And the Prime levelling, is laying low the Mountaines, and
levelling the Hills in man. But this is not all.
Abiezer Coppe, A Fiery Flying Roll
Let history be your hymn of penance,
Farm your parents and the races in the ground,
Not for pelf but for remembrance,
And make ready for the festival of ruin.
Edward Dahlberg, Cipango’s Hinder Door
ForewordIt is those who are left behind, not those who go beyond, that are sad. The shape shifters have their own concerns. But this is a text as much concerned with life as with death. The metaphors are there for all to see. In the tradition of the I Ching and Ovid’s Metamorphosis, this is a book of change, a book of transformation, transmogrification, a book of insurrection and resurrection... a book of levelling.
JM
St. Ives, Cornwall
1 January 1995
* * * * *
So this is what happened.
I’m going to chop it off, she said.
Why?, I said. What for?
I want to, she said. And anyway you don’t need it anymore.
That’s true, I said. But what will you do with it?
There are all kinds of things I can do with it, she said. You’ll see. Bring it here.
With this she motioned me toward an old, unvarnished kitchen table. The surface was grainy. As I was naked already, I placed my cock flat on the surface, pressing my groin tightly to the edge. It was just the right height. My cock laid there, flaccid and shrivelled. The tabletop was cold.
It won’t be much use to you like this, I said. It’s too small. You need it bigger, at its full size.
You’re right, she said. And immediately began rolling it back and forth with her hand, as if it were a roll of dough.
The tabletop was rough, grooved and hard. Her hand was soft, dry and piercingly cold. The contrast between the two was curiously arousing and soon my prick engorged with blood. Achingly stiff, continually straining to rise to an acute angle but constantly flattened onto the tabletop by her insistently rubbing hand, my cock grew to the size she required.
At any moment I expected her to chop it off. She obviously knew that a cock is hardest and largest just before orgasm. But here her compassion became evident. Building to a climax, hot gouts of cum spurted explosively across the tabletop and I let out a yelp of joy. But instantaneously, from somewhere deep in the shrouds of her jet-black shift, seemingly from nowhere, she whipped out a cleaver and severed my dick cleanly at the root.
My immediate response was amazement. Not at the pain. There was none. Then or later. Ever. But at the severed cock and at the sight of the white spurts of my cum so swiftly counterpointed with the red splats of my blood.
She reached forward and grasped my cock. No, not my cock anymore. The cock. And lifted it high in her outstreched hand, waving it above her head like a trophy, and let out a whoop.
But seeing me aghast, her mood softened. Now, she said, now you’ll see what I can do with a cock. Such as, she said, thinking, pausing, such as ... using it to write with.
Wiggling the prick between figures and thumb, she made as if to write with it on the tabletop. Obligingly, some cum oozed out the tip in imitation of ink. I laughed.
Or, she said, twisting the cock in her fingers, I can use it as a cigar. Holding it out between forefinger and thumb she tapped it with her middle finger as if to knock off excess ash. A drop of spunk dripped on the floor. Responding to her playful mood, I snorted in amusement.
But of course, she said, a good cigar needs to be smoked. And with this she inserted the bloody end of the stump between her hemlock lips. Toking on the cock, a small drop of blood collected at the comer of her mouth. The effect was striking. Her long straight black hair framed the palest of pale faces. Her sharp black eyebrows arced over her liquid black eyes. And the stiff cock, bloody at one end, cum-stained at the other, oozed crimson on her blood-red lips .
I guffawed loudly. I couldn’t control myself. It was just too, too funny.
Or then again, she said, I could make myself into a unicorn. Popping the cock out of her mouth with a sucking sound, she held it to her forehead, making neighing sounds and pawing the ground with her foot.
By now I was laughing uproariously, her actions were so outrageous. And her appearance became even more scandalous, even funnier, when she lowered her horn, leaving a bright red smear in the middle of her brow. Oh, marvellous third eye!
And finally, at least for now, she said, there is my pièce, my piece (she lingered over it) de résistanae. And with that, in a most coarse and suggestive manner, but with an unmistakable elegance and grace, she hoisted up her shift and planted a foot right up on the edge of the tabletop, revealing a shaggy mass of black pubic hair.
Only one thing, I thought, could happen. It did. But it wasn’t the only thing. Of course she opened her cunt lips and inserted the stump, so that a cock now nestled inside that dark bush. A drop of blood from the dick dripped onto her thigh and gave her that menstruating look.
...
Mussolini continues to tower above and parliament crawls at his feet more than ever.
Full powers have been granted with the care of servants who compete with each other in degradation. Mussolini had said, “give them to me or I’ll take them”, and no one had the dignity to answer, take them from us, but don’t force us to play the part in a comedy of the bosses, when we are servants and are pleased to be so.
The socialists themselves have not understood that they cannot remain with dignity in an assembly that functions under the terror of the baton, or of dissolution, and where opposition can only be a farce.
Dictatorship triumphs: a dictatorship of adventurers without scruples or ideals, which came to power and remains there due to the disorientation of the proletarian masses and the anxious avarice of the bourgeois class in search of a saviour. But everyone feels that the situation is such that it cannot last, and the most enlightened conservatives, while paying due homage to the masters of the hour and revealing with every word the fear that dominates them, demand the restoration of the “liberal state”, that is, a return to constitutional deception.
The method by which Mussolini came to power does not allow deception, and this is what torments the innocent souls of the conservatives.
Mussolini, if he manages to consolidate his power, will do no more and no less than any other minister would: he will serve the interests of the privileged class, and will charge for his services. But he won’t make anyone believe that he arrived in government by the will of the people. His tyranny is too recent for him to be able to hide its origin: perhaps for this reason his murky conscience advises him to appeal to God!
We do not want to deal with the new government’s plans and intentions, whether new or old, sincere or otherwise. It’s always the same habitual rehashing of old lies, the old attempt to repair a collapsing house with a coat of paint.
For us, the only important change is this: we were enemies of government because government is no more than the armed defender of all social injustices, the creator of new injustices, the enemy of freedom, the material obstacle along the path of civilization. And we were enemies of fascism because it is a movement intended to defend bourgeois privileges, to impede the ascent of the proletariat, to choke out any aspiration towards a society more just and free; and it used brutal, ferocious and vile means to achieve its goals.
Now government and fascism have become the same thing, and are made up of the same personnel: there is therefore no longer the possibility of hesitation as there was when those two forces of oppression seemed to oppose each other.
Simplified situation: so much the better. So much the better if this can serve to reunite all the forces of progress in the struggle against triumphant barbarism.
We reaffirm our recognition of their legitimate struggle for self-determination, territorial autonomy, and the defense of their ways of life, culture, and community organization.
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We reaffirm our commitment to stand with the struggles of the peoples of Latin America and the Caribbean, to defend their sovereignty and self-determination, and to denounce the policies of interference, dispossession, and criminalization that violate their rights.
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We express our deep solidarity with the peasant, indigenous, and Garifuna organizations of Honduras, as well as with the communities, women, youth, families, and defenders of land and territories who face violence, threats, criminalization, and dispossession.
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