He drained a flask of Old Crow and tossed me a tip.
— All the greats have fallen, one by one … the greenbloods … Stroessner! now there was a man with blood in his cock! God have mercy on those who stand proud! And Pinochet, of course … Papa and Baby Doc … what’s Haiti without them! a firstrate climacteric resort is what! … Somoza … Noriega, the old rascal … Refaat and Penser … Poor Marcos … now Khomeini’s gone, too, his eyes were out-of-this-world … Pol Pot was a godgifted statesman, but what good did it do him? … Idi, Haile, Ian Smith … Bokassa and Mengistu … Enver Hoxha … Glistrup … Ceau§escu! He shot at least four thousand bears! What do you say to that!
— I don’t know what to say …
— You’d be wise to say nothing. The world just isn’t itself anymore, boy … There’s Amnesty International and Greenpeace yelping like bitches in heat … It’s just about impossible to be an honest, oldfashioned tyrant anymore … But the battle against peace and prosperity marches on …
__________
Pudas’s box — Folke Pudas protested the loss of his chauffeurs license by spending three months on hunger strike in a box in Sergei’s Square in Stockholm
Claus Heim — a leader in the “Landvolkbewegung,” a farmers movement in Weimar Germany; he single-handedly slaughtered 5,000 pigs on a Brazilian farm to protest worsening economic conditions that made ongoing operations impossible
dypsnea — shortness of breath
biapathy — bia (Greek for “violence”) + apathy = apathy to violence
X
Grandpa was having a splashing good time in a waterbed filled with urine when someone rang the doorbell. He was soaked in sweat and sucking his own dick. He once told me it’s the most diabolical pleasure of all, but that it gets harder when you get old, even if you’ve got the right body for it. His back might crack at any moment, but that probably just makes him hornier. I’ve tried it on myself, but cant even come close. You’ve got to be tall and skinny as a scarecrow. You’ve also got to have loads of selfconfidence. The real pros are more than eight feet.
— It works better with your eyes closed, I remember Grandpa saying, and that’s how he was doing it.
He was also listening to Carl Orff’s Carmina Burana, or rather, De Temporum Fine Comoedia-Vigilie, while a different speaker was pumping out Venoms “At War with Satan.” Our room’s packed with books, mostly history and philosophy. They’re in random topsyturvy stacks that reach as high as the bed, and if you want to you can crawl across them. Every now and then Grandpa picks up a book, but he instantly gets sick of it. That’s when you get to hear what he thinks about those pussyscribblers … someone shoulddrink them under the table! lightweights! gutless breakwinds, miserable assholes, windbags! Off with their hands and feet! just for the fun of it! like in Karaganda! you write a book! a single sentence! and you’ve waived the right to live! God forgives everything you do to wordwrenchers!
And so on and so forth.
— I’m the one and only consummate Thelemite, because I shit on Crowley’s life and piss on his work!
Grandpa’s bitter he never got to scrap with Aleister … Sometimes he flaunts the dirty letters Stefan George, Proust, and Wittgenstein sent him when he was a strapping young buck …
— Now you can see what they go in for, those Aunties Green, Brown, and Violet. Why, those hoitytoity spinsters have only got cockandass on the brain! Marcel stuck nails in rats and came on his mama’s picture! And Boy George, what a primadonna! “Als sieger dring ich einst in euer hirn, ich der verscharrte …” Hot-damn, that’s for me! A great horny owl in a magpie’s skirt! I’m not even going to tell you the sorts of thing he wrote! No one would believe me! It’s just too, too revolting! And Ludwig! no point in trying to outtalk an idiot or outlumber a calf. Here he writes that he wants to meet me in his nasty Norwegian cottage! I’m supposed to bring two weeks’ worth of shit in my bowels! without a hair on my body! smeared up with resin and covered in horse-hairtufts! then he’ll whip me until I’m just a bloodystain! leave me for the skuas! There you have it! Genius in all its glory! Bighead, smallwit, spread your legs and take a shit! I’m finished with the likes of them! Poppycock and tommyrot! Hefty tomes full of difficult words! A million shittyass viewpoints! Cultures only cock-andbooze! if you just scratch the surface!
But now Grandpa was contorted like a sandflea and sucking for all he was worth; his body shone like lead against the oxbloodcolored sheets. Homemade comfort. Some people call that position thirty-four and a half, since its half a sixty-nine. Grandpas cock is average, just a little thin and worn. It was holding its own, though, that’s for sure. He was sucking so hard his stomach was growling. He has dainty lips, a strong tongue, endless spittle, and his eyeballs rolled behind their greenpainted lids. It seemed to be going good for him, selfmade is wellmade, so I took myself down the stairs and through the hallway to the outer door. I unlocked it and looked out. Standing there was an old man no one had seen before.
— Is the head of the house at home?
He had a voice like Mr. Bean’s, you know: constipated and Biblethumping.
— Yeah, but he’s giving himself a blowjob.
The man didn’t waste any more words, just pushed me aside, rushed in, and yanked off his caracul and galoshes. He showed himself into the living room, plopped down on a rockingchair, and stayed quiet. He looked like a normal guy, just kind of old and serious. Most of them are like that, quiet their whole lives, slaving away, faring ill.
I’d like to be one of those.
__________
Aunties Green, Brown, and Violet — figures from a book by the Swedish author Elsa Beskow
Als sieger dring ich … —From Stefan George’s poem “Der Gehenkte” (The Hanged Man)
XI
I was reading Grandpa the personals from the Västerbotten Volksblad. I made sure to skip the really perverted ones, though, where someone was advertising for a person of the opposite sex. Those’ll make you sick after only a few lines.
“A slightly bitter woman is waiting for you. I’m 19 and have 3 kids. I look 40. It all feels so strange. Why did they do this to me? I’ve done my best, but I simply can’t go on …”
Or: “Skinny white guy, 24 years old, short, with everyday interests, seeks girl with special interests. I don’t think I’ve ever done it, but I’m willing to give it a try. I’ve got a pretty secure job and I’m happy to share. Everything we’ve pent up needs to come out. I’m living with Aunt Sigris right now, but am looking for my own place..
But Grandpa was only interested in the homoads. Unfortunately, all the ones who wrote in to Gay Guy Contact were too far away. Southerners seem to be gayer Nonetheless, the locals did seem to be getting gayer by the hour. Grandpa was lying on the ribbackedsetee and sucking down some Johnny Walker Black Label, and I was reading the ads in the order they were printed.
—“Shy, incontinent Sävarbugger, who’s usually a wallflower at dances, wants to find a fellow he can snuggle with. You are laid-back, nice and sweet, inmates preferred. I’m bald and nervous and only smoke at parties. I work at a daycare center. Desire is driving me wild. Especially interested in illegal immigrants! Respond to: ‘Got that spring feeling down in Obbola.’”
— Damn, what a repulsive pig! Onto the next one …
—“Horny guy, 39 years old, small and dark, looking to find a sex-hungry backseatjockey in a preppy cardigan and berretta. You are 67 years old, deaf and dumb, suffer from psoriasis, and preferably live in Vuollerim. Extra plus if you’re bitter, angry, and have a chronic smoker’s cough Reply to: ‘We two in in the old jalopy, Wilmar.”’