.
"No earthly bound fragrance. No guidepost, the taller, older
more mature female, Faith answered. After you used me Henry,
just like any slut. I even let you fuck my heart brought you
inside it, to feel it soft, better than a vulva smarmy and
moist. Imagine how you felt. How could you. And Peter,
you let fucken him."
Henry answers, "what the flying fuck you talking about.
I don't even know you. How could I used you."
Chrissy, the sweet little girl, about the same look at
Faith, but clearly less experienced, or hiding it, says,
"You did Henry, and you fucked my head too. And now you
are about to fuck over Laurie."
Look, I am a taxi driver. My girl friend Laurie is many
years younger. I love her more than she cares. Now, what
am I supposed to do. She's pregnant, and tells me its not
mine. Fine. I have enough kids. Doesn't change how I feel
about her. She says she is with me, now that we are
together, no one else in her life. What do I care anyway.
I am so nuts about her. Why are you making this insane
statement that I fucked you and that other one there over.
I never saw you or her."
"Look Henry. You, Laurie, us, the Gadfly are all a part of
a movie script written by some mad poet who believes he can
write a classic novel filled with sex, mayhem, spirits, etc.
He believes we will carry it forward into a great movie. We
want that for him, so we are here to help all of us make it
happen."
"When do I win the Academy Award for Best Actor," Henry laughs.
"Add in Director, Producer, and Best Movie, for a sweep. Who me,
important? TxM6: The Murder of Laurie Fallon, when she doesn't
die, and the author says it right up front. It is more than that.
All the dead are important Henry says include you shades. That
must be what you are. What did I fuck you over in our dreams.
Is that it?"
"What a sentimental and romantic slob," Faith said. "I love you Henry."
"Becoming a fucked up liberal in my old age," now Henry, Peter laughs
knowing that the improbable is Henry and his life.
"No court date yet, Henry, we have to decide who you will
screw in eternity."
"Fuck No. You cannot stop me now. Just getting a run up.
Hot as hell," Henry laughed, knowing his number was up.
"Yes, we will," Faith added closing her backpack and putting
away her 20th century slang dictionary.
"Too large for number systems? Chronology? Yes, I got it, but it
was used last year. Some are going to think no one really knows
anything. And they don't," The gadfly was actually a nice person,"
Chrissy laughed putting her arm through Faith's The two girls/women
looked very much alike. Both were Aryan blond, blue eyes,
fourteen-year-old tits changing back to thirty year old sluts at a
whim although ultimately were millennia older.
"I am obscure as the Gadfly," Chrissy kissed faith.
Faith speaking slowly under the ardent kisses of Chrissy took a deep
breath, pulled up and said she wanted more later, but now, we need
to help..."
"Fuck yes. I am the fucken muckraker, insensitive corrupt seducer
for evil (must be honest as goodness) and the psychology of crime,
pain, and motherfuckers, just helps me get off," The Gadfly strutted.
"If you believe there are socially redeeming values, here.
What a fucken laugh, motherfucker. I am the King of the story. OK.
I'll breakdown, and take care of some bit players. Here are the
best-parts of it. And here is CJ's story and stop scaring Henry.
You know and I know you cannot alter his life."
The Gadfly's Report:
CJ Parker did suffer, and what a shame. But she survived.
Which is more important. She was, perhaps is some piece
of ass. Not that tall. Beautiful fine features, Nordic,
fine blond hair, large round brown eyes with sparks of blue,
but built like a brick shithouse and seven months pregnant,
how that fuck liked them. Large, soft tits, nipples, puffed
out, swirling with movable innards of the growling fetus.
Abel and Caine liked to feel life and know it, before death.
Why not film birth and death in one cinematographic
sequence. What, distorted? Think we can reconstruct
it all. Sure like to try, you say. Just the facts,
you say. Want the inside scoop. Fuck yes I do that
I know. That's what the fucken book, Taxi Murder's
about after all. Got to have some higher purpose mixed
with graphic sex, rape, and incest. All separate
categories. Add in the violence and the gore,
the unspeakable treatment of children, and
that's terrible, horrific, beyond any acceptable
standard for human depravity, and yet it could
have happened, and together, in the summary of
this culture, has, in small bits and pieces, now
assembled as one large roller coaster, for the
opinion makers to absorb; at least, they will
give lip service to reading the whole six
volumes for the social purpose and not the
dirty minds within, Taxi Murders, the hopeful
"withering" spectacles which we leap, as
heroes to revenge, and then when it fails, as
it must, we are not reunited with what we had
called our soul. Heathcliff had his face sewn
sharply closed. Bitterness. Laurie too, would
reap revenge but thrive. Terror. How different
as we idle, awash, determinant. Now, what the
fuck does that mean? Love to fuck with your
heads, now. Fucking with heads equals the
Gadfly? Too honest? Why not? Think I'm sexist.
