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Subject: {ASSM} From TxM6: Deranged Confessions of CJ Parker
Date: Sun, 1 Oct 2000 13:10:01 -0400
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Also From TxM6 Hyperfiction
http://www.txm6.com (updated 9/16/00)
http://www.txm6.com/enfer (updated 9/17/00)
http://www.txm6.com/lcfallon
http://www.farragher.com (Poetry updated 9/20/00)
TxM6 is entirely a work of fiction for adults only.
Copyright (c) 2000 Sean Farragher.
TxM6 HYPERFICTION NOVEL
DERANGED CONFESSIONS OF CJ PARKER
ANSWER THE QUESTION: What happens when the brain
is beaten black and blue? CJ stunned by the sorrow
of pain removed her mind and set it back in place.
CONFESSION OF CJ PARKER AS TOLD TO THE GADFLY BY
SILENCE INSIDE THE FEMALE GIG FOUND ON EARTH AGAIN
ABDUCTION AND PUNISHMENT
CJ PARKER: "There is no escape."
Murder huddles in a corner. Murder marks the
territory where there is no return. Negation
breaks us down. Indented and suppressed plot
lines show that I cannot survive and my mouth
and teeth are broken, and the snot I hold under
my eyes is loose like phlegm; it cannot help me
breathe or assist survival. We buzz into evil
every day imagining how we will fight back at
evil or those who bang us with their own pain
over and over again. What if you cannot stop the
pressure to be defiled? Should we tolerate any
ordinary everything? What is the nature of
suffering after all?
CJ TALKS ABOUT FUCKING NAM:
"What if the heroes are all dying in some
rotting fucken jungle? Answer that question
motherfuckers."
What are we going to do with those nine thousand
half 55 gal. Drums of petrified shit left over
from the shit burning detail. It stinks
motherfucker. I don't care what you do about it.
Just get it the fuck out of here. Are we on a
secret mission to steal all human life from the
soup pot?
CJ asks for more life not less:
"Where the fuck do we hide our pain? How do we
stop it from bang bang against those fucken
family lies when we were children on the dole
without one fucken sou for compensation?
All of us know how truth is diseased. Case
studies on child abuse do not just rattle their
bars to show how we suffered for all. The small
print does include those who would be blind.
Even the guilty suffer it says. Abusers are
victims in that extended form. Should we forgive
them that abuse?
Consequences are never fully understood. We lash
out. We break down the margins. We cut our way
through the prison into the outer plain where
the broncos are brought to herd. We fuck
children when we are children. I did it too, CJ
said just to escape being normal. Now, I ask why
is normal wrong?
II.
CJ said that pain broke her where and how we
hunted. We don't realize that weakness is
strength. "See these muscles," she said.
CJ opens her arm and shows the veins where the
cock sucking man sucked her cunt and missed with
his teeth opening all her portals.
"Look how they are cut by words of knives that
dissect the mind first. See how he bled CJ with
his thumbs pushing his tools deep into her cunt.
That is my sex. That is my deep forgiveness
blocked out of the way because I am not the
usual freak.
I do not want to be different. I would prefer an
easy life, nine to five mind fuck job. I would
prefer a husband who doesn't fuck up my chances
or make his children look and act like the shit
he really has become. After the madmen blow us
down the trail into drugs just to feel self-
important. Don't you love a horror story the man
writing the story asks us to forgive the pauses
before conscious mistakes?
Why are we so comfortable within horror stories?
What will I do, CJ cries. Who will fucken listen
then? Some guy in a hurry will poke his cock
inside my heart and cut my nipples away, placing
the pain on his lapel. He will scream blood and
mercy will end.
God I remember all those mad stories about how I
have a choice when fucking. Why do we accept the
burden of opening our legs and shoving that
thing inside? It is smooth sometimes and does
feel pleasure.
Your cunt knows how it penetrates when it is
holy wang left back from the dark minds from
before some holy rite was assembled like tinker toys.
I, CJ, thin woman screamed loud, biting,
throwing my body against the walls of the black
room where masked man who couldn't speak had
taken me to open my pockets and fill my sex with
his fingernails. Gagged with a foul tasting
cloth I am bound tightly with rope.
III.
CJ SPEAKS ABOUT HERSELF IN THE THIRD PERSON:
Abel hit CJ twice with his fists. He kicked her
once, and her legs hurt when he dragged her out
of his car through the back door of his van. CJ
Parker is thirty, thin, and almost attractive:
Brown hair, green eyes, and full breasts. At
fifteen CJ uncovered the first deadly germ.
Heroin is the skull inverted like the mark of
poison. On the lips when a kiss is designed to
subvert not love but pleasure.
At sixteen, CJ sold her ass, and at seventeen,
she almost ODS. CJ has been a hard-core main
lining heroin addict two weeks after her
fifteenth birthday. I've been clean for a year,
she told the probation officer lying fully and
with a rapid pulse.
IV. CJ IN FIRST PERSON:
"What good does it do, and now this fucks. Shit,
I always get beaten by the creeps. Was he
wearing a plastic mask, that couldn't have been
his face? My legs hurt. Dark when you can't see.
Couldn't stand it when my sister died of an OD.
Well I am almost clean now, anyway. Methadone.
Next year, I plan to attend college. Still turn
some tricks. HIV negative at least, CJ thought.
Later, when CJ woke, and posthumously, this
would be her last thought before the man struck
her head with some terribly hard object. How
could it be a posthumous thought, as she talked
to the doctor while she lost her mind before a
temporary death? What is temporary death CJ
asked softly when the Dr. cut her throat."
