Читать книгу War/Peace - Matthew Vandenberg - Страница 40

'Maybe there's a way,' I say, pressing my body into the lounge. I cup my hands, touch them to one another, and move them through the air as though releasing tiny doves into the wild. 'It's - like - the fabric of space-time, and all they've gone and done is – like – totally given the thing a name, an identity, some kind of personality. Maybe it is a person, a figure, a deity, a colossal, unimaginable, pure force beyond explanation. Maybe there is an intelligent designer, as they say. And maybe we can prove it.'

'You just need to have faith,' Shelly says. 'There's no evidence except what you feel, inside.'

'Like I see the walls, they shimmer, it's like she's cold and she's shivering, maybe coz we're so close to her, coz we're high . . .' I mumble. 'Like – they say the intelligent designer needn't be a god. So she could be mother nature, right? She's beautiful, sweet, angelic, wise, and forever young . . .'

'Total MILF,' Jackson quips.

'Yeah,' I say. 'Goes without saying bro. But she ain't a babe on the beach, she so – like - “is” the beach: she's the waves as they lap at your legs, a sharp, wet, salty tongue, she's the sun's rays – so hot, and she's even poison ivy, or the spotted emu bush, a thorn on a rose, or the gravity that pulls a coconut off a palm. And when she cries her tears fall as rain, and when she cums it snows.' - I smile – 'And no doubt she cums regularly, and we see her when she drops by: either her glassy eyes light a naked, black sky, and we call these bolts of lightning, or we see snowflakes in the shape of fractals which have fallen from the heavens between her legs. So if she cums on a regular basis then all we need to do is gather evidence that it snows regularly. Should we find that it snows somewhere around the world every second day then perhaps this is evidence in favor of the existence of mother nature and, hence, the existence of an intelligent designer.'

'C'mon, space monkey,' Chloe says. 'Darling, there are a million alternative explanations to periodical snowfall. And snow can fall two days in a row.'

'Ahhh, but that's the same snowfall,' I say. 'Let's say that snow begins to fall somewhere in the world every second day. Each snowfall may last several days, or just one.'

'Wait,' Adrian says. 'Mother nature may not be from a similar culture to ours or, given that all cultures are actually quite similar in essence, she may be a fundamentalist and very unusual. She might be a rare Islamic woman who cannot cum because her vagina is stitched up.'

'Then why have we seen snow, Adrian?' Chloe asks.

'Um . . . maybe she got married,' Adrian says. 'Ok then: what if she's a woman from the Lesu of the South Pacific, who must press the heel of the right foot against her genitals should she wish to masturbate, and never use her hands? Given mother nature is so colossal, she may not always be able to reach her vagina with her right heel. So if we should find that it has not begun to snow anywhere in the world for several days, then we cannot conclude that mother nature does not exist.'

'But if she's Indian, she just might be familiar with the Kama Sutra, right?' Chloe asks. 'So then we would expect it to begin to snow somewhere in the world daily, hourly even.'

'I don't think mother nature . . . uh . . . pleasures herself,' Jerri says. 'That's silly. She's pure, you know. She's the air we breath. Perhaps performing this act would cause many plants to die, and release pollution into the air. You know, the French sometimes call an orgasm “le petite mort”, which means “the little death”.'

'So when's she dropping by?' Jackson says. 'We'll be welcoming her into the house, right? Is she a south-sider or a north-sider?'

'She's a northerner,' Adrian says.

'Wait!' Shelly says. 'You guys were talking about our next guest?'

'Shelly,' I press. 'The shrooms are so sexy. And you're so unbelievably sexy, and here's to hoping that the next babe who walks through that front door is a sexy southerner!'

'Here's to that,' Adrian says. 'Dude, we don't got no drinks.'

'I see a glass in your hand,' I say. 'That holy grail you're holding: it's like five times the size of you. Is that – like – a pillar or something? If you let go the roof will fall in. I swear. So you shouldn't.'

'This is nice,' Shelly says. 'We can just dream, see? Open our minds a little.'

'Gotta open the doors and let more girls in,' Jackson says. 'We can help so many people here. Seriously. We're like the hand of mother nature right now, and our palm is open.'

'Pixies!' I yell. 'OMG! If I could just touch one, just one, that would be so cool.'

'Where?' Adrian asks.

'Whoa,' I say. 'She – like – flies in and out of consciousness, like dolphins . . .'

'Huh?'

'Dude, why are we inside when it's so bright outside, like?' I say.

'War going on,' Jackson says. 'Remember?'

'Shit! Dude, we gotta do something. But there are so many pretty people in here: it's so colorful inside, so black and white out there, wouldn't you say? Oh – I am soooooo making a giant mushroom for dinner, the size of a Christmas tree. It will be sooooo fuckin' awesome dude. I wanna draw it. Shelly, do you got paper? Adrian?'

'Take this,' Jackson says.

'That's a fifty!' Jerri exclaims.

'Yeah, coz I so need that in here,' Jackson quips. 'What use is currency anymore? What matters is well-being, nothing else.'

'Spaghetti bolognese on top of a giant mushroom,' I say. 'She'll look so fine; beige, stringy hair, this beautiful black face; or maybe she'll look like MIA, feisty and fine . . .'

'Are you following him?' Shelly asks.

'To where?' Jackson replies. 'Just let him wander off on his own. Adrian, how come you ain't writing? Didn't you wanna – like – record the trip, Leary style?'

'No need,' Adrian says. 'That's the beauty of being in this house: I don't have to write anymore, I can just say whatever I wanna write and the Americans will hear it, it will be on record. I sooooo love being on display!'

******

References

1 Where Is My Mind? - Pixies

2 Purple Pills – D12

3 Goldenberg, J. L., Pyszczynski, T., McCoy, S. K., Greenberg, J., & Solomon, S. (1999). Death, Sex, Love, and Neuroticism: Why is Sex Such a Problem? Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 77, 1173-1187.

4 My Delirium – Ladyhawke