Carnival of the Vaginosi Arts

Lila's probable fate, as an accomplished Feminize intellectual, defied description. Flirting with Romanticist suspects risked unimaginably grotesque consequences.

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Each new mode of behavior authenticating this unwanted idealism made the compelling passions even more puzzling and threatening to the corporate mentality of Port Iliac. Until recently Port enjoyed the one-dimensional admiration of this utilitarian mechanistic Society, existing joyfully as a man for all seasons in the 21st Century City State of Baghdad by The Bay, once named on some maps as San Francisco, the universal beacon of Newtonian Conquest.

This possibly rings of the obtuse, dear reader, if you are not at least perceptively aware of the endemic Tenderloin deviancy prevalent in your ruling condition. Since the 21st Century began with film flam pronouncements, educational media have pretended to have no knowledge of The Tenderloin of the American Peninsula named for Saint Francis of Assisi. Pretenses of grandeur and slothful Legato obscure the perfidy of the magnificent bay's bridges. May the ensuing poor effort at revelation be justified! Pathos stands as the paramount contender.

All history begins and ends with sex be it Atomic Original Sin or latter day Feminize. America's neoNeanderthal Harvardian of the 20th Century had inaugurated the crucibles of carnal hierarchies exemplified by Gotham's Peppermint Lounges; Plato's Retreats in The City of Angles, and Clintonesque seminal

NeoStone Age coke heads aspiring to the global seats of power in dominant cultures in the 21st Century attest to the justification of the presupposition of a continuity of intellectuality found only in the Pharmacopoeia. Pyotr was apprised of such historic analogies only through the intimacy of LinLu, whose many faces and ubiquitous politics opened all doors.

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Differentiating between the vagaries of human sexuality and the excesses of American politics posed a dilemma for Pyotr, if not the whole of humanity. You see, Pyotr had lived his young life in San Francisco, always a uniquely dysfunctional city on the West Coast of the now intellectually and psychologically dissociate North American Continent.

Grