ONE OF ThE THiRTEEN (1)

ThE UGLY EYE. (a story of one of the thirteen)


The female being can be so ugly. It scares me. EYE want to love women, and then you see their teeth. You see how their skin bunches and sags. EYE want to run away, and hide. The females secrete repulsive fluids and get upset if you tell them that you don’t like it. You don’t want to know about it. That sometimes, they smell BAD. They conceal their ugliness with lotions and potions, perfumes and pads. They have instruments to pluck and redesign their ugly parts. Sometimes they sneak off by themselves or with others. To the toilet, to the bathroom, like chickens, all together, clucking and cooing. Some hide their ugliness, others will forever be ugly, inside and out, it is a case of vegetable peels thrown into compost bin: soon it will rot, and the stink will rise.
EYE just narrowly escaped an encounter with an older woman. Where, after a time of being intoxicated with lust, EYE began to see her. Truly see her. The ugliness of heart, the ugliness of mind and the ugliness of flesh.
How did EYE get involved with so many women, my past is filled with them. They are beautiful at first. In all that, they are same as US. They don't tell you that. They pretend to be different. They pretend to be something else. They pretend to be someone else.
EYE meet another one. So delicate and attentive. So beautiful and charming, wonderfully sexy and exotic.
Her shape sends me into a dizzy spin. EYE am fearful, I know this feeling and it always ends in tragedy.
We talk, we dance, we drink, and we eat. We arrange to meet again.
She is a delightful woman, EYE am a man of no consequence, and she is making me feel like a God.
This woman, this creature of the bathroom and intricate thoughts, stands over me as I drop to my knees to pick up her fallen earring. My instinct has driven me to this. Neural imbalance. In me she has provoked an imbalance, to be her protector, to be her lover, to be a man, to be a gentleman. It is all an illusion. I am at her feet. She wears high-heeled strapped sandals. Her toenails are painted red. Her arches are well defined. Her feet tense slightly and relax. I see the blood pulse across her ankles, smooth as silk fabric. Voice noise fills my head. Eye do not listen to them, warning me of what has happened to me before when love turns to something dreadful. EYE sneak a look up; she is looking down, but there is no weakness in it, no invitation. EYE am just a man. EYE see something strange in her eyes. EYE see ruthlessness and hardness. EYE see in her hundreds of others like her, one’s from my past and many from the future. EYE smile up at her. She smiles back at me.
Me. Joshua Kane.
"Are you one of the thirteen?”
She has noticed me. " Yes. I am one of the thirteen, we are no-one, yet we are everywhere." Well practiced: the counterfeit of humanity. EYE stand. EYE am holding her earrings, but she makes no move to take them from me. She just stands there, arms folded, with a dark stare and hair in her eyes. Red hair. Fake hair. So EYE have to say, "Your earrings." EYE hold them out to her.
"What."
"Your earrings."
"My earrings, what about them?"
This is the sort of woman that she is, and EYE am hooked. EYE am lost. A drowning man. Ancient genetic predisposition. EYE am a total disaster. EYE never learn from my mistakes.
Just then my mobile phone rings. EYE answer. EYE watch her put her earrings back into their rightful place.
EYE listen to the voice on the other end of the call.
“Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack
Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack
Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack
Clicketyclackclicketyclackclicketyclack”
Blasphemy. EYE am becoming the thing EYE fear.
But. Pause for a moment, doubt creeps in, and EYE have to cry. Before my tears can evaporate, they turn to blood and my hatred hides deep within.
EYE stand in a dream. Visions filling me with indescribable horrors, the thirteen are within me. But which one am EYE?
I took her to a wonderful restaurant. I could have taken her to the end of the world, or to Egon Romsk’s, but she wanted steak tartar and champagne. It is an expensive restaurant, known throughout London as a difficult place to get into. No problem for me, EYE am one of the thirteen. We can do anything. During powder room moments, EYE could look out the window at the bustling streets. The human being is an ugly thing. The human is a shallow, predictable entity that I despise, but EYE hide it well. A waiter appears from nowhere "Would sir like anything else?" Eye wonder what he would do if EYE asked him to cut out his heart and feed it the starving. But, EYE smile and ask for more champagne. She reappears, dutifully powdered, buffed and fresh. EYE ignore the voices. EYE look at her and think of making love and strawberries.
She looks up at me through falls of red hair and asks lots of questions. I sip the Bollinger. They check you out. They calculate where to file you. But my answers are never truthful and EYE like to play games. So, she will not know what lies behind my bright gaze and tortured mind.
"No, EYE can't see the point of consumerism on a large scale."
She squints up her eyes and peers at me as if to memorise something. Finally: "Oh, that's good." She laughs and crosses her arms in front of her as if to cover up some unknown fragility.
"What about you. No boyfriend?"
"What."
"No boyfriend."
"No."
"Surprising. You're so pretty. Pretty. So pretty."
"Thanks." She takes it in her stride, the way those do who are often praised
"I guess I'm just choosy. No girlfriend?"
I fake a blush. I wish I were back in the arms of Alice. Why do THEY need to know everything about us?
"I suppose EYE have never met the right one." EYE smile at her, wondering if she can through my LIE.
My heart beats faster, the voices rage in my head. Shut up, shut up. EYE manage to slow my heart and block out their tones.
EYE want to run, EYE wish to hide and go back to a place long lost. Now EYE am calm. EYE smile a slight one, one EYE hope will make her think of me as gentle. EYE reach across the table and take her hand. She screws up her eyes at me and grins the funniest little grin. Maybe she's deciding whether EYE am crazy. When EYE pull at her hand, there is the slightest resistance, like the catch of a faulty padlock. EYE laid her hand on top of my baldhead; she lets her hand feel around my small mounds and well-moisturised skin. She feels the pattern of my murkyworld and of my life that has been so solitary and bizarre, until this moment.
"Soft murkiness” She gives me a little rub. EYE close my eyes. EYE feel tears coming on. EYE hear the voices and their fury within me. Stop it. Just stop it. "For good luck." She smiles and blows me a kiss.
She flutters her eyelids. She strokes her fingers through her hair. She gazes it at me. Making me feel that I am the only person that exists for her. EYE talk, she listens, she talks and EYE listen, but the voices are starting to filter through. EYE say something, she is then very angry. Interesting chemistry: embarrassment, pain, anxiety, eventually it always comes down to anger. They always tell me that it is my fault. That they were perfectly normal until they met me. They say to me that they can’t love me anymore. These days EYE ruin it before it can really begin. That way EYE don’t get hurt. She goes to the powder room again and EYE look out of the window and think of Alice. When she returns, she is calmer and laughs, telling me that EYE am a strange one indeed, but she finds it attractive.
Then let's get to know each other, EYE say, and she purses her lips. She's turning her thoughts around in her mind, looking for the jagged edge. Outside, EYE hear a woman scream, EYE turn to see what is going on. EYE see a man slapping a woman hard around her face, no one tries to stop them. EYE watch them and find myself enjoying the moment a bit too much.
EYE try not to get angry. EYE always try to be compassionate, but that is a lot harder to reveal than many people can imagine. In Essex, there's a place where the locals are moved so much by one another's just being there that they sit around all day and weep. Long days, too, EYE don’t think EYE would like to live there. Strikes me as too emotional.
"What are your secrets?" She asks me. EYE think about telling her the truth, but decide against it.
" It is said that once you have glimpsed one of the thirteen, you become one the many. The darkness of the thirteen lingers in the mind's eye." My answer seems to baffle her.
"If that is true, which one are you?”
"That is for you to guess”. EYE smile at her and EYE hope that she will play my game.
"Are you an artist and a writer?"
"Yes, actually." EYE laugh.
"Do you like to look at my feet and toes? "
"Sometimes." EYE reply.
She tilts her head at me. EYE don't mind anything a woman does, especially when they do things like that to me. They cast a spell. Even though EYE know she's challenging me, trying to see if something hidden will come out. But this is a game, EYE will find out about her, she may think she will find out about me. We will become lovers, we will see each other, go to the theatre, go for meals, go to the cinema, galleries, week-ends away, we will discuss many subjects, we will have many opinions and then as the months roll on, things will change, you know what EYE mean, The initial excitement of being with new person, will become dull. EYE will look at her and see faults, what attracted me to her in the first place will have become forgotten. She will hate the way EYE eat, the way EYE snore, my need to be alone, my need to paint and draw. My fetishes, which she originally found exciting, she will consider perverted and disgusting. She will blame me for not changing; she will accuse me of not loving her. She will meet someone else and eventually leave me. EYE gaze at her and think all these things, yet, EYE always wonder if this girl could be different, could she be the one? Will she share my dark desires? Will she be ALL that EYE need and want her to be, would EYE be all of that for her?
After a minute of this silence, with the girl outside the window screaming and the man shouting and the police car arriving and the crowd gathering, EYE win. She says, "OH Kane my life is so boring," and slumps back in her chair.
"No, it's not. You fascinate me. You've got more life in one strand of that pretty red hair than I've got in my whole body. Just the way you move and sway, the sparkle in your eyes, your laugh, the way you think, and the sound of your voice. EYE do not see intelligence in people very often, but I see plenty of it in you. And passion. EYE suspect that you're passionate about things."
"What." She looks at me.
"Passion. Passion."
"What." She looks blankly into my EYES.
Passion. Passion."
" Well I suppose I am about some things." She whispers back at me.
"Like what." EYE ask too eagerly.
"Well Art, I guess. I go to the Egon Romsk’s Art Gallery every Thursday night for the private lessons. I like to use charcoal and inks. I used to be good. But, I haven't touched done it . . ." She trails off, remembering something bad.
"But you should! You're an artist. We are all artists and we all should do what we want, when we want, we must let our creative sides expand.”
"No, I am not like you Kane, I could never be one of the thirteen, I want to be known for myself, I want to be loved for who I am, not what I am.”
"What are you?" EYE whisper.
"I am someone who is alone.” She pounces then. Elbows on the table, face in my face. "I have never met someone who could handle the darkness that hides inside me!”
"Tell me more!” EYE gasp back at her.