"No, stop the music," CJ screamed. CUT MY
THROAT. I do not die. NO. That is not part of
the plot or the continuity of the scene.
V. CJ SPEAKING IN THIRD PERSON:
CJ was told later that it was a metal baseball
bat. Three children playing at their hide out
discovered her open cunt filled with berries. CJ
complained that they did it too early and now
she would be discovered fermenting of all
things, CJ thought.
CJ's "mother" told CJ later that the kids almost
didn't say anything. The boys were curious and
had touched her breasts. Thinking she was dead,
when she rose up, and then fell down
unconscious, they thought they would be punished.
CJ CONTINUES:
I found the children near where you had fallen
(or where taken, she said) and then my nine-year
old son pulled me over to the fence. He had been
scared. He said, "Thought I would go to hell for
pretending to be the devil."
CJ called the cops. They came in less than five
minutes and you were alive, but would not awake
for two weeks. No one could believe she was
alive. I have to admit, one female witness said.
"I thought you were a ghost, and I wondered what
god would do to me for such a malicious thought.
It was as if you could feel the rustle of the
elephants as they ran down the dry riverbank
searching for water," and there was nothing but
salt port and some cheese snack.
Later, CJ thought that was odd. It is as if this
terrible life is a drought. Feelings misplaced,
and I am off center.
CJ had no motive other than some other
direction. Is it pleasure, she wondered while he
tied her to the wall? Is this a game, she
screamed as he placed a hard plastic ball into
her mouth, tying the straps behind her head? He
can't hear me. I will bite his eyes if he
touches my clit again.
"Listen, my name is CJ. I'll do anything for
you. Don't hurt me."
Abel knew great delight when he snapped a neck
or a forearm. The creep loved to free the
landscape of those who cannot afford to live.
Perhaps Able said. I will promise if elected to
murder all the creeps and poor folks who have
nothing to give but their sacrifice of living.
I by my life free the hidden landscape
where no one can achieve more notice than a
small clip in a local newspaper.
CJ once blew a man's heart through his back.
What force in words, CJ lingered on that fake
accomplishment. No one could stop CJ from
blowing the dude until he died. He said just
before ending that page that he too had before
murdered women and me just for sport, as sex is
gums and rapid management of disease speculation.
Murder is quite the rage Abel admitted.
The terrorist didn't consider himself a cowardly
man attacking only women and children. He proved
his value, he said, when the firefight got
really tough. Watch out we are not overrun. No
one knows how the packages will be decorated.
Why should we care about how the dormitory is
set up for Yom Kippur? CJ fucked the man at
night and then woke the chef up early so he
could make his favorite stew from those who did
not make it past the first hill.
VI ABEL SPEAKS
Yes, I know I murdered all with and without
motive, opportunity, and fantasy. I had a simple
game. Whenever I traveled over the GW Bridge I
would stretch my life searching for desperate
crackers roaming the bridge for cash. Abel once
ripped off a blowjob specialist. She came into
his car, lost at the bottom of the hill, and
sucked his cock dry. Come here, get me some
cigarettes, a drink, no, I will be nice she
said, posing under the dark stairs, and the
screams broke out of the old house where CJ had
been left. Dark bruises on arms and hands made thin
cold blue and pink colors, a variegated swarm of
blood breaking free of its hold. She could not
escape death, CJ thought, nut the passing of the
sky seemed blue to gray, and everything she had
been was changed. Three days alone in the dark.
A radio tuned to a Spanish station had almost
assumed a familiar tone.
Can I understand what he said? The man who had
taken her was not Spanish. She assumed it was a
man. His hands were large and hard. Nobody care
to help her when he dragged her into his car,
and sped off to another waiting around the
corner. There were no screams as she bit his
hand and face, shredding the man's arms with her
nails. Where are the eyes I cut open as a child?
I would look into them, but I am exposed.
After removing all CJ's clothes, He threw the
dark hair woman into an almost black room. The
windows had been taped from the outside, and the
glass covered with wooded shutters. There was a
small bed, pillow, but no blanket. What raged in
the dark room? He didn't bind or gag her. He
left her naked. Dark shrieks that dripped blood,
and made the bare liver stripped. It rang not
only the ears, but also the calm of anyone
present. Her waist length dark hair was curled
under her back. It was matted, and was crusted
to her back. CJ didn't move. Nothing could save
her, and she felt it.
Saved, let down on the road. The tires have no
hard skin. The remainder of the wall is black,
and when I spring forward, there's the pull of
the well, the darker boiling that settles under
my skin. I do know her, she heard him tell
someone. Her face had been covered with a cloth
bag, and all her life had been stripped from her
skin. Nothing he could do would change the
conditions. She was trapped, not so much in this
precarious place, but trapped in the foolish
course of a broken life without many promises.
What can I speak? He brought me down. I felt
each nail dress my cloak. I didn't stand at the
edge. He resumed breathing, fast packed, the
sins were renewed, and the stretch was clean. He
cut my neck. I bled, and died. It was too simple
and implausible for contrast.
If I am dead, why can I handle words, string
dark skinned concepts? How will I touch the air
with my associated dress? She was not dead and
the spirits had insisted that she be allowed to
live for at least the next months. Why does
anyone life CJ asks Abel?
Shit, I don't even bother with Lilith. She is
the eye of her death machines. All she knows is
the precision of destruction and the pleasure of
masturbation while cutting out the lips of what
she calls soft women with a rusting cooking cutter.
--
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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