Lovely Nancy, Lovely Rita, Lovely Holly & Lovely Martha - all went to watch the vagina monologues and to experience sex in the city of New York. It was Valentines Day and love was in the air. The whole place appeared like a rose garden amidst a forest of fire flies. The major color in the air was red and the shapes around were curves of all kinds, standing out in sharp geometries of the linear landscape.
The four women had warm sensations throbbing between their legs. No need to get appalled - it is all very mechanistic really. There is a perfectly laid out set of well described biochemical pathways that underlie the feelings and emotions that these hasty individuals were experiencing while just walking around in the evening looking for a good time.
What is physical is ultimately chemical. And that which is chemical, ultimately fades into the chaos of information. Thereafter it is a matter of mind.
The internet that day was jam-packed with traffic, to and from myriad websites selling plastic tokens of love. Poetry was briefly a stimulating and highly paid activity for some time and for a certain sort of poets.
On the streets a young homeless girl just menstruated. Through the first experience of this unnameable pain she watched the dancing red and black dresses cuddling up in the snowy night. It felt strange. Her feelings and her physiology were wound up into a complex choreography that comprised her alienated existence - vibrations in the lifetime of an organism.
From the air New York city looked grand. John’s plane was about to land and he imagined the look on his sweet Jane’s face, waiting for him to sweep her into the bed. He felt the blood rush down his body, trying to break free.
From above, the city looked like a cell to the eyes of the biology professor who had been kicked out for trying to teach Intelligent Design in the class.
He had never thought about it this way - the city like a cell. It was quite a revealing shock. He took another sip of his scotch. Alcohol was strongly off limits to him, but this was different. This time he needed it.
He thought, “The city sleeps in the night and wakes up to the sun, in a collective circadian rhythm, sporadic and random. Was IT god?”
Jane was experiencing her third orgasm. She was heady and in bed with her boss who was lustfully staring into her eyes.
Then they heard the garage door open downstairs. Jane quickly got dressed and hurried out of the balcony window. She caught the time on the clock in the car. Shit. She was late to pick John at the airport.
Meanwhile, the biology professor in the plane above started to sweat profusely. Of course it was all biochemistry, even though in his case it was malfunctioning. He could not breathe and the restlessness was choking him. There was a mild commotion in the plane as the stewardess came out to investigate. Professor Snips was now delirious. He saw the approaching woman in black and white, but to him (or rather the discordant signals firing in his brain) she looked like the devil with a tail. In his confusion he kicked the plane window hard with his walking stick. After several violent attempts his imaginary door opened and the plane took a spin down into the ocean. As far as Snips was concerned he was fleeing from hell and falling into the cell.
He died with a dull thud on the rocks at the bottom of the sea.
Jane never made it to the airport. On the way she was accosted by a fatal accident.
Lovely Nancy, Lovely Rita, & Lovely Martha were held up by the police. They were shocked and stunned by the accident that just took place. The poor girl was probably – most certainly - dead.
Meanwhile Lovely Holly walked up to their bedroom where her husband was pretending to be asleep. Her memory was still filled with the wild orgies she and her friends had attended that evening. She climbed into the sheets. Jane’s underwear was carelessly lying underneath the bed.
In the background the TV ran commercial after commercial of white satin lies. To an insightful observer it would have been instantly obvious - the next best trick in advertising was sex. There was a reference to it in every contrived commercial about every possible product. Most of the ads had nothing even remotely to do with sex
In the midnight air, Bill Gates tried to forget his own impotency by lighting up the most expensive fireworks that night. The sky was lit up with the words "Happy Valentines Day my love". For a brief moment the constellations of neurons in everyone’s brains resonated with that view in the sky. It was soon over.
Lots of money was made that day. Gifts, roses, lingerie, poetry on sale, and what not. Everything made money in the name of love.
In a nearby suburb a teenage boy had his first kiss. It was the most beautiful day of his life. The patterns in his mind that made up this memory lit up like a starry sky. The kiss was frozen forever.
He looked up. Some insecure rich bastard had spent lots of money to write in the sky. He didn’t care though. He was happy. Happy Valentine’s Day.
