I am | Shiori | The Blasphemer Damozel

Temperature in situated extremity-molten armageddon
life in mitosis-disease mutation
bleed by ablution so insincere laden sphere
the dagger's sex to penetrate all incentive

Mortal man my plaything thou art
skillfully sinewed in bound-aphrodisiac
littered by the many formed egotism
My apple-tongue deadly, more cost-induced than exiled fruit.

A prince to hold, smother in the bodacious warmth of all and self-ishness
egos thick, pride-parading in the love-next of body-only-bloody-body
Tapered by tailors swift to incinerate the timid vest of "true love"

Love is dominance; hence my claws I polish for war!

Touga | Song

Art of Class - Art of Glass = Insincerity
Art of Love-tied - Art of Lust = Only me
Art of call - Art of Subtlety Breeds =
Me and Only Me

Art of Structure - Art of Amenesia = Love-lorn paradise
Art of Solitary - Art of Mandatory = Rotting Heaven
Art of Breathing - Art of The Corpse =
Wish in Unfulfilled Regeneration
Art of Collossal - Art of Sewn-tongue =
Slavery

Art of Loving You, Utena, Chosen Prince = Nirvana Completion

Utena | Nakedness Of Long

Thy heart is naked
Burning spirals on skin
Heart wages in sin-form
Heart wages in virtue-storm

Why am I unkempt?
Pluralized by lust-lost and tragedy-astronomy?
Why do boughs not break in pressure-violation, pressure-rape -

PRESSURE

Does pleasure equals ignominy?
Bound by tethered doctrine-raping me
Fallen soldiers are men to cast
Fallen women cast away
Pure as sin and snow in need

Burn with me
Undress with me
Cajole me
Capture me
I'm not bound
I'm no longer dead

The Dead in me
Has flown its cage

....

...

...

My heart cannot write a stone of pretense
Played by a harp-string of indecision - I am a prepared soul...

Utena | Call

"Laid on a rose, stone of paradise lost
Eden caught in swords and shields;
fruit not tasted-tested in the forbidden
Summarized life in rules cased.

Thy barrier is thyself thy virtue-self
Gain betterment in armour-own
Lay not in the temper of lost
Soul in heaviness = blessed thy blood

For all eons weep, flood and renew
Thy advent is prophesied as revolution."

The Rapunzel Act I

"This is a short story I am writing. It is not complete but I hope you people like it so far ^_^"