Well, I'm not. Neither man nor woman, nor am I
HeShe, transsexual nor true hermaphrodite, I
am the third sex, called Oxymoron. For the
pun, for the absurdity, I am called the HYN
generation. Get your Pepsi here, motherfucker?
I keep losing the CJ Parker piece. Fine rack
of cunt as one asshole said at the bar, when
she walked up, slow, pushing out tits and ass,
horny, pregnant, wanting to fuck, meeting the
sad Abel, his sister, Lilith, drinking seltzer
hidden in the booth. Abel's date. His lady,
everyone knew it. Always had her eye on him,
wanting to mix with him. Knew she was on when
he took, or she took, depending on point of
view the bait. Laurie is gone now. Lilith is
alive. Laurie is terrified having murdered her
twin sister, so she thinks, when she was 11.
Ariel died of natural causes, darling Laurie.
It is written in the history of our caste.
Time for an aside, or maybe, rashly, another
introduction."
Cindy Jane (CJ Parker) was beautiful Tall,
blond, slender, high angular cheekbones, but
with soft and delicate round eye features
(mixture of American native Cherokee, Irish,
English, Polish and Swede); now, emaciated,
amorphous, worn out, with a still delicate
demeanor. OK, you judge. No? Yes. CJ is the
star here, in this segment; so enough of this
BS. Here are more stats.
Here she was (is): CJ. A.k.a. Grace, a.k.a.
CJ, dear Cindy Jane Parker: DOB: August 9,
1962: (1) Pregnant seven times; (2) Three live
births; (3) four abortions. She had her first
abortion at 13. The last will be beaten out of
her by Lilith, which she will not remember
until years after the event.
CJ's first child was named Matthew Aston
Parker, was by her father, pregnant a second
time at age 15, she had the child, left home
at 16. Let her continue the narrative.
CJ PARKER:
My second child, Aileen Mary Casey was born
Good Friday, April 20, 1984, and was 8 years
in July 1992; she lived with her father, a
Priest I called Tabby. We had a second
daughter, a suckling until I got pregnant
again by my Priest.
Lenora Josephine Casey lived with Sister
Theresa and Tabby. She was 17 months when at
the edge of it all, I left the world, ran away
to Gables, to get laid, as I put it, to get
down, now that I felt death, as a shadow
chase, and there, at the edge of it all, I
knew I would meet him. I saw him look, for
months now, when I worked there. I liked the
grit and natural charm of the place. I liked
the poets and the singers. I liked the women
and the fags. Father Tabby wore his collar,
and we made out. Theresa picked up some bloke,
and they got it on in the booth, while our
neighbors cheered. It was that kind of place.
I needed the Gables that night. Need some
younger arms. Not that Tabby didn't thrill. I
needed to know I could seduce some poor fuck.
Felt fat, and this handsome Abel came on, and
I was smitten, last week, looking for him
again, this week, saw my belly, left my tits
soft, seven months, sticking out, pushing it
out, sitting with my cunt almost exposed on
the stool, leaning back, skirt pulled up, legs
apart, he searched and bought me some soda, no
wine, I'm pregnant, you're kidding he said,
couldn't really guess. And then what I will
describe happened. Beaten to death and back
again. He did it. I remember now, that he is
dead, and the suffering continues in the
children he made, and the lives he stole, and
my Aileen, Lenora, and the unborn child, I
will always call Grace, a true spirit, was
lost, beaten out, by Lilth, as she straddled
my head, tired, Abel watched, the fetus abort.
I should have died from that forced birth, but
I didn't. I could have died from what seemed
like all my blood on the ground. The spirits
held me aloft, Breath for me, they whispered
in my mouth, kissing so soft it tickled, and
then restored, the blood returned by a
miracle, the ambulance came and put be back
together, so well the angels had done it, I
can still get pregnant, and I am, but with
Tabby.
"My daughters by Tabby have their mother. They
and my perfect Priest, and Sister Theresa
watch the sunrise as we picnic by the sea,
near Provincetown.
The date, September 23, 1991: century over
almost wanes. Even that spirit Grace, an
infant and her mother, swarm as light round my
hands, making them fly, as the waves cascade
through the sandy dunes and the maggots
consume the flesh but the spirit reveals and
is one with the idea of it. My Life, that is
in this soon to be year, 2000. Breathe, at
least. Feel. How good that is to be alive? How
lucky. Perfect, my father Priest lover had
said. He died the year before. Date of Death:
March 30, 1992. 7:23 PM Sister Theresa died
with him. Hit by a bus. Crossing the highway.
It was foggy. They had just dropped off our
kids. They left them in a flash. No
conversation. In a hurry, they said. Got to
make a train. Bus hit them. Vaporized. No
remains, no autopsy.
Some said it was spooky, others, miraculous.
Others still" the work of the devil. Life is
Pure. Isn't it! Thank God. I can still smile.
More than an amazing comic strip soap opera,
right? That's my fucken life. Signed CJ Parker
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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