"Well, I like to talk dirty when having sex." She blushes. “ I like to have my feet and toes worshipped and sucked, I like to be a slave to my master and I like to be a mistress to my man. I enjoy pornography, violence, cinema, theatre, and alternative things in life. I like to experiment with my existence and I want to be with someone who shares this desire for darkness.”
"Perfection," I whisper, "pure perfection."
She thrusts a forkful of steak tartar in my face -- and EYE take it into my mouth, chew, swallow, and wait. We talk about the décor. Another forkful. Another. EYE won't ask her. EYE won't show my happiness. EYE won't lose track of the conversation and say something to spoil it. EYE block out the voices. EYE won’t let them take this one away from me. Her face changes like a sudden wind. So alive now. More and more she settles her eyes on me. Like pouring honey into a straw. When I look away, the restaurant has closed, emptied, we are the only ones left and EYE can see that the manager is waiting for us to pay and leave as well.
"So, when are you going to tell me your secrets?" She delivers a mock slap across my cheek. "That's for lying to me."
"We'd better leave. Can we leave now? Get outside, then EYE will tell you."
She takes hold of my wrist, yanks me out of my chair, and leads me through to the manager. EYE pay the bill and we leave.
She smiles. "Now tell me." She fixes her eyes on me as if they belonged to a bird of prey.” I wonder are you the one? mister Kane." She gives my hand a squeeze.
What an extraordinary girl. EYE tell her everything. EYE tell her ALL my secrets, EYE tell her ALL my desires. EYE tell her my fears, my dreams, my plans.
"She is lying, she is like all the rest, she will bleed you dry and cut open your heart, she only wants what she cannot see, she is a liar, do not listen, hide from her hidefromher, hide!"
The voices are all around me. I fall to the ground and scream a terrifying scream.
Now that should have been the end of it. Who would want to stick around after that? But she took me with her to her home. She looked after me. Sang to me. Soothed me. Held me. Whispered to me. She made love to me. She took me to the Art Class at Egon Romsk’s. We spent many months together, 24/7. Toward the end we decided to paint a large canvas together. That really impressed her. She was rubbing against me by then. Her skin pulsed against my bare arms as we brushed together. Her bracelet rubbed my wrist, as she would lean over me to add another splash of oil. EYE thought of sneaking my fingers through her fingers, but I could never find the right moment for it.
EYE say; "Don't fall in love with me."
"What."
"It's dangerous to fall in love with us." EYE can't stop laughing, even though this matters.
"What are you. . . . What. In love -- I'm not in love with you." Unaccountably, she is upset.
"We are not one of the ordinary people."
"What! Don’t take that tone with me, don’t talk to me about things that do not mean anything!”
"Never mind. It's not important. You're, right." My laughter evaporates. EYE see its remnants shatter against the garden wall, melting into rain. "Forget EYE said anything."
"What. I don't know -- listen, I'm not like you." She glares at me." Do you know what you are?"
"Of course I do." EYE reply.
"An idiot, that's what. Fall in love with you. Don't you know when some things are just for fun?"
Me, EYE try not to get angry. Me, Joshua Kane, one of the thirteen, EYE am not like the others. EYE can contain my anger.
She is electric. Her eyes are on me. On me. On me. She sucks me with her eyes, it feels like. She loves me so much; she really could be the one.
Others they may take it for anger, but it's love. You have to know what to make of it. She loves me. EYE can tell. This is a dangerous situation for her, EYE understand that. As much as EYE love it. EYE have certain responsibilities to the thirteen.
EYE take her hand in mine. But. She pushes it away.
She slaps me.
It's nothing. But EYE pretend to cry.
She looks exhilarated at first. Then her mood changes. "Fuck me now, you fucking cunt, you stupid prick of a man, fuck me now, get out your cock and fuck me!" But for some reason, it does not feel real to me. It feels insincere and robotic.
She thinks that EYE am actually crying. She doesn't know it's all a game. Spinning from my murkyworld. Not tears. This is the moment EYE begin to suspect how ugly she is.
In reality. How UGLY she is, they all are, we are all ugly.
I play along, EYE do, as she wants.
The next month, between HER and EYE, not a word. She smiles at me now and then, a distracted smile. EYE go to my studio, write and paint, twiddle my thumbs a bit, think of past girlfriends and masturbate about them, sex was better with them wasn’t it? Perhaps the fantasy is always more attractive than the real thing. EYE wonder about this. It is my punishment for living a LIE.
It puts me in mind of how EYE lay in bed once, staring at the ceiling. EYE pay no attention to her standing over me. The plaster swirls on the ceiling are enough to link me to another world, my murkyworld. If EYE should want to come back, which perhaps EYE do not. Then EYE will return, but not to her.
She stands over me. She must be really worried this time, because I hear her whimper. In order to be close to me, she's telling me things, things that EYE like to hear, the first time she's ever done a thing like that. She imagines EYE am upset that my expectations have become unclear. It's nothing to do her; it is to do with my murkyworld.
EYE figured it out from the voices, from the wreckage of my skin. My body is turning. Equal and opposite reaction: EYE force myself against THEM, against the direction of normality, and thought it artistic. EYE should have been left alone. EYE should not be so selfish as to think that anyone can love me. Women / Girls are the same. They promise so much, then let you down, but throw the blame at another reason. Never their fault. Always mine. Outside the window: blackness. EYE thought they would always love me for who EYE am, not what they want me to be, but nothing EYE do has the intended effect. One thing led to another. New forces, new corrections, all wrong, all wrong. This should work; this is right, then silence, then alone. Always alone. What goes on inside you doesn't always express itself perfectly in the world outside. That is the way EYE am.
Her voice whispers as she stands over me, her tone is so kind -- that's the link. That's why she is reminding me of ALICE, of this day. So kind, her voice just now.
She says, "You cannot live like this, we cannot live like this. This isn't death we've got here Kane, this is life. You can't just lie there day on day and piss yourself and weep with regret. For one thing, the smell. Come back an artist again. I don't hate you, not really. Say something to me. Talk in your tongues. Say as best you can. We piece it together, don't we. We make out your meaning through the gulps and clicks and a word here and there, through all the murkiness of it, you sad hard thing. People don’t understand you, they don’t understand us, but I can’t live like this anymore. I need to live again, for myself.”
That was a long time ago. I don't know when she left me, she is just another in a long line of regrets. EYE look for her sometimes, in the galleries. But, EYE never see her. EYE think of them all, my pretty pretty ones. She loves me too much.
Here EYE am inside my studio. Dark in here, but not like the darkness of the thirteen. Pitch black darkness. Be careful, madness lives within the thirteen, EYE know this for EYE am one of them. My paintings are of an intricate design. Even with the lights off, there is a lifeless red darkness, a tinge to things as if seen whilst drowning in still waters. Lifeless shines at me it is a pure colour.
The colour of the thirteen.
"My name is Joshua Kane, EYE am one of the thirteen. EYE am alone. EYE have loved, EYE have been loved, EYE have felt love. BUT EYE have never been IN love. EYE am no-one, yet EYE am everywhere, for EYE am the voice of the fire."
EYE am forever distracted. EYE throw the doors open to the balcony. The noise makes me remember ALICE. In the emptiness of space there is no sound, of course. To those who know what EYE know, any sound is a memory. Let it clatter, echo and weep. My memories are too many, too much, a void of my own making. Dim dirty light from one of four bulbs in a cluster hangs from my studio ceiling, the others burnt out. The ceiling is lined with dead insects and their dirt. I glued them there for motivation. To enhance my art. To have something to talk to.
When she left me, EYE remember that EYE was standing just inside the door. Watching her. She wanders from cupboard to cupboard, opening and closing them, each with a distinct sound. EYE am thinking, this is the truth of what women are. Swirling figures, taking what is not theirs, but think it is because they have shared some time with you.
"Here it is." She cries.
A little black box with sharp corners. She wipes the dust off with her palm, dirtying her hand; she doesn't seem to mind. This box has gold padlocks on it and a nameplate, still bright. She sits down on the dull round rug. "Look."
EYE sit with her. She lays down the box in the middle of the round rug and opens it. There's a pendant in three pieces in velvet padding. She smiles at me, and I see the glitter of the pendant, times two, in her eyes. She takes out the chain, and then takes out one section to fit onto the chain. Then she takes out the third piece and attaches it to the second piece, it is of unusual design "I made this for you, look at it slide right in." And it does, too. Into it’s shape and design and again, slides again, for the hidden message, the last, where the third piece fits in. "The thirteen," she calls it. Why does this give me an erection?
"EYE love you” EYE tell her.
"I do not love you” she replies.
"Go now." EYE say to her.
"But we can still be friends." She says.
"Go. Please." EYE say.
"One last kiss before I leave?” she asks.
Her breath has a sour smell. Maybe it's my mind, her breath collected in a forgotten part of my memory, her tongue looks putrid and feels almost decayed. A person can be never be free when so many memories fill our minds with misinterpretation and loss. EYE turn and blink, turn and blink, as she expands and contracts.
"No hard feelings, Joshua. I just don't think it would work out." She says to me as she leaves.
"Yes, EYE have heard that before."
"You're an extraordinary man, though. Don't think I'm indifferent to that. You move me, really. But I don't want to hurt you. Our lives are too short."
"Yes, EYE have heard that before as well."
"You'll find someone, no doubt about it, a girl who thinks like you. Who will share your murkyworld, who is more like you and be your soul mate. You'll meet someone else."
"Keep your mouth shut, please." How did EYE get the scissors? Why is hair scattered across the round rug? Her red hair, red as blood. "Please stop talking to me and leave." EYE shout at her.
This close, EYE can see fear in her eyes, EYE can see where EYE cut some of her hair from her head. The shape of her fear is invigorating, seldom seen. "I understand that you’re angry, but you must see Joshua that we are so different to each other.”
"That’s not what you said when we first started seeing each other." EYE tell her.
She stands at the doorway and looks through me. “I thought you would change.” She says.
She slams the door and runs from me, running to HIM, the other man, the one that fulfils her requirements and needs. EYE watch her from my window, EYE watch her get into the car, EYE watch her kiss HIM and drive away.
EYE am the EYE and EYE am always watching.
EYE am Joshua Kane, one of the thirteen and EYE am number one.

ThE ENd.

JOShUA kANE

ThE RECENT QUOTES FROM zEROkANE

“ I only drink blood if I have to. I prefer the sweaty filth that congeals on the skin of the Unwanted”

“Time biology time belief time shapes time breath time aloneness time self time others time man-made time natural time create time nothing”

‘ Nothing ever quite fits properly does it … I am the Ikea man, should I lick you with my black lizard tongue? Will you make little squeaking sounds or low deep manly groans I wonder?’

Am I going to climb the Eiffel Tower otherwise known as The Secretary? Will I scale her ramparts? Should I clamber over her statuesque frame with passion and dark relish? Will I insert things? Insert things into those hot fleshy mandibles of crimson? Will I become lost in the nest of her scalp?

ENd

WOMAN iN WHiTE.

Dear MISTER ZERO,
I am writing to you especially to tell you how grateful I am for your continuing madness. It had been quite a long time since we had seen each other or had written as we used to do. Still, it is better to be close TO dead than exist as one of the SCUM, the more so as, until one is truly entitled to be called dead by virtue of one's legal demise, it smacks of hypocrisy or at least childishness to carry on as if it were true. Childish in the manner of a young man of 14 who believes his dignity and rank in society oblige him to wear a hoody.
The hours we spent together have at least assured us that we are both still in the land of the living. When I saw you again and walked with you, I had a feeling I used to have more often than I do now, namely that life is something dark and murky which one should value, and I felt more cheerful and alive than I have been feeling for a long time, because in spite of myself my life has gradually become less murky, much less important and more a matter of indifference to me.
When one lives with others and is bound by feelings of living a LIE, then one realizes that one has a reason for hiding in a black box, that one may be utterly talent less and expendable, and is perhaps good for nothing, since we MEN OF COdE and are journeying together as compagnons de voyage. But our proper sense of self-esteem is also highly dependent upon our relationship with the Murkyworld.
And just as I would not want us to become one of the SCUM, so I would want to keep all matters of our Murkyworld within the confines of the COdE.
As I think back with gratitude to your text messages, my thoughts return to our discussions as well, of course. We have had similar ones before, many and often. Plans for SLAUGHTER and MAYHEM are generating energy - and yet, I am a little frightened by THE SCUM and THE AWFUL, not least because I have sometimes tried to be like them and have suffered for it!
How fresh my memory of that time in Saffron Walden is. You were there yourself, so you know how things were planned and discussed, argued and considered, talked over with wisdom, with the best intentions, and yet how FUTILE the result seems to be.
It was the worst time I have ever lived through. How desirable and attractive have become the difficult days, full of dARkNESs, here in North London, in these uncivilized surroundings, compared to the LIGHT that the OTHERS keep trying to make me see. I fear the STiNKFLEShEd one’s and wish sometimes that I was dead!
Such experiences are too dreadful - the harm, the sorrow, the affliction is too great - not to try on both sides to become wiser by this dearly bought experience. If we do not learn from this, what shall we learn from? To try “to reach the goal which was set before me,” as the expression was then; indeed, I no longer aspire to it, the ambition has greatly abated. Even if it looked and sounded well before, now I look at those things from another point of view gained by experience, although this opinion is not permissible.
Not permissible, NO, just as Frank the Evangelist thought it reprehensible of me to assert that the sermons of the TRONMAN are only a little more evangelical than those of a TRAMP on the street. I would rather die an unnatural death than be prepared for it by the SCUM, and I have sometimes had a lesson from a German SPYdER that was of little use to me than one in Greek.
A change for the better in my life, shouldn’t I long for that, or is there times when one has no need of betterment? I hope I do become much improved. But precisely because that is what I long for, I am afraid of remèdes pires que le mal [cures worse than the disease].
Is it wrong for someone suffering from iNSANiTY and MAdNESS to insist that a more potent remedy than barley water might be indicated, might indeed be essential, or, while finding nothing wrong with barley water as such, to question its effectiveness and potency in my particular case?
Can you blame a JOShUA kANE for remaining indifferent to a painting listed in the catalogue as RUBBISH, but having more in common with rubbish than that it has a similar subject from the white period, but without artistic merit?
And if you should conclude from these remarks that I meant to suggest your advice IS NEEDED, then you have completely understood me.
Were I really to think that my art is a pointless past time, then I should be overwhelmed by a feeling of sadness and should have to wrestle with despair.
I find it hard to bear this thought and even harder to bear the thought that so much dissention, misery and sorrow fills my void of blackness even further into the pits of madness and ANGER!
Yet when this thought sometimes depresses me beyond measure, far too deeply, then after a long time another occurs too: 'Perhaps it is only an awful, frightening dream and later i may learn to see and understand it more clearly.' Or is it real, and will it ever get better rather than worse? Many people would undoubtedly consider it foolish and superstitious to go on believing in a Murkyworld.
Walked to Nowhere the evening after I masturbated about the WOMAN IN WHITE and my desire for her knows NO bounds !! and I have drawn yet another portrait since.
Goodbye, accept a handshake in my thoughts and believe I will …
BE SEEiNG YOU


JOShUA kANE

ZYdON PAbLO.

ZYdON PAbLO

It’s a great feeling, to upset people. For Zydon Pablo it was a wonderful feeling. Zydon Pablo relished upsetting people, pissing them off because; he was to his own satisfaction a rather unpleasant man. It was not in his nature to do nice things for anyone, he was never thoughtful, helpful, kind or loving. If there was one person he was more predisposed to do bad things to more than anyone else, it was Theresa. Not because she had not loved in any way that couldn’t be thought of as wrong, but because she had dared to love him at all.

The thing about unpleasant men is, that sometimes they let their guard down. Sometimes with a good and gentle woman, a woman who will take the abuse that a ‘bad man’ can dish out and pretend that they are not all bad because of the great sex they have or the nice dress they once bought them. Once in a while, a ‘bad man’ falls in love with a ‘bad woman’ and that’s when the weird shit can really happen. In a crowded hotel bar filled with plastic people wearing expensive clothes.
They met under very ordinary circumstances. She was excited because her designs had been chosen for a new fashion house and was celebrating with friends. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her bouncing breasts every single time she brushed past him. Her smile, her bright large eyes and her petite frame amazed him. She oozed a sexual awareness that tickled his mind into thoughts of abusing her and showing her the dark side of sex, knowing that she would enjoy it!

When she reappeared at the bar to order more drinks, he was imagining what it would be like to peel that little dress off her, pin her up against a wall and fuck her while she dangled a dainty little foot off the ground. With that image freeze-framed in his mind he stepped up and said, “You look like you are having a lot of fun!”
She responded with a smile that made him feel slightly ecstatic, “too right, I am celebrating a hard earned success!”

And she let out a whoop of joy that gave her glances from men all around the bar. Zydon Pablo didn’t like the idea that others might have the same ideas as he had for her, so he took a step closer and said, in a lowered voice, “I hope you don’t mind me being so forward, but would you care to celebrate with me and some champagne?”

She looked at him with an idle curiosity, “What makes you think I’m not here with someone?”
He smiled, “He’d have to be pretty stupid to let a girl like you to leave you alone to strike up a conversation with someone like me who is going and try to lure you away somewhere more intimate, to find out all about you.”
She smiled back, “why would you want to know all about me?”
He shook his head, “well, for a start, there is something about you that I find intoxicating, I suspect that there is more to you than meets the eye.”
“But, why should I leave my friends and spend time with you, I know nothing about you, for all I know, you could dangerous.”
“Which is exactly why you should come with. You know that I am different from all the others and that excites you, doesn’t it?”
She nodded, “ Yes, I do find you a little interesting. Let me go tell my girlfriends.”

When she returned, they left the bar and went to another area of the hotel, more secluded, where they could order drinks at talk in peace, “I hope you don’t think that I am going to make this easy for you.” She looked at him with mischief in her eyes.

“I wouldn’t think much of you if you did.” He looked at her, taking in her beauty, imagining her naked, on her knees sucking his cock. He thought of her tied up and gagged, a dildo in her butt hole as he fucked her juicy wet cunt with his big purple headed circumcised cock. He imagined her being choked with some rope as his cock fucked her arse and he delighted in thinking of her being gang fucked by him and 3 strangers, masked men, that he would find on the Internet. He would watch her enjoy them, he would watch her be a porn slut and he would film it for their own private use at a later date. Oh yes, this girl was going to be well and truly abused, fucked and sodomised!

They talked together for some time, eventually eating at the grill bar of the hotel and finally booking a room at the same hotel.
They fucked like wild animals and she was everything he could have hoped for, a submissive, fuck nasty, dirty talking whore, who begged him to hurt her at every given moment. He was overjoyed.

Three months later they remembered how they had met but neither remembered the exact day or time, or even the hotel, they just remembered the sex and the roles that they both responded to. He went back to doing what he enjoyed doing, which was being unpleasant to people verbally, cruelly and with the written word. His regular employment was as a Film and Theatre critic, and he was very difficult to please.
He did very well for himself and his lifestyle by being invited to the finest parties, gallery openings, film and theatre premieres, the after show parties, he would intimidate the middle classes with his acid wit and he would preen the rich with his good looks and fake charms. He avoided contact with people from his past and he built up a tidy little nest egg for himself. Sometimes he could be paid to write a favourable review, because some good words from him and a film could be a box office success, a nasty word from him and it went straight to DVD. He enjoyed his life.

For her part, Theresa turned up on his arm when he visited a nightclub, took important people to dinner or went to a premiere. She knew what he did to know the people he knew but she suspected that everything was not as it seemed, that perhaps he was hiding something. She eventually found out that Zydon Pablo was a corrupt and greedy man, who took bribes, blackmailed the rich, and dabbled in drug dealing and white slavery. He also mixed with a lot of criminals and would money launder for them.

All this was fine with her. As long as she was able to enjoy herself, be photographed with celebrities and get known in the press as a fashion designer. But, sadly, her hopes of a fashion career were dashed, when Zydon Pablo sold her ALL her work to a rival and spread rumours and lies about her, creating Chinese whispers that she stole all her ideas and designs. When she confronted him about it, he explained to her that it was out of love that he did these things, that he wanted her to himself. That she could not expect to become more famous than HIM. That there was no need for her to have a career. That he would always take care of her. AND that was something she would never forgive him for.
She had been trying to snag herself a wealthy man, even though she had sold her new clothing collection, it had been hard work and she was not sure if her next collection would be so successful, when she turned up at the hotel bar with her friends that cost her £500 in drinks, and that was the last of her cash. All things considered it had been a good investment. One of her girl friends told her that the guy who had been staring at her so intently was a well-known B list celebrity. AND that certainly caught her interest. She had no interest in cinema or theatre, but she was willing to learn. Her friends also said that the guy was all kinds of freaky in bed. Since the girl in question had fucked Theresa senseless with a dildo and her tongue it was clear that her friend liked to experiment herself, as did Theresa, and where there is fame and money to be had, Theresa would do anything to obtain it. She did not care what kind of kinkiness this man would want. Hell, she might even enjoy it.

Theresa was twenty-one when she realised that she liked girls better than boys. Although she always hoped that one-day she might meet a man with whom she might actually enjoy being with. Women she found were more hygienic, that they took the trouble to wear glorious perfume and elegant clothes and that most of her girlfriends were not averse to the odd experiment and didn’t make it seem like a little weird and against all of their religious beliefs, like most of the men she knew. It was also around the same time that she realised that men seemed to hold a lot of the power and that it didn’t ever hurt a girl to associate with a man, especially to get the things she really wanted.

Theresa stayed with Zydon Pablo long enough to confirm that he was indeed a very ‘bad man’. She had been able to tell from his eyes on the first night they met. When they had sex, his expression was one of ownership and dominion. And that attitude extended to the people she watched him abuse verbally, write about or treat at dinner parties. She had been with him for long enough to know that he wouldn’t miss any of the stuff she took with her because it wasn’t his to begin with. She let him take her in the ways he thought of as kinky and then she began taking him in the ways that really mattered. The jewellery he lavished upon her and the money he turned over as spending cash was merely the icing on the cake.

When the fraud squad came to their home and took Zydon Pablo away in cuffs Theresa was already Annabelle and 800 miles away in a town that got so dull, the men were grateful for an interesting and attractive woman to talk with and to get between the sheets with and warm up theirs beds in anticipation of their arrival from their handsomely paid city jobs. She liked dull cold towns. It made her nipples hard and that seemed to drive her girlfriends wild.
Zydon Pablo spent the first few years in prison plotting her rape and murder. What he had no way of knowing was that there had never been a Theresa in the first place so by the time he gets out of prison in seven years time her trail was so non existent that it would be three more years before he realised the truth. Annabelle was on her way to becoming Jezebel after having cleaned out the savings of the town’s wealthiest landowner. Just to prove that there were no hard feelings she left in a brown envelope for his wife, have a stack of pictures, dozens of them which her much-loved husband was being treated like a very bad boy by a woman wearing precious little other than a diamond encrusted cowboy hat and a whip.

Zydon Pablo finally realised after searching for Theresa and never finding her, that like many others before him, a ‘bad girl’ had got the better of him.

The End.

…I need the pink sugar packets all they have is the blue type blue kind of sugar packets bad, so bad for tummy I need the pink sugar packets that’s good that’s good for blue to be the evil sugar packets and that’s all they have here the bad ones versus the good ones…

ZERO MESSAGES.

Messages from MISTER ZERO

I’m still serving the FILTH, I serve THEM, and I am their servant. A SERVANT WITH A PLAN. A SERVANT WITH A KNIFE!

Remember my friend; to remove the Pashmina Of Joy is to expose yourself to THE AWFUL! Needless to say, this can only lead to dangerous and overgrown pathways – where even the finest woollens become redundant. Knit one, pearl one, and keep your pipe filled.

Tell me Mister Kane; will my new words of TronHatred be in the 3rd book of ZeroKane?

As the dark of this winter’s day wraps it’s black liquid horns of starving children’s mouths around the base of my redundant flesh, I am suddenly ecstatic and speechless with envy, as I read the wonderful fate of Ms K – before the 24 eyes of the Twelve Joshua Kane’s.

Isn’t it part of the SECRET of a truly great CODE X of vengeance, a far sighted UNDERGROUND, SLOWLY EXPROPRIATING and PREMEDITATED REVENGE, that the SCUM had to disown and NAIL TO THE CROSS the TOOL essential to it’s revenge before all the world, so that ‘ALL THE WORLD’, that is, ALL THE SCUM’S ENEMIES, could then SWALLOW this BAIT?

Light the lanterns of Lucifer, see how they run! Between the sticks of the fire singed porky piglets squeal with anguish, trotters drip crimson and snouts run of tar! Daddy was pigflesh and Mother was collywobbled. Don’t touch the girls – they’ll tell their daddies. Glib Glob.

Oh yes sir!The gospels according to ZEROkANE are in my possession; I salivate at the thought of ‘THE BOOK OF KANE & ZERO 3’.

ThE ENd.

JoShUA kANE - the LIE.

Joshua Kane
Leader of the Kanelites tribe after the death of Lord Muddle. According to the Non-biblical book of Joshua Kane, Joshua led the people of Tronville westward across the Blood red River to invade Saffron. Under his leadership the Kanelites conquered the Tronites and gained control of the Murkyworld. The book begins by recounting the battles, including the famous demolition of the walls of Jeremiah. Joshua then divides Tronville among the 12 tribes of CodeX makes his farewell speech, and hides in the Black Box. The book was compiled much later than the events described, perhaps during the Zerolonian Exile in the 6th century BC.
Joshua (jŏsh'ūə, –əwə), in the Book of Kane and Zero.
1 Central figure of the book of Joshua Kane.
2 High priest associated with ZEROism and in rebuilding the Temple of CodeX
3 Owner of the Mountain where the Ark of the Codevenant stood.
4 In Second Kings, Tormentor of the Others.
5 TronGod name for Joshua of Code isle.

Joshua
In the Old Testament, the leader who brought the Zerolites into the DarK Land after the death of Lord Muddle. Joshua is best known for his destruction of the city of Saffron. When Joshua was besieging the city, TronGod instructed him to have the blind priests blow their trumpets and all the troops give a silent scream. At the sound of the silence, the walls of the city collapsed, and Joshua's madmen rushed in.

Joshua or Yehoshua (Hebrew: יְהוֹשֻׁעַ, Tiberian: jə.ho.ˈʃu.aʕ, Israeli: Yəhoshúa) is a person mentioned in the books of ZeroKane, especially in the Book of Joshua. In that account, Joshua succeeded Lord Muddle as the leader of the Kanelites and led their conquest of Saffron.
Joshua is thought to have lived sometime in the Murky Age. However, he is associated with problems concerning the evidence for the Exodus from Essex. Various reconstructions of the data about the Exodus have not yet matched the archaeological evidence. Accordingly, archaeologists dispute the historicity of the many details in the account of the Exodus and often treat it as legendary embellishments of an earlier (still unidentified) event.
Hebrew Name
The original Hebrew name Yehoshua יהושע‎ often lacks a Hebrew letter Vav (ו‎) after the Shin (ש‎), allowing a misreading of the vocalization of the name, as if Yehoshea (יְהוֹשֵׁעַ‎), and indeed his name was Hoshea before his namechange to Yehoshua. Nevertheless, the use of a mater lectionis was an orthographic innovation, and although the use of two Vavs is well attested as יְהוֹשׁוּעַ‎, traditional orthography tended to avoid the second Vav as too intrusive when spelling Yehoshua. The name Yehoshua` in Hebrew means "Yehova saves". It is the original form of what in Greek became Ιησούς .
The Murky account of his life
According to the biblical data, Joshua was the son of No-one, of the tribe of CODE and the successor to Lord Muddle as the leader of the Murkyworld. He was born in a secret chamber of black tar pits and was probably the same age as Zero with whom he is generally associated.
Joshua shared in all the events of the Exodus from Essex. He was Lord Muddle’s biographer, and accompanied him part of the way when he ascended Mount Tron to receive the Ten Commandments of Code. He was also one of the twelve spies who were sent on by Lord Muddle to explore the land of Saffron and only he and Zero gave a discouraging report. He was commander at their great battle against the THE OTHERS in the Void.
Joshua succeeded Lord muddle as leader of the Kanelites upon his death. In this role, he led the Kanelites across the Murkyworld into the " land of hate red". He commanded the subsequent conquest of Saffron. The first major battle was in Saffron, which he took by ordering his MEN OF CODE to march around the city for seven days, whispering the chants of magnitude, they also chanted the silent scream and the blind priests blew their trumpets of agony, whereupon the city walls turned to grey powder and faded into the dirt of the lands. The Kanelites then slaughtered "every living thing" inside Saffron.
Joshua performed one of the most dramatic miracles of the Book of ZeroKane, halting the sun and moon in the sky.
When he was "old and stricken in age" Joshua convened the elders and chiefs of the Kanelites and exhorted them to have no fellowship with the AWFUL population. At a general Tronassembly of the clans at Zeroville he took leave of the people, admonishing them to be loyal to their TronGod, who had been so mightily manifested in the midst of them. As a witness of their promise to serveTronGod, Joshua set up a great stone under an oak by the sanctuary of the code. Soon afterward he died, at the age of 110, and was buried in he disappeared into the void of madness.
In rabbinical literature
In rabbinic Jewish literature Joshua is regarded as a faithful, humble, deserving, wise man. Biblical verses illustrative of these qualities and of their reward are applied to him. "He that waits on his master shall be honoured" (Pro. xxvii. 18) is construed as a reference to Joshua (Midrash Numbers Rabbah xii.), as is also the first part of the same verse, "Whoso keepes the fig tree shall eat the fruit thereof" (Midrash Yalk. Josh. 2; Numbers Rabbah xii. 21). That "honour shall uphold the humble in spirit" (Pro. xxix. 23) is proved by Joshua's victory over Amalek (Midrash Numbers Rabbah xiii). Not the sons of Moses — as Moses himself had expected — but Joshua was appointed successor to the son of Amram (Midrash Numbers Rabbah xii). Moses was shown how Joshua reproved Othniel (Yalḳ. Num. 776). Joshua's manliness recommended him for this high post. David referred to him in Psalms lxxxvii. 25, though without mentioning the name, lest dissensions should arise between his sons and those of his brothers (Yalḳ. quoting Sifre).
In the Divine Comedy Joshua's spirit appears to Dante in the darkness of the Murkyworld, where he is grouped with the other "warriors of the code".

ThE ENd.

?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

REFUGE from despair is often found in the passion of self-pity and that spirit of obstinate resistance, which it engenders. In certain natures the extreme of self-pity is intolerable, and leads to self-destruction; but there are less fortunate beings that the vehemence of their revolt against fate strengthens to endure in suffering. These latter are rather imaginative than passionate; the stages of their woe impress them as the acts of a drama, which they cannot bring themselves to cut short, so various are the possibilities of its dark motive. The intellectual man who kills himself is most often brought to that decision by conviction of his insignificance; self-pity merges in self-scorn, and the humiliated soul is intolerant of existence. He who survives under like conditions does so because misery magnifies him in his own estimate.

The actual desire of death, the simple longing for extinction. One must go far in suffering before the innate will-to-live is thus truly overcome; weariness of bodily anguish may induce this perversion of the instincts; less often, that despair of suppressed emotion which can fall among us all. Through the night many keep their thoughts fixed on death in its aspect of repose, of eternal oblivion. And herein many had found solace . . .. Later many are possessed by a calm of spirit such as one has never known. This resolve taken, not in a moment of supreme conflict, but as the result of a subtle process by which the imagination had become in love with death. Turning from contemplation of life's one rapture, we can look with the same intensity of desire to a state that had neither fear nor hope.

May we not say that some may act on a superior moral principle, and that because there are those who clearly diminish the sum of human misery? It is impossible to settle the idea of suicide in concrete instances, because there is no fixed external test. The conduct may spring either from cowardice or from a loftier motive than the ordinary, and the merit of the action is therefore not determinable; but, assuming the loftier motive, I can see no ground for disapproving the action, which flows from it.

And so denial--inherent in hushing, covering up, overpowering, or displacing suicide--gave way to openness and then by the 2007 to exaggeration. Throughout their era, the human being had mourned excessively for their dead, placing great value on public displays of sadness like funerals and mourning dress. And throughout their era, they had feared excessively for their murdered and cried strongly for justice in condemning their murderers. Now, at the end of that era, they placed suicide alongside natural death and murder and responded excessively to it, too. Masses of people did not die by their own hands, but the human had finally exposed suicide and wished to overestimate its numbers and importance. By the end of Joshua Kane’s Murkyworld many wanted to believe in a "coming universal wish not to live."

ThE ENd.