The Figs of May - Carpe Testicularum

Chapter 11

The Story The Authors

The song rumbled through the building shaking plaster from the ceilings and causing the large jars of dates, stuffed green olives and special jellies to burst on their pantry shelves. It rose and spread out from Lully like the aftershock of a powerful explosion. The strong liberating words of the distant Brill Building song thrush burst through the open windows and out across the city. The neighborhod dogs looked up tremulously from their incessant vigil around Akhbar the Leper waiting for a tasty snack to once again fall from his disintegrating flesh to whimper quietly. The song roiled and tumbled through the streets scattering old newspapers and butcher's flyers, roughly tugging at the veils of the first few pedestrians on their way to market before their husbands awoke. It overturned laundry baskets sending filthy stinking socks and brown streaked boxer shorts to wallow in the gutters. It insinuated itself into every nook and cranny. Lept headlong into morning breakfast pans causing great gobs of grease to spit and spatter the walls. It rushed like a torrent through the open spaces building and gaining strength as it moved. It tripped Zebulah the muezzlin as he rose bleary eyed from his pallet to call the faithful to prayer. It spun and ruffled the long hems of jellabahs exposing tempting bare ankles to lascivious gazes. Long and louder and stronger it grew. Children cowered under covers. Husbands shifted uneasily in their beds and pretended to still sleep. Onward and outward it crashed through the city overturning flowerpots and knocking musky cigarettes from the lips of taxi drivers. It rose and split itself into a thousand ripples of scourging sound until the entire city had been covered in its wake.
Then silence. From somewhere a lowly cricket began a half hearted chirp but stopped.
Then the humming began. As one the woman found their tongues and the secret song that they had kept and nutured in the deepest darkest wombs of their secret souls shifted in its slumber and they gave birth to song

I AM WOMAN
HEAR ME ROAR
IN NUMBERS TOO BIG
TO IGNORE!... Lanark

There was, however -- as there always is -- a pale moist underside to this casbahwide conflagration of aethereal estrogen. This is meant to imply, of course, that the inner William S. Burroughs inherent in the cultural unconscious of Lully and Aben's dear country was not about to be undone. There remained a great many young boys to be anally deflowered, then trained gently yet firmly in the complex arts of pleasing gentlemen of a certain age and a certain mindset, and this old croakthroat, this human snake slithering through the tall uncut lawngrass of the cultural Id was certainly not going to be put down by a bunch of -- eccchhh, just the microthought of it was enough to turn his delicate stomach, already sour with the 35,863 cigarettes and 4538 urns of coffee he'd consumed thus far that evening -- a bunch of hairy, fired-up women.
He went to the nearest payphone and slipped in a dime. It made a hollow vertiginous rattling sound, a sound like your last Dilaudid tablet made rattling around your spoon before you added water for it to dissolve. The sound that said You're gonna be real sick in just a while, kid...
A thin neurotic nasal voice answered on the other end. "Hullo? Hullo? I'm meditating here, fer the love a Krishna! What the hell d'ya want?"
"Pipe down, Allen, and take the butt-plug outta yer ass. We got trouble in Interzone."
"Mugwumps?"
"Worse than Mugwumps, Ginzy -- feminists! Get Jackie and Huncke and get the hell over here on the double." Philip

Inevitably, traffic this time of day was hell. It took nearly 45 minutes just to make the 5 mile trek from Allen's place. "Jesus", Allen said to himself. "I could've freakin crab walked faster". After picking up Jackie & Huncke ( a nickname given in college for his insatiable taste for Big Hunk candy bars), they passed the auquaduct overlooking Franklin Park. "Hey Al, look at those jugs!" pointing to a passing jogger being dragged by her rugged St. Bernard dog. "Cripes Huncke, you're right! And by golly, the chick ain't half bad either" none

The Story	The Authors
The song rumbled through the building shaking plaster from the ceilings and causing the large jars of dates, stuffed green olives and special jellies to burst on their pantry shelves. It rose and spread out from Lully like the aftershock of a powerful explosion. The strong liberating words of the distant Brill Building song thrush burst through the open windows and out across the city. The neighborhod dogs looked up tremulously from their incessant vigil around Akhbar the Leper waiting for a tasty snack to once again fall from his disintegrating flesh to whimper quietly. The song roiled and tumbled through the streets scattering old newspapers and butcher's flyers, roughly tugging at the veils of the first few pedestrians on their way to market before their husbands awoke. It overturned laundry baskets sending filthy stinking socks and brown streaked boxer shorts to wallow in the gutters. It insinuated itself into every nook and cranny. Lept headlong into morning breakfast pans causing great gobs of grease to spit and spatter the walls. It rushed like a torrent through the open spaces building and gaining strength as it moved. It tripped Zebulah the muezzlin as he rose bleary eyed from his pallet to call the faithful to prayer. It spun and ruffled the long hems of jellabahs exposing tempting bare ankles to lascivious gazes. Long and louder and stronger it grew. Children cowered under covers. Husbands shifted uneasily in their beds and pretended to still sleep. Onward and outward it crashed through the city overturning flowerpots and knocking musky cigarettes from the lips of taxi drivers. It rose and split itself into a thousand ripples of scourging sound until the entire city had been covered in its wake. Then silence. From somewhere a lowly cricket began a half hearted chirp but stopped. Then the humming began. As one the woman found their tongues and the secret song that they had kept and nutured in the deepest darkest wombs of their secret souls shifted in its slumber and they gave birth to song I AM WOMAN HEAR ME ROAR IN NUMBERS TOO BIG TO IGNORE!...	Lanark
There was, however -- as there always is -- a pale moist underside to this casbahwide conflagration of aethereal estrogen. This is meant to imply, of course, that the inner William S. Burroughs inherent in the cultural unconscious of Lully and Aben's dear country was not about to be undone. There remained a great many young boys to be anally deflowered, then trained gently yet firmly in the complex arts of pleasing gentlemen of a certain age and a certain mindset, and this old croakthroat, this human snake slithering through the tall uncut lawngrass of the cultural Id was certainly not going to be put down by a bunch of -- eccchhh, just the microthought of it was enough to turn his delicate stomach, already sour with the 35,863 cigarettes and 4538 urns of coffee he'd consumed thus far that evening -- a bunch of hairy, fired-up women. He went to the nearest payphone and slipped in a dime. It made a hollow vertiginous rattling sound, a sound like your last Dilaudid tablet made rattling around your spoon before you added water for it to dissolve. The sound that said You're gonna be real* sick in just a while, kid...* A thin neurotic nasal voice answered on the other end. "Hullo? Hullo? I'm meditating here, fer the love a Krishna! What the hell d'ya want?" "Pipe down, Allen, and take the butt-plug outta yer ass. We got trouble in Interzone." "Mugwumps?" "Worse than Mugwumps, Ginzy -- feminists! Get Jackie and Huncke and get the hell over here on the double."	Philip
Inevitably, traffic this time of day was hell. It took nearly 45 minutes just to make the 5 mile trek from Allen's place. "Jesus", Allen said to himself. "I could've freakin crab walked faster". After picking up Jackie & Huncke ( a nickname given in college for his insatiable taste for Big Hunk candy bars), they passed the auquaduct overlooking Franklin Park. "Hey Al, look at those jugs!" pointing to a passing jogger being dragged by her rugged St. Bernard dog. "Cripes Huncke, you're right! And by golly, the chick ain't half bad either"	none

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