It’s no picnic being taunted by a Greek chorus when your only economic future is feudalism.
Take a deep breath.
Make sure your exhale is longer than your inhale.
You’re on Planet Earth until you’re dead.
Everything between now and then is survival.
And survive is what you’ll do until you don’t.
Calm down.
For the length of time that it takes you to read this book, everything will be fine.
Despite her status as an immortal and undying being from Fairy Land, Celia was pretty uptight in her understanding of gender and sexual norms.
If Celia had not been so rigid in her embrace of gender and sexual norms, Celia could have just fucked some of the other immortal and undying women on the island past the sun.
It could have been very Wonder Woman.
But Celia was a hardliner.
Which meant that Celia was into fucking men.
And Celia lived on an island where all of the men had been expelled or killed.
The construction of Celia’s monarchy had screwed up Celia’s sex life.
So it wasn’t very Wonder Woman.
It was very Game of Thrones.
Wonder Woman and Game of Thrones were both literary intellectual properties that had been developed past their humble origins into huge media spectacles.
Wonder Woman was about an undying woman named Diana who lived on an island in the sea. Diana left her island of lesbians to kill a bunch of Germans.
Game of Thrones was about unpleasant people in a fantasy medieval world.
The unpleasant people in Game of Thrones killed and fucked each other while reinforcing a worldwide hegemony that replicated, for no particular reason, the racial, sexual, and cultural prejudices of the British colonial era.
Both media spectacles were pornography about war.
This pornography was very popular with people in the United States of America.
The United States of America was a warrior nation that liked to fuck up the shit of weaker countries through unending battles, through the dropping of bombs, through the wholesale slaughter of the poor.
The huge media spectacle of Wonder Woman was released in 2017 AD, by which point the United States of America had been at war with the country of Afghanistan for sixteen years.
It was the longest war in the history of the United States of America.
It was sixteen years of turning illiterate Muslim peasants into bloody red streaks of chalk.
Almost everyone in the United States of America pretended that it wasn’t happening.
But they loved Wonder Woman.
And they loved Game of Thrones.
Celia knew a thing or two about being transformed into a media property.
Back in 1599 AD, a guy from England had written a short book called The Most Pleasant History of Tom a Lincoln.
Some of the book was true, in that it recounted events that had happened to Celia.
Most of it was bullshit.
Amongst other nonsense, Tom a Lincoln was about how Celia had met Tom a Lincoln, who was also called the Red-Rose Knight. He was King Arthur’s bastard son.
Tom a Lincoln was about how Celia had allowed the Red-Rose Knight to enter Fairy Land after his boat had washed up on the island in the sea past the sun.
Tom a Lincoln was about how Celia had fucked the Red-Rose Knight, and how as a result of that fucking, Celia had birthed a son named the Fairy Knight.
About two years after Tom a Lincoln was first published, Celia was given a copy of the book. She discovered something that happens to anyone who becomes the subject of media coverage.
Celia discovered the people who create media coverage are depraved beasts that will say anything for money.
The author of Tom a Lincoln was a guy named Richard Johnson. He is described thusly in the Oxford Dictionary of National Biography:
Richard Johnson was in every sense a derivative writer: his romances synthesize a mass of traditional materials along with some more sophisticated modern texts, The Faerie Queene among them; he retails familiar ballads, songs, and jests under a light disguise of novelty; and his secondhand pamphlets are aimed at the prides and prejudices of a readership of London citizens and their families. His career is a paradigm of popular commercial writing for the press in his time…
In other words, a total fucking hack.
May they be with us always!
Richard Johnson wrote that Celia had killed herself after King Arthur’s bastard son left Fairy Land and didn’t return.
This lie was presented in a very dramatic fashion, with the Red-Rose Knight trying to return to Fairy Land but facing ill winds which kept his ship from reaching the island.
Richard Johnson had written out Celia’s suicide note, which he said was inked in her own blood.
It was very sad.
It dripped with pathos.
It was stuffed with treacle.
It didn’t sound anything like Celia.
No one in Fairy Land had any idea how Richard Johnson had learned about the Red-Rose Knight and his visit to Fairy Land.
So many of the details were wrong. Especially the part about the Red-Rose Knight’s valiant resistance to Celia’s sexual advances.
Especially the suicide.
How could Celia, an undying being, kill herself?
And why would she do it for a mortal man?
Richard Johnson had written a bit about Celia’s son, the Fairy Knight. In Part II of Tom a Lincoln, the Fairy Knight performs all manner of great deeds and wins the world.
This was sort of true.
In their sexual congress, Celia and the Red-Rose Knight had indeed created the Fairy Knight. But the Fairy Knight hadn’t performed all manner of great deeds or won the esteem of the world.
All that happened to the Fairy Knight was that he lived out his early life in Fairy Land until he was banished in his sixteenth year.
No one from Fairy Land ever saw him again.
Richard Johnson omitted that Celia and the Red-Rose Knight had a second child.
When the Red-Rose Knight arrived on the shores of Fairy Land, he and his shipmates had entered the kingdom and never left.
Why would they?
They were surrounded by supranatural women. Many of these women were like Celia. They were hardliners when it came to gender and sexual norms.
And they hadn’t seen any men in a very long time.
The Red-Rose Knight’s men lived like princes, fucking their tiny brains out in grottos where the flowers sang songs in time with the sexual thrusting while the trees swept their branches along the rutting lovers’ flesh.
While they fucked out their tiny brains, the Red-Rose Knight and his men were enacting the general bullshit con on women that is heterosexuality.
The rules of the game go like this: for every thousand remarkable women, the really beautiful ones, the really smart ones, the really smartly beautiful ones and the really beautiful smart ones, there’s about one semi-okay man.
Heterosexuality is a giant joke played on the women of the world.
Here’s the punchline: if you’re a woman, and you want to experience the biological imperative of sex with a man, you pretty much have to bed down with a sack of worthless crap.