Принц Папа Жан

I was making love with Irina

I was making love with Irina, the demon. Amid thirteen candles arranged to form an inverted pentagram in my studio. The floor was soaked with inflammable paints and we expected the burning out candles to set fire to them at any moment…I had already made my choice. I could not burn out slowly. I could not be a flickering light around which bats flap their wings of unhappy love and could blow it out completely at any moment… What was left to me was to perform the final, most sinful ritual and die and in hell to find solace from the inferno on earth. If Hell did at all exist! If we had not merely invented Paradise in order to feel heavenly pleasure in the brief moments in which we are happy and which are followed by an endless sinking into the morass where frogs do not croak, nor mosquitoes buzz, where there are not marsh spirits nor a marsh priestess. The swamp of death in life. The dull pain in the soul, more excruciating than the most refined torture of the sadistic Inquisitor… The candles were burning quite low now. The paints gave out a stink. They began to give out smoke. We coughed and were choking and enjoyed our pleasure. Then we were enveloped in darkness.We were carried on demonic wings… It felt like the adventure on the monoplane because we were making love even as we hovered above a precipice. There were however no rocks because under us and around us spread only this all-encompassing abyss…I was choking and short of breath; I wanted to beg for my life. I knew that a single word would bring recovery.
I could not utter it. There was no air in my lungs. My body was mechanically touching and coming apart from that of Irina. Her body was pierced by a passionate thrill but her lips did not give out that sound, so familiar to me, which had turned into my favourite melody… Where were we heading for?
Why were we doing it at all?
Our thrills were somehow bored and stiff! Cool and frustrated! Sombre, dark and vapid… A single cry: “I love you!” would have saved us. A single picture in the abyss would have brought us back to life but there were no pictures in the abyss because there were no walls at the bottom of which Billy could pee… A quake!
I forced myself to cry out. I heard the groaning! The abyss was uncovering its bottom. Hundreds of infernal creatures writhed around one another, bit one another, flapped their naked bodies with their tails, strained their necks on chains. They poured tons of semen onto one another. They enjoyed it and groaned in pain. They made love, if love it was, upon live coals… The demon flew down. At long last he let us into the midst of the demonic orgy… One infernal female voluptuary with three vaginas embraced me with tentacle arms. She encircled tightly my neck with her whip of a tongue. Two others started pulling me towards a love-nest throwing up lava. A love-nest resembling a vagina.They made me lie into it, pressing down my head on all sides with their drooping breasts. The vagina sucked me inside itself. It drew me in in order to make minced meat out of me… Like millions of vaginas before it had tried to suck me in in order to turn me into minced meat… I lost sight of Irina. I was horrified at the thought of what might be happening to her at that moment and summoned up all my will power to call her but my feeling of sinking into an enormous vagina which was going to make minced meat out of me began to give me pleasure. I felt a frenzied excitement at the prospect of being turned into minced meat in the organ of pleasure… I lost my senses. I was intoxicated by the unknown, superbly delicious feeling but somehow I succeeded to find in me that most pure voice, the one with which I sang in the cave, the one which merged with the rumble of the waterfall and with the tender sound of the violins of the nude girls and to cry out:
“I love you, Irina!”
The enormous vagina spat me out. I fell in the midst of a circle of repugnant infernal beauties who bared their teeth at me. I succeeded to cry out again:
“I love you, Irina!”
I felt the choking odour of burnt paints. The window was open. The fire was extinguished. Irina was still in a swoon.I was not to know who did it and that’s why I stopped trying to understand. I was still horrified and disgusted to the bottom of my heart.
“But these were hallucinations caused by acetone vapours!” I was prompt to reassure myself but my heart was still horrified. With its beats it was saying:
“That is truly Hell itself, that…”
The candles had gone out. I stared at them. They reminded me other candles at another occasion…
At that point I again started reciting a portion of the poem “Pearl Frenzy”
You were a temptation, a betrayal,
you are the seasons, a red tulip,
a black accusation and tender flattery,
and live coal dying down in my hands.
And a wound, excitement and air and asthma,
and countless words in a biblical order arranged,
and a blossoming bud, a sword, a threat,
and a ticket to paradise bought on the black market.
Thorns coming from a cosmic distance,
mysterious steps towards my heart,
a poetic breath, a prosaic day,
air, pulsating under my wings.
The black boredom of my joys,
the eternal day-dream
the faded song of the bubbling brook,
a kiss in the darkness from hot lips.
The faded joy of mindless eternity,
pulsating happiness of winged dreams,
a caressing thrill of the exotic body,
a yearning for serene thoughts.
Madness, ecstasy and reason, earth,
wilderness and a blossoming garden,
you, Irina, wanted to have the world
which you lost without me.



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