The Rapunzel

=|Act I

The Garden|=

Faceless. Glass-less. Eyeless.
The marionette sat nude. Its genderless wooden skin was pierced on the front. Obvious caricatures of design. The air left traces of nomadic earth unto its body. The designer was in disagreement. It showed. There were omissions. Erasures. Improvements. Additions.
There was coldness too. No warm blastocyst. This world as an eternal womb is too olden-young to employ the threads of hormonal nursing and creeping, cocoon-blanket. However, it will have to do. The wood is still experiment. This will be corrected by the punished. Or shall we say punished?
The designer in his terrace of thought – precipices and axes all thrown into the being of contemplation – daggers make skilful threads for the avid thinker. Serene. Mad. Furious. Subtle. Forces of Wind. Gravity. Pressure. A centrifuge. A centrifugal lust tapered and tailored into skin, bone, flesh and language. A very beautiful machine.
Clockworks and gears are all generated units. Recycled. Polarised. Nourished. Dutiful – but not drones; into the caskets, out of the caskets. Clockworks and gears synthesized, systematized yet not prey to redundancy. An order casual-formal. A looking glass, kaleidoscope of balance.
The designer was pot-pourri of all the incidences. How can the art be crafted, completed – consoled? Ah, the duties of the mimic-creator – not wise as the Creator-Proper nor ignorant as the stages of neutrality. Ah, designer – where art thou mind? What equation, what curve, sway, blue-dots, coordinates, golden ratios and seams vex your globe?
“ The time is right...”
He utters unsatisfied.
“ I am not right...” he sighs, “ I am confused.”
He wanders, he aims something. Somewhere, it has to be so.
“ But, I must get to a solution...” he sighs, “ I cannot tarry.”
The moon looks in awe. She waves, waxes and wanes. She eavesdrops – or is it a he? Well, the moon waxes and wanes – a certified hermaphrodite. He looks hungry. He yearns to know it. This secret.
The wooden nude model is flirtatiously touched by wind. Its infancy is such that its naivety does not even presume molestation. This surely upsets the designer. The living wood would know. Ay, but what is life? A cycle, a chronological line, a dead weight against the soul?
He would think of the philosophies later. He unearthed in himself the distaste of waste. Waste of time. Such a nausea.
The nudity was a scandal. He thought it nausea too. A medical student. Yes, the naive medical student has been transformed in him. Thus the distaste was nausea. Nausea of the novice intertwined with the experienced. Such a hermaphrodite in itself.
Such a hermaphrodite. Hermaphrodites not deemed normalcy yet so abundant in the world. Ay, the society of contradiction. Man is the irrational animal.
The wood was irrational. Basking nakedness in nausea. No explicit undertones of sexuality: that would be too necrophilic.
Necrophilic: why so?
For the wood was dead weight now - no, not the dead weight often labelled life (existence for the more morbid, pessimistic observer or simply a synonymous word of an elevated kind).
Or were they antonyms? Derived from the same mother root but not conjoined rather hemispheres of an entity? - entity of what proportions? - that be the good question: however, then why where they antonyms - existence was a prescription for life - life a prescription for existence? - life and death – life and existence: so if they were not homogenous then what were they?
Life an individual being and existence the nascent forms of life – or higher forms – subtracted from both the moulded purpose but rather in the spheres of the biological purpose and the purpose of spirit-dom – some would say, though – those sum of somes could be wrong.
Ay – he digresses – that’s not good; no designer should. He smiles. Laughs. Then slaps himself.
Not a masochist – just a serious-sest: or better taxonomic title: perfectionist.
And this project was disorganized – how the perfectionist going to live now – realizing that his own skin and the skin of his wooden blueprint was also inseparably imperfect – the perfectionist gains a horrific inner tantrum.
What the heck was he to avoid that which he hated?
He yearned to scream. Shout. Bully, Bully that wooden enigma-still into motion. Yet...yet...that would not do...no...no...it cannot, will not be forced.
That would be rape.
Raping the womb. He was designer not rapist. Rape seizes the body in many forms and merges with physical space as if it were one with it. Parasite. Parasitic. Oppressive. Virus. Bacteria. Makes one stronger or weaker. The tea of it tastes good – the heat of it is barbaric.
Now on with the proceedings. A tick here. A tick there. Gears combined. Gears relaxed. No, a spill! Paint! But paint is not good enough.
Clothes should be customized. For, he could not get clothes...actually, wished not – outside the laboratory of mind, space and junction lay impotency – potential in wombs not yet dissected, delivered or whatsoever. Rather dull in the marketplace with the “How is it going?” or “I haven’t seen you for ages.” Then behind the radius of the ear, lip-reading and foreseen back it is all “He is a weird one.” Or “ An eccentric bird isn’t he?” or “Marriage will do him good.” Or “A whore might be simpler.”
The word ‘whore’ does it derive from ‘whole’? Does it come from a reversed marriage vow? To be pieced, stitched-back, cut-down but still be whole – that is perverse! ‘Whore’ seems as such! ‘Whole’ is there-not-there and then must be there-not-there and advertised in contradictory potentials: the word ‘potentials’ scared him like the word’ perversion’ – to him they sometimes seemed inseparable.
Then he would be asked, “ Have you been eating well?”
A muscled emaciated look – too heavy for beauty – too light for beauty – etched in disfavoured conflict – not a good syndrome.
His answer,” I eat enough.”
Their answer, “ Enough for who? A rat?” then, “ Don’t wither away! Eat man – there is so much in the world one can experience!” with the additional, “ Get out of your science for once and get fed with the real world!”
His reply, answer to be given, a part-chastisement, a part-apologia, a part- indifference,
“ How can idle merrymaking be the real world? With only laughter as a cushion to sadness and disinterest in aching thunders and paranormal mind, blasted hills and skies never fair or too fair? I find the resolution to avoid these things as avoiding life and to take in ignorance.”
Their reply, most outraged or most sympathetic, “ OH! It is useless to talk to you!” or “Do you believe yourself to be superior! And ourselves ignorant!” or “ I think you should know that not all that you say is right, there is more.” Or “ Oh, you most sorrowful being.”
Sorrowful – not right – superiority complex – useless: man has so many classifications – are each right – each granted a orb of direction? - each thought pounded, each physicality synthesized – possibly so, possibly not – There! The digression! Oh, the task will meet no end due to this wanton need of thought.
Isolation grants the thinker thoughts and the promiscuous dreams: what a idle labyrinth the devil’s workshop is.
He looked at idleness. No indolence – thou must remain uncertain and I will wield kinesis.
The designer could not taste defeat. He didn’t want that to be his epilogue though defeat controls a form of aphrodisiac. No, not a masochist but even a serious-sest has some surrenders to loathsome beings. Defeat may mean human. But disobedience was human as well. Pandora knew her box but she didn’t. She opened it. But it was already open. Mythological constructs have shifts. The narrator is the stage director – the actors act accordingly to her manifestations or his egoism. Preferably both as manifestations too moderate sinks not deep and egoism alone sinks too far.
“ Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down not your hair...” he smiles, “ I demand you as my virgin bride!”
Then he stops. Sighs. Laughs. Rapunzel, Rapunzel. Her hair is synonymous to chastity. When it is cut her chastity is not withered. Body Language meets a clandestine metaphysical in literary analysis – in the folklore passion.
How truly comedy. The Divine Comedy – is man. Comedy. Divine. Rapunzel. Rapunzel. Divine. Rapunzel. Divinity. Rapunzel. The choice.
“ I think Rapunzel...”
He did not intend a girl. Was it more likely to be woman? Father cells say daughter cells and machines of man glean a feminine affection – maybe, it is fated. No, maybe not so simply diagnosed.
Rapunzel is chaste. Despite the law of chastity his Rapunzel is the reverse but the perverse – to many it shall fair in this light.
Rapunzel she will be – or was it a he?
No gender named.
After all this is experimental blastocyst.

+-=+-=+-=+-=+-=+

Disarray were in the folds. Expensive. No arithmetic line drawn. No inch analyzed. The artist had erased his blueprints. No calculating math here. No calculating math there. Only a nude life; not naked in dress, but: to the sworn world of paradox.
Eyes naked of sight. Lids in sleep.
No more wood in all. Flesh is in the roots. Stems and Branches share mitochondria and tubes. Vein and veinlets have pinkish-red blood some green to be whole.
Androecia, Gynaecium. Stigma and Anther all. What a bizarre-beautiful-odd-normal creature...
There was long hair. A labyrinth of secret fascinations. The designer’s trademark? Trademarks of predecessors? Both? Man is linear. Man is spherical. Time is a Pandora intertwining with these two lovebirds. They are planetary alignment but star-crossed as well. Time’s job is difficult. Does she have overpay? Does he have vacation time?
“ Ah a Rapunzel with golden hair...” the designer stroked the hair, a great achievement, “ Now open your bud little one – time to bloom...”
The wooden nakedness of a grotesque transformed to the imbued world of flesh, blood and sinew opened her eyelids as if a mask was finally detached.
She looked pale as paleness to the over-sensory world can be fulfilled. She looked abstractedly as dullness to the world of motion and stationary was expected of the child. Her infant body was the developed form of a girl. Twenty years or more. She is a child of uncertain womb. Moulded by a being uncertain. She is body sans body. A chimera of something useless, useful, of human knowledge and of human ignorance.
She coughs a little. Then urinates. She scares at her cough. The man helps her undress. Expenses must be paid. He washes them with a more sharp tone of information. Children should not play with expensive clothes. It might be rotten to many things. Though, he was not annoyed or enraged. Merely a serious-sest.
She cannot speak. Program is given but the command under development. She is a weird infant.
“ Speak...you can...girl....” he adds ‘for now’ mentally – Rapunzel was a girl in the usual world of fairytale fittings – he did not wish to censure the stereotype immediately.
She distorts. Gurgles. Spit and vomit arises. She is nude to thought. Thought brings words. Her nakedness of dress is parallel to the nakedness of the brain. Though, this moment is finite.
“Ahhh....” she coos it strangely then her strangeness becomes fear: “Ahhhh!!!!!Ahhh!!!!!” she screams – a protestation to her voice – the designer sighs fatigued at the purpose of parenthood – hard it is to soak oneself in the embryonic fluid of genesis: she screams at her voice but cannot stop it – her voice is free her mind unprepared. Limbs and organs can become such autonomous beings.
“ Steady, Steady, Rapunzel...” her voice increases as the designer notices as he soothes, soothes more with the fear of parenthood, “ Rapunzel...Rapunzel...”
Her voice increases, increases, volumes soaring – no! The annoying town! Her voice! His design! The Designer! “Now,” he pushes her, not roughly, a bit hard, just to distract her, it works – she ceases her increasing scream of despair. He smiles, “ Listen my dear, you can comprehend my words even though I am able to comprehend that they lead you to distress because yours is a knowledge somewhat pre-given and pre-given does not necessarily translate to talent or comfort – believe me, yes, believe...” Rapunzel points with her finger, then looks scared at her own action, her comfort is alien – the words cycle as air – particles absorbed, inhaled, exhaled and subtracted in respected specialization yet reaping is less than substantial – she knows yet knows not – how can she craft with an expected normalcy?
Tears prick – they seem thoroughly accurate yet she starts rubbing her eyes furiously – she scares for tears. They’re alien-known – such extremes are drugs unbalanced.
Recognition of the state leads the designer to embrace the skin-clad girl whose attributes moulds a fear not even infancy could portray – then, again, her birth with a womb extraneous has displaced nature. Man’s physical cocoons are circumstances – crafted an umbilical cord to them without necessity feeds no fire of metamorphosis. Her umbilical cord was forged in the designer’s inventory. How can it be so flawless than the original ‘sin’ of birth?
Birth may not be sin or irrelevance, however, it is deemed at times at the hands of who writes the relevance.
The designer’s mind infused with this got to work, “ I am like your father though we are not biologically related...” he draped a robe around her, “ I have named you Rapunzel...”
“Ra – ra...ra...” it sounded little rattling, a tongue out to test, “Ra...punn...punnhh....zeeel...”
“ Not correct,” the serious-sest remarked, “ But good for a first timer...” he chuckled... “You could try it again my dear.”
She looked tearfully, “ Ra...RAPUNZEL!” she screamed it.
The designer tsk-tsked; obviously, a sculptor’s work is never done – no, her proportions were right (mental note: do not introduce her to the opposite sex, similar sex must also be tread upon cautiously – added: opposite sex only if well behaved). Also, no one too inquisite ( minds of same nature are bound to pry) and gossipers are thoroughly excluded.
“ Rapunzel, my dear, the world is not right for you now.” The designer smiles, “ It is important you stay inside the house. After all you are not like everybody else.”
“ Stay...” Rapunzel was hypnotized or rather hazy – it has been some moments post-birth.
“ Yes.” The designer casually continued as if he was lecturing a student.
“O-o...Ok...” she seemed to be learning – a sculptor may not be so annoyed to see some lines touched somewhere; her design might be improved. God, Herself, wants it. The designer smiles.
“ Good, Rapunzel, I am glad you understand...” he smiles and decides to note carefully on all events.
“ No, I do not.” Stunned by the new tone of coherence – cogs replacing cobwebs – she looks pale, “ I do not understand many things father.”
“ First my dear do not call me Father...” he looks shy (after the surprise), she looks more human shaped with a voice, a tone, the impressions mean he is fallible, “ ...Because it is too personal in a manner that does not befit me – you may call me ‘designer’ if you want...”
“ Common noun...”
“ What was that...?” another shock to the system.
“ Proper noun...ehhh...” she looks unsteady, she falls to the floor and clutches her head then starts shaking, “ Wrong imput! Wrong imput!”
“ No, it is not necessarily wrong –“ he aided her, by embracing her again, “ You must know of creative freedom. It’s a bend in the fundamentals but it’s alright.”
“ Bend?” She stops, looks – neither fair as the Snow White nor teeming as the blonde damozel – she is bronze with blue-green-black eyes (their unity is extraordinary) and night-hair long as the eve who slumbers in the hands of that clockwork moon gazing at inventions as a Byronic hero reminiscent of old tales told by wives.
“ Yes.”
Soon a knock – she means to scream yet he gives her his hand as a leash – no screaming now. It is not good at all.
“ Ah, Doctor...are you there? It is I Adam, I am here...”
“ Adam wait there –“ he looks at fear, “ You must rest now. I may need to go out, do not scream...” he prepares a sedative, “ This ensures a rest dissolved of restlessness.”
She breathes as leash is gone and he sinks the needle – she does not scream – the child trusts but before going to sleep mutters, “ Adam...Proper Noun...”
This makes the designer sigh – the human was intelligent.

+-=+-=+-=+-=+-=+

The girl looked happy for an instant then forlorn. She rushed nearer to him. Eye-looking: intense – the iris made him uncomfortable – beautiful incisions (what are scalpels for?)
“ Adam, how nice to see you...”
“ Do you mean that Doctor?”
“ Of course Adam.”
“ I disbelieve you.”
“ Please do not dear Adam.”
“ Dear Adam...?”
“ Yes...?”
“ When was I so dear...?”
“ When were you not...?”
“ Please, Doctor –“
“ Adam, any reason for this pleasure?”
“ No, no reason except me fancying a visit.”
“ Oh.”
“ Yes.”
“ Thank you.”
“ Please don’t be formal.”
“ Thank you Adam I am so 0”
“ – Delighted, no, you are not.”
“ Adam –“
“ I may have interrupted you – I am sorry – I will leave immediately.”
“ Then I shall leave with you.”
“ What?”
“ Some fresh air may do me good.”
“ Are you serious?”
“ Yes, why wouldn’t I be?”
“ You...you are strange Doctor...”
“ Adam is a strange name for a girl.”
“ Stranger things exist than stranger names that serves as a stranger to comprehension.”
“ I am a stranger?”
“ Yes. You are not known to me as I liked it to be.”
“ Well –“
“ Hush good Doctor – your body is your reservation and your mind your licensed right...”
“ I...”
“ You have the copyright to both of them.”
“ Do you want those rights?”
A eye to the right, pensive, “ Maybe – it is intriguing to know a life.”
“ Really...?”
“ I am going to the bazaar.”
“ I will accompany you.”
“ Your funeral.”
The designer knew the words – what taste it means is not truly a foreknown art. It bodes unrest – the summary, a skeleton is his analysis, in his analytical range for now.

+-=+-=+-=+-=+-=+

“ Oh, the designer!”
“ Blasphemer! Blasphemer!”
“ I thought he became a medicine man...tsk what a pity.”
“ Oh dear God, By Supreme God it is the Doctor – I hope God has kept you well by Allah I thought you were dead.”
“ Hmph, what a sad sight in the Bazaar today. The Devious Doctor Philantropy has decided to visit us and it is good news? Pray tell God to shut His windows or else his houses be defamed.”
“ We cannot say Philantropy is wrong to be here. As a denizen of town he has a right to the bazaar as much as you do. To exclude him is an egotistical, selfish venture.”
“ You Blasted Poets do what you wish but if you ask me Philantropy shouldn’t be allowed in here!”
“ Philantropy is still a good man.”
“ Good man – hmph, he is more of an inventor than a doctor, how is that good? Tell me, No one even knows what he creates – how does that benefit?”
“ Granted he is a secretive man but his secrets, though perturbing, are not foreign for whose secrets are not in want of normalcy – secrets as a species have no ordinary labels.”
“ Go to the soothsayer if you want to wax poetic! This Philantropy is a madman!”
“ Please do not be hasty in your definitions! These are signs of suffocation!”
“ Or the signs of an immediate action!”
“ We must stand as good people.”
“ Good people are not lambs. They do not bare their throats to the wolf and say ‘Shed my blood.’”
“ Who is waxing poetry now? (More like waning the poetic sympathy).”
“ Go to the dogs you blind curs.”
“ There are no Philanthropists here for Philantropy!”
“ Only Men can be loved not shaped demons!”
“ Demons! Hush – such retarded language!”
“ Damn Philanthropy for Philantropy!”
“ Damn you all!”
“ The man, be he saint or sinner, still arouses the masses – a talent that can be admired.”

So, shall the world know him? Maybe-so-not-so-maybe: he can never know the die.
“ Doctor, don’t tell me you are paying attention?”
“ Well, it’s hard not to.”
“ Oh Doctor, do make merry at times then if this what you fear.”
“ A fear of a bad word? Maybe, maybe not – I am not captivated by it that I do know.”
“ Well, Doctor, did you want to buy anything.”
“ Maybe more milk. I prefer it raw or with tea, coffe or with the classic honey.”
“ Oh, nice to know how you like something that is not made in your labarotory.”
“ Milk can be used in experiments.”
“ Fortunate for her that you like her for her wealth as well as her other uses.”
“ I guess.”
“ Alright then.”
“ Excuse me Dr. Philantropy, why are you here?”
“ Excyse me, but Dr. Philantropy can do what he wishes!” Adam went on charge.
“ This does not concern you.” Another man joined, soon a group with the same man saying, “You may fool others with your courtesies but something about you is never right.”
“ I am sorry Madams and Sirs – but I have neither harmed nor will harm anyone with my oddities that I can assure you.
“ Your crime has been done doctor, we don’t like your weird ways,” a woman spoke, “ You are so strange – you neither marry nor tarry and you keep way from us and many a times speak rudely to us – your oddities have already given us offense!”
“ I am truly sorry if I am naive and unknown in the matters of social decorum.” The designer apologized sincerely, “ I will not commit the same folly again.”
They looked steamed, burned, dried, burned-again – soon they cooled, “ Alright.” The woman said, “ We have our eyes on you doctor.”
“ Eyes are best kept in their sockets.” Adam spoke – her glare in her advice.
“ Girl, it is best you stay one of us...” another warned, “ The doctor we may pardon but you are to be quick for exile.”
“ Best be a lone wolf then be in a pack of lambs.” Adam commented.
“ What an outrage!”
“ That girl is no shame!”
“ She is called Adam – a man’s name!”
“ She may not be decent!”
“ Please make your dry assumptions.” Adam laughed, “ It was my father’s idea of Adam and I have no queries to it.”
“ So he is mad too.” That woman dared.
A slap. Shrieks. Yells. The woman on the ground sobbed in confusion, “ A whore’s tongue is best served to be cut!” Adam howled.
“ Adam, calm down, dear...” The designer interrupted, then whispered, “ Why waste your breath on these people.”
“ So, Doctor, your apology was an act...?” she whispered back.
“ No. But how can I deny the existence of wild fire when I see it.”
“ Adam this is an outrage!”
“ You have done wrong child!”
“ Girl Adam how dare you raise hands?!”
“ How can you do so much wrong?!”
“ I had enough.” Adam scowled, “ You think you people are right to judge others when your own hearts are frail and fickle.”
“ You know what spiled girl” the same woman declared, “ It is best if you go to the soothsayer Shylock – after all we are to be punished...”
Adam looked hesitant, “ Why this sudden move? Are you playing a game of chess? Is this a move to attack the pieces?”
“ Dear girl, are you afraid to go to the man?” The woman giggled causing anger to be in Adam.
“ No of course not!” Adam looked livid, “ I can go there now.”
“ Who is this Shylock?” The designer looked weary, “ Adam, are you in trouble?”
“ Don’t worry about it doctor, you should just take your milk and leave.”
“ I cannot leave you behind Adam.”
“ What is to be left behind shall stay behind.”
“ Not if one can collect the sands in the hourglass – if tides can be changed we should change them.”
“ You shouldn’t come – I believe that is what they want.”
“ Good Adam sometimes yielding to the enemy promises victory later.”
“ Yes, true – but, do you think them as your enemies now?”
“ If they attack you then I cannot consider them my bedfellows either.”
“ Alright then – plan that predicted victory – you know you need too – enemies can plan ahead and crush the roots that prosper.”
“ True – I take your advice. But who is Shylock?”
“ You shall see.”

The man is in the street. Ordinary. Without signature of interest. Without apparel-modest or more only scanty. There are crowds generated. They keep distance. It is affirmed that a place for space is good for breathing. The crows are interrupted. Here comes two customers. No, it is not wealth of land, coins or lust that Shylock yearns. A touch of spirit-wonder and destinies-massive are his coins and lust.
Though ordinary is wealth here it is dull, uncultivated thus remaining infertile. He waits a change.
He takes coins though and at times want of comfort makes him lend his hand to ask a sum. But, the aura of two – hmmm – strange license – who are these two? They speak strange things already!
“ Shylock...” the woman smiles, “ This girl was being a delinquent and –“
“ Shut it impudent one!” Shylock retorts shocking the woman and giving bliss to the two,
“ I have sense a pride in your aura not meant to be! – you!” he signals for Adam, “ Come here girl who is named after the first being – are you good enough to be the matriarch?”
Adam forwards hesitantly. Her palm is suddenly plucked by his eager claw. His whites come. Irises in another cosmos. He then comes closer.
“ Yes, a matriarch of deeds – sins, virtues, fallen and ascended...” he then whispers,
“ That man...” he points to the designer, “ Knows of childhood and child-slaying...:
She takes her hand away, Incensed! “ That is not your right to know!”
“ Yes, true, maybe-so...yet...” Shylock smiles, “ i know it now and I am sorry to know – it is hard.”
Adam looked hard.
“ Oh, so this wench has a secret...” the woman looked venomously victorious, “ Dear Shylock please expose this snake’s pitiful crime!”
“ If you are ready to expose yourself in your attire that which Allah gave you I will happily give out her secret.”
A drop of hardness from a countenance and the start of shock on another.
“ How can you ask this of me!” The woman screamed.
“ I may ask you the same.” Shylock smiled then looked at the designer, “ You, you – come here – you have a recent glow.”
The designer looked perturbed. A collector of people’s agony or a true mage of dangerous liaisons to the mind? This axis is radically different from his planet.
He clutched the designer’s palm more sternly, swayed it side-to-side-front-to-back, a carnival of an inspection. Eyes large. He looked at the designer, whispering, “ You...is she...you have done it...”
The designer now was alarmed, “ Whatever could you mean:?”
The soothsayer laughed, “ Don’t be shy...you have her in your grasp...not her for long...”
The designer was uncomfortable, “ How...how do you know?”
The soothsayer smiled wide, “ Don’t be so confident designer...that’s what she calls you...”
The designer looked interested, “ Yes...that’s what I told her to call me.”
The soothsayer smiles sadly, “ Don’t you think you should have given a better introduction...?”
Adam is under light – she is also under an eclipse. However, pure dark-blinding light of awesome kind (a kind of intolerance) has fit the designer in. She looks at the soothsayer and the man.
Man he is and man he shall be.

End Of Act I

Beauty | Sleeping

^{His name was Beauty and he was a damsel in distress.}

^{The most ostentatious feature was the manicured nails; the hair was slightly bleached, yellow sunspots along linear figurations; white skin with lips glossed bubblegum pink. He looked beautiful enough and he was insomnia incarnate. The girls in the class admired him and the boys, surprisingly, did as well. He was not at all ostracized and he was quite ecstatic; he was in insomnia but no one knew it...yet... The boy wanted to be saved by a romantic kiss by another man. He read the story when was younger - how men come up and kiss women awakened from poisoned sleep, so, he decided that it was time that he dressed up beautifully as the women and wait for his man to kiss him awake.}

^{But awake from what? He never asked that and it was not really required. Nor did he think it important because a romantic kiss was an epiphany and it was important to house an epiphany.}

<sup>So he told his parents:

" I'm on a silent pilgrimage. Bring me a woman but I will not kiss her. Bring me a man and I will surely want to get kissed by him."</sup>

^{The parents found this thought audacious but they were aiming to please him so they decided if a man made their son happy they will definitely bring him one.}

^{Their choice was an older man and Beauty disliked him immediately. The man told Beauty to wear clothes like a man but Beauty could not. When the time came to kiss the man Beauty felt helpless for he did not want to kiss the man.}

<sup>His parents were enraged:

" You said you wanted a man!"</sup>

^{He was forcefully married to the older man and whenever he wished to dress in vivid colours the older man rebuked him:}

^{" Why are you trying to be feminine? I didn't marry you so you could be feminine; now, did I?"}

^{This traumatized Beauty; this traumatized him so much that he decided that if he was not allowed to but the clothes he wanted then he will definitely make them. Quietly, he brought a spinning wheel and it was one endowed with magic. He decided to be a Lady by night when his husband left him in his boudoir when their marital obligations were over. Then he wore pinks, reds, blues, yellows and greens to his heart contentment and was not obligated to wear only browns and blacks, and other “manly” deeper shades. He scoffed at his husband’s choices and decided to do this.}

^{However, he was quite upset – the enigmatic epiphany of the kiss was not revealed to him.}

^{This is not the right man, he thought, This is not the right man I married!}

^{So Beauty sewed his clothes at night and decided that no one entered the sewing room except him. There was one man in his husband’s manor, the despised philanderer Witch named Charming, who yearned for the older husband’s attentions. He was envious of Beauty’s handsomeness and knew how his “feminine” qualities were despised by his lascivious master. Unable to control his urges, he kissed Beauty and spoke hotly into his ear:}

^{“ I love it when you dress in Pink.”}

^{Beauty felt seduced by charming because he found no romance with his older, domineering husband, thus he decided that this Charming was the prince-man who would give him the epiphany-kiss. So, this was the decision of the passionate Beauty who wore all his pinks and reds in front of the Prince-man Charming.}

^{“ You know this is the way I am,” Beauty confessed, “ My husband thinks I am feminine, maybe, that is true but Charming I feel I am only being myself – I thought being a man meant being assertive and that is what I’m doing; who is trying to be a woman? I’m happy being a man and I always wish that I am a man. In school people loved the way I dressed it’s a shame my husband finds me unattractive. I thought about it hard in my hand but I think a real woman is also one who is able to be herself. I know tradition may call me feminine then I will laugh at those people and gladly accept it for it is me not an artificial ‘man’ who is being himself. What do you think Charming?”}

^{“ I believe you are yourself.” Lied the faithless Charming.}

<sup>Charming went into the room of the spinning-wheel, as invited by Beauty, and saw all his designs. Charming commented on their beauty (it was true that he liked them) and decided that he might wear some of them as his own secret after the wretched Beauty was gone. He had devised a trap for Beauty but first…he would not disagree that Beauty was beauty incarnate…

“ Let us make ourselves, bind ourselves, share with me what you share with your husband…”</sup>

^{In this slight whisper Beauty succumbed to the delusional love of Charming; he thought that Charming’s kiss that scorched and burned was the epiphany. Yes, it was – but, not the kind he had desired.}

^{After the older husband had returned from the nightly visits to his men and women mistresses he once yearned for the beautiful body of Beauty; tonight, he had drunk too much ecstasy and decided that his feelings for Beauty in the category of lust surpassed the ones he had felt at that moment. He searched for his “wife” and wondered where his husband had lain. He was curious as Beauty was not in their bed nor in his boudoir. He grew worried and restless as he needed Beauty to satiate him but who would appear but Charming dressed in white and pink – Beauty’s newest design, who he had made for Charming.}

^{“ That dress looks impressive Charming, something a woman would wear – but it suits you.” He caressed his servant’s cheek.}

^{“ Master you do not let your wife, Beauty, wear such clothes…”}

^{“ It’s because he gets happy, I want him to be miserable so that our lives do not get interfered by his admirers – I want him to be masculine – I think him to be masculine so that I can have some of my other fantasies quenched. He did not like me before and so if I allowed his femininity she would think me not man enough for her so I want him to be masculine. Also I had seen him feminine, I want to see him masculine as well – both sides of his fleshed coin I wish to explore…”}

^{“ My master quench your thirst on me.”}

^{“ Very well Charming,” the older man slaps him, “ Remember to be more humble…”}

^{“ Yes…yes…I’m sorry, forgive me…”}

^{“ I will forgive you after you have satisfied me. Then I will seek Beauty…”}

^{After the deed Charming’s mischief comes to play, “ Master, do you want Beauty feminine or masculine tonight?”}

^{“ Both as my other whores lacked his femininity…”}

^{“ Would you start with feminine then sir or masculine?”}

^{“ If he is wearing his feminine clothes behind my knowledge I will rip them off his skin and then tell him to follow his obligations.”}

^{“ Sir, he sleeps in his sewing-room.”}

^{“ What sewing-room!”}

^{“ Master here it is!”}

^{The older husband is astonished to find a naked Beauty; covered in nothing his “sin” is for the world to see. The older man is furious!}

^{“Beauty!”}

^{Beauty is shocked to find him in his sewing-room and what was worse he saw the smugness in Charming’s face. He is confused, “ What are you doing here? How come you know?”}

^{“ You wretched slut! You spend your nights away from me with other lovers and sew clothes I detest!”}

^{“ No! It was only Charming…only Charming…” Beauty’s tears questioned Charming.}

^{“ Oh Master forgive me but your husband had seduced me!” Charming spilled pseudo-water and the older man was convinced.}

^{“ I will punish you Beauty!” The older husband beat Beauty hard, “ Your clothes are to be burned in your blood!”}

^{He set fire to his “feminine” creations and pricked Beauty’s fingers and let the blood drop into the flames. Beauty cried in shame and anguish, in despair and sorrow. All this time he had been deceived and he gave himself to a man as bad as his husband.}

^{“ Now Beauty, your real punishment begins…” the older man looked with menacing eyes that hungered for satisfaction.}

^{Beauty shriek as his spinning-wheel was used to spin glass onto his skin. Every part of his body glowed in blood and shards! He cried and cried and cried!}

^{Charming was actually afraid but he laughed – laughter for Beauty’s punishment but fear for it as well.}

^{“ In this your lust will sleep!” the older man showed no mercy to the heartbroken, spirit-broken and flesh-broken Beauty, “ Your love for me is all you need! This mirror will only show me the person you only need to see and you will stay in this room until I feel satisfaction in your devotion!”}

^{With it he raped Beauty and left stating, “ Charming will now get your belongings! You will only get them back after you have satisfied me!”}

^{Years went by and Beauty was defiled and defiled and defiled and left to his glassed body. Charming enjoyed the position of Beauty as the legal concubine and cared not for Beauty. He only went to kiss Beauty awake before the older man would visit. He would coo:}

^{“ I have come to awake from the poisoned sleep of your pricked fingers by the spinning-wheel.”}

^{“ Why Charming have you done this…?” Beauty wept and questioned.}

^{“ Because I am rightfully the husband or wife, whatever you wish of this rightful man not you…” then with a smug smile, “ Thank-you for the dress you made me I ever so love it…I also wear the other dresses too and use to the spinning-wheel to put more jewels on them.”}

^{“ You have…you have…” Beauty wept some more.}

^{All Charming did was to awake him to his now doubled insomnia. Prince Charming awoke him from his glass prison but just awoke him – never free him.}

^{One day, after being horribly raped, Beauty decided to escape. He used the mirror’s powers by night to move in shadows. As the mirror showed the image of the master of the house and the moon cloaked him in her body’s pureness, the guards did not suspect anything awry. He escaped into the forests but found moving a torture: his skin gashed with the glass he wore as his coffin drained him of blood and energy!}

^{As time went in the forest Beauty encased himself in a glass room made of glass fragments that fell of him. It was a crypt, to see himself; as disfigured in a beautiful mirrored prison. He wept but did not know how to remove the mirrors with direct force. He forgot of his dreams of being kissed. He knew it was hopeless. No man would kiss him awake. All women found him like this – a decoration piece. He felt humiliated. He prayed and prayed for some reason.}

^{One day a beautiful person came – Her name was Poseidon – but she work thick armory made out of water. She saw the boxed-house and thought who had made it. Her Kingdom was Water across everywhere and she found it odd that a watery magic was feeling to be misused. She destroyed the house of glass to see the scarred glassed Beauty inside.}

^{“ Oh my God! What has happened to you!”}

^{But Beauty had lost his voice…too sad to speak…she approached him and kissed him…}

^{In a fury all glass broke and glass smeared with blood but the glass inside was not broken. Poseidon carried beauty into her own private spring and laid him there.}

^{Suddenly Beauty’s anguish turned to anger! He wanted justice and he wanted to grow wings!}

^{He started scrubbing himself and the remaining glass mixed with water and then they became wings of glass upon Beauty’s back. He looked at Poseidon with gratitude and determination:}

^{“ Come sweet Prince-Woman-Princess, I, your Princess-man wish to exact revenge!”}

^{“ Of course water used for inappropriate lust cannot be forgiven!”}

^{They went to the older man’s manor and saw him asleep. Poseidon used her sword called Ice to stab him and he howled awake.}

^{“ Now old man you will be my deceased husband!” Beauty screamed, he used his wings to grow shards and with the help of Poseidon used the spinning-wheel’s needle to sew into him a mirror-prison.
“ Now this mirror will show you, yourself!”}

^{And the older man screamed as he saw the glass become more deep and sharp and soon it stabbed his innards as an Iron Maiden and set him ablaze in his own Blood. He finally was ashamed seeing his own perversity.}

^{“ Now Poseidon I will punish Charming!”}

^{“ Do not forgive him Dear Beauty! Kiss him awake to his Macabre!”}

^{Beauty found Charming his Boudoir and Charming awake to Beauty’s lips, which gave him a kiss, but they were glazed with glass:}

^{“ My beautiful lips!”}

^{“ Hush thy devilish spawn!”}

^{And Beauty kissed the wounded, damaged lips of Charming until he became weary of speech. Beauty looked in horror as his clothes were altered: each of them had precious stones sewed into them making them look as clumsy masses!}

^{“ You have disfigured my beauties! You have disfigured my passions! You have disfigured me! Now I shall disfigure you!”}

^{Beauty took the spinning-wheel and started taking his clothes and then he sewed them into Charming! Charming screamed and screamed and he sewed and sewed, until Charming laughed and said, “ What will this do?!”}

^{“ You will become only what you lust you wretched evil!” Poseidon instructed.}

^{Charming realized that his avarice was his greatest hunger and he foolishly succumbed…All the lace, diamonds, stones and jewels replaced his skin, flesh, organs and blood. Soon he looked like some grotesque mannequin made of nothingness – he screamed and broke apart.}

^{Beauty then set fire to the spinning-wheel but pricked his fingers and drew blood. With that blood he forged the sword called Sleep.}

^{“ Why have you done this dear Beauty?” Poseidon asked sweetly.}

^{“ You have awakened me but I have also awakened myself, this sword will put to sleep my woes and sorrows – this is the first step, I will reclaim my life.”}

^{With it he kissed Poseidon and asked if he could marry her. Poseidon decided to wait, “ My sweet Beauty let us not be in haste – you have much to recover and we must know each other more than by our deeds.”}

^{Beauty agreed as he did not want to marry Poseidon until he was sure enough that he loved her wholly and knew her. Besides he could be swept away by another woman or man in the future.}

^{Beauty had woken from his waking insomnia – he pined for the kiss of epiphany but with more knowledge of its powers to awake. His parents, ashamed by their decisions, asked forgiveness. He forgave but had a new pilgrimage:}

^{“ My odyssey, my pilgrimage now, is to survive obstacles and keep myself whole.”}

^{He then wore a garment made of vivid blue, green, red and pink in lovely illustrations and looked himself at a long mirror. He gasped at his fullness:}

^{“ And I am asleep no more.”}