— Maaaooo … mu-hu, mu-hu, maaah … awwa-aw-wa-awwaaa … Jesus … Jesus … JEEESUSS! A-a-a-aaa! Yeeesss! more! Oh yeaaaahhh! Take me as I am! Straight up! Hole in one! Aah-Hilding-uhh-Hilding-mmh-Hilding! Oohgooood … you’re so hard … you’re so big … you’re so far in … I can feel it all the way to my heart … Goooddd! Fucking Satan, damned to hell!
Grandpa began to cry it was so good.
— Buuuaaaa! I love your nasty cock! Waaahhh! its so raw! Boo-hooo! fuck the shit out of me!
The guy was rough and violent, just like Grandpa liked them. He rode the expresstrain for about an hour, pushing and shoving, grinding his teeth and changing his grip and position. He beat Grandpa bloody with his clenched fists and called him everything you call your bosomfriends. For his part, Grandpa called on heaven and hell. He shrieked himself hoarse in the process. By the time it was all over, lust had done him in. The guy came silently and resolutely, pulled up his pants, kicked Grandpa in the tailbone and chin, and marched off. I made my way up to my Grandpa, dressed him, and gave him something to drink.
— Did you know him?
— I don’t know his name … never asked … met him three four times … always angry as hell … but he fucks like a god …
Grandpa was too beaten, bruised, and stiff to continue on … Homeburning would have to wait for another day … I stole a David Brown tractor and we drove home. That evening in bed, before we abandoned ourselves to our nightmares, Grandpa said: Love’s a curse … a toil and a trouble, a fence and a farce …
— Is there love other than the cockkind?
— Oh sure … But the animalmagnetism between cock and ass, or cock and mouth, or, Jewgodforbid, cock and cunt usually gets in the way. Trust me, boy, evil always triumphs … Even though sometimes you wish it could be like in The Amorous Adventures of Prince Mony Vibescu and those other classic fairytales … A love pure and true … short and sweet … soft and warm …
— Ethereal … seraphic … comic …
— You don’t know what you’re saying … you’re all tuckered out … Go to sleep before we quarrel … Nightynight, snoopydoo …
— Nightynight, Grandpa …
__________
Mundelföri — a jotun (giant) in Norse mythology; in von Werth’s Aryan cosmology, he whisked the universe into being out of chaos
The Amorous Adventures of Prince Mony Vibescu—aka Les Onze Milles Vegres, by Guillaume Apollinaire.
XXXI
— Paul Holm lives here, boy, Grandpa wheezed, sinking down onto a rotten ovarianshaped stump.
— I need a smoke, he panted, completely out of breath.
In front of us a house and a barn were falling into each others arms like Latter Day Saints on Sunday. Tangles of weeds dug their claws into the dying homestead, which was afflicted by oldboyscurvy and gayrot. It was the stuffiest buggersummer ever, and the town of Lillkågetrask quivered like sourpork in the heatwave. The people around there are nothing but slobs and slatterns, happy — when it comes to the lice in their tangles — to live and let live. Most are fat and blue, not too good at standing on their own two feet, but great at creeping around on all fours. The forest around here is spindly and sparse: driedout old pines, toppled trees, a few stumps. You can’t see far, either; it’s like everything is obscured by a mist or haze.
— Gabriel’s fireygold, cuntsmelling piss! Grandpa swore, letting his reptilian eyes roam over the pockmarked swamp dotted with cowpatties and placentas, covered with branches and shrubs, tur-nipbeetfields and peatcrofts.
The neighborhood in general was the graybrown of an old gypsy-cock, but around Paul Holm’s barnhouse a riot of color was in full swing. In Lillkågeträsk, most of the soil consists of cigarette ash; the only things worth growing there are assbiters and buggerleeks. Around Paul’s home, though, abominations flourished in the fermenting mould, the thriving afterlife of shit and cadavers. Grandpa hawked a loogie and swallowed his ciggibutt.
— Hishiryoconsciousness is something you only reach when someone fucks the shit out of your compostculvert, he said and straightened his emaciated carcass. I never thought I’d have the strength … It sure ain’t like the old days, when you sprang like triggerhappy fool with a portablehuntingblind between church-villages, just to see if anything was going down!
He brushed the maggots from his shoulders. The severe black suit he wore contrasted nicely with his vampiric complexion and those pale blue eyes.
