A Fistful of Flash Fiction

Dear Moonchild

The question of our relationship will no doubt arise when I, Crowley your Succubus, have drawn heat from your conjugal substance upon us embracing as one. Know however, that I will not have you bitter, and I will not love you: I will drain you, and after I am exhausted I shall have merely emptied you of your love for me. And if guilt and blame be commissioned I have neither the empathy nor the patience to understand your trust and fascination of me, first burned into your eyes when we locked in our lust for each other. You’ve got me hooked for you are most beautiful and fair. We shall be mesmerized when my bone and your ring join in ritual love. In a mescaline stupor we will share the elixirs of our love in this night, and an incandescent moon will give birth to a beautiful spirit. When the golden sun sets we are to proceed without delay. I will capture you my virgin, untainted and undaunted by my reputation. My will is enemy free and no man is capable of sharing my visions. Ordinary people are too weak and cowed by the occult laws Thelema brings me! That I remain unrestrained is my destiny. I force inferiority to recognize me as its holiest master. But until I empty my seed, know that you are still my mother superior. Now let us drink this wine together, and soon we will be in each other’s arms.

 

Of The New Idea

My gross tipsy tell all misery implies my attention seeking addiction isn’t getting totally out of control. And I’m thinking about taking further measures to keep my celebrity status intact by slashing my wrists way down Mile High Street before a select gathering of paparazzi who’ll stake me out and take explicit pictures of my blood flowing ever so slowly from my opened veins.

Much gossip has been made of my suffering and angst over my rejection by my love rat for Some chick 13 years old looking like Marilyn all sexed up for the rat who suddenly stopped telling me I’m as thin as a stick of celery and sallow green from all the uppers, downers, wakers and sleepers I’ve been taking over these 25 years as a celebrity. I’m ready to go into shock and rehab after a politician I recently slept with began telling all my dirty little secrets to anyone who doesn’t care but for the interest on the hush money made.

I am the scandal of the illegitimate baby girl conceived during The Cuban Revolution and emptied onto the floor of the hotel my absent mum stayed at when it was revealed my true father was a right wing Christian Capitalist aged 69 who happened to own a chunk of Cuba inherited from my gun smoking womanizing grandpa who died in the arms of a Vatican stripper herself baptized prematurely hoping to start a new life before dying, and then:

Forget about all the sons and mothers who’ve had too close a relationship ‘coz when the boy becomes a man he’ll be able to call on any woman he desires like me and tell me I’m cute and would I like a stab or two. And then it’s time to get out of his bed and “hey, what’s your name again?” As if our intimacy didn’t matter except for the presence of cameras and scandalous enough to sell a paper and a mag or two published in the same work house for easy cross promotion before the story is flushed away by an advert on a Morning TV show. And all my dramas come to nothing but the gossip and the court cases and the broken bits of my reputation lying around on a shag pile floor smelling like my Siamese cat’s vomit after it had eaten some grass.

And I reckon you’ll soon see me in my flat eating grass from my terracotta bowl and I’ll go a puking and a puking until my Fat crisis becomes an Anorexic crisis bringing in new gossip until I finally realize that no one really cares but greedy people with an interest in making money and empty people filling holes in their feeble lives with stories of celebrity suffering who probably don’t deserve the attention they get but such is life and All the World is a Stage; so wrote the Shakespeare in homage.

 

The Dead Princess

Once upon a time a long dead Princess, whose memory was kept alive in the hearts and minds of the descendants of the mortified people, who cried and left thousands of dead flowers at her death place, decided;

It was time for her to put an end to her embarrassment over all those tears shed, and the gossip and conspiracy theories written about her life and death, by resurrecting herself and rolling away the stone;

To descend upon the world as a shining angel, out of the darkness and gloom of earthly life, where all manner of frustrations and depressions wreak havoc in the souls of the troubled living, and maybe she could help;

Success however, meant she must get her story right, and by researching her life and times on earth through magazines and papers she discovered the contributing factors leading to her meteoric rise and fall from grace, and her untimely death;

The godly One as is his want, was vague and evasive when she questioned him, alluding to neglect and emptiness as the reasons; and, averting his eyes from her beauty and dazzling vulnerability God managed to remain aloof but positive;

Sensing a vague déjà vu notwithstanding, the dead Princess thanked the godly One and asked for his blessing, and the pin number to the Pearly Gates, so she can begin her mission to right all the chronic wrongs festering below;

Thus, the dead Princess descended upon the world, looking more virginal than the virginal One, more radiant than all the saints, more pure than all the embryos, more Joyous than all Heaven’s chorales and she began righting the World’s wrongs;

She preached wholly naked, in an effort to reveal the true nature of herself, with all her imperfections, character flaws and fears, so that she might diffuse her crazy mystery, and discover within the hearts and minds of ordinary people their true needs;

In her demystification process, she invoked profanities, broke wind, told artless jokes, did the Jackson Flash, and other base acts her audience were prone to in times of madness; acts uncharacteristic so that she might be understood;

Yet it was all in vain, for anyone who was touched by her voice and saw what she had done was moved to tears, And tossed flowers at her feet, and for all her flaws they wanted to believe that someone existed in a manner that was better than them;

And the dead Princess, feeling disappointed, left the world as she came, in dazzling light, and realising that you can only change yourself and not everybody else, and how not to change yourself to suit everybody else, otherwise nothing Will change;

Her embarrassment turned to pride in this knowing, and she went and told the godly One of her new found wisdom, and her insights into the behaviour of the human race as deeply flawed as her, but who needed role models such as Himself to lead the way;

Sadly, the godly One got angry with her and called her the Luciferene, and banished her below to be the bride of Satan, for her wisdom was too much up here for more than the One to rule the hearts and minds of desperately seeking believers.

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