— But fuck my tender asshole, it doesn’t help to plead with Jesus! Oh well, let’s go brownnose old Paul! he said and staggered to his feet. By the way, you’d better be a nice and polite boy when we meet Paul, he warned, as he pushed his way through the pigweed and scabroustissue toward the farmyard. Paul is harder on kids and animals than anyone I know, he continued and came to a sudden halt. By Satan, what happened to you? Did you see the spermcovered face of God or what?! he exclaimed, eyeing a tortured bogbody wearing a toecap. It’s clear as a sneeze in church that Paul has been at this one, he said, poking the broken shitcarcass with his stilettocane. I think Paul is a Jew, he said and blinked, sickened, before heading toward the Holm house.
Grandpa had to use his cane to clear a path, since the going wasn’t exactly easy. Down off the hill, it was easy to forget where you were. Everything was bigger than it should have been. Gargantuan leeks and fireweed eight times the height of a man. Ferns as big as back in the days of the dinosaurs. The mosquitoes were especially hard on me. I bled from eleven thousand wounds.
— Bromberg’s Bloody Sunday! this is nothing! Back in my day there were winged insects with only one thing on their mind: putting out decent people’s eyes! Everyone suffered! Ninety-five percent were blind!
A brusque shove.
— Watch it there, teddybear.
He suddenly lashed out with his cane and carved out a flesheating, cocksucking orchid’s gallyellow, naughtyboy snout. Kidney-colored sludge gushed out. Others, their smiles mocking all that breathed, were greedily closing in, swaying forward on thick, hairy stems. They smelled hot and bitter. Finally, though, we managed to fight our way out. Hopping over a feebly trickling stream, we found ourselves in the farmyard. The land here sloped down to a lake. On closer examination, it was obvious this place used to be a respectable Västerbotten farm house … But not anymore. Now everything was a confusion of tangledcreepers, mostly ayahuascas. Nestlesnarls wrapped themselves lasciviously around drainpipes, squirtingcucumbers looked for a mug to cum on, stinkhorns revelled in their sunripened, carrionfed bloat. The remains of beasts killed by suicide and emergencyslaughter both were scattered everywhere. It was a crawlingwanker’s paradise.
— Are you still daring enough for the riddle of the sphincter? Grandpa asked.
— When I’m with you, Grandpa, I’m not scared.
— Now you sound like something out of The Brothers Tigerheart, mite … Let’s pretend we’re Gog and Magog on our way to a smoking hot prayermeeting …
It seemed Paul was a gospelsectarian. The fields were victims of neglect. A rusty castrationdevice lay askew in a pansybed, and an old Massey Ferguson buzzed with anger about forgotten to-dos and unfinished tasks. Judas’s ears, Wandering Jews, and kohlrabi grew around the entrance to the farmyard. A surly badger was roughfucking a young waitress who, blissfully whimpering, was bent double over a fence. Ruffs clucked lapwings burred, an elk sampled a poison saltlick and went bellyup. A Gabriel in a gray coat landed on Grandpa, ladybugs mobbed dungbeatles, and a raffsetgrasssnake hauled ass after a mouse running on fumes. It was Eden and Gomorra, baby, and the heavens themselves blushed at what was going down. But mammals were the minority lifeform here. Mourningdoaks and death’s head moths darted between clusters of smoke-, butter-, and cartilageballs swaying in a musty breeze. Mouldspattered narcobuggers hissed from a thorny refuge of Satanstickbrush. Scurvyherbs, ringwormeuphorbia, and ileusranunculus shook spastically, burly burntorchids and swarthly wolf’s bane rustled their leaves, vericellazosters and oxeyecervicalcollardaisies were about to pass out. Runners and creepers, shooters and sprouters, buds and bloomers! Seeds and spores, pericarps and shrubs, flowers and fronds! Phallos vulgaris, vagina spurius, anus murinus! Smoking-and explodingvines held court, nightlurkers and aeaeaeberries beckoned with poisonous fruit. Devil’s weed flourished among poisonnettles, green and white lovage struggled with ruddy witch’s herb. Goldbrown birdsfoottrefoil, purpleshavingbrushes, darkblue madwort! Confused rattails were in danger of a Ruskie ambush! Dog tongues panted over hot red tufts of burninglove! Virgin Marys rubbed shoulders with bastardalkanets and lessertwayblades. Rosynorns and fiery-gold tigerlilies stood out against black slack-and slitstars. Scrapironpiles had given up jammering for attention. A big calf gave its last kick. I was glad to be allowed to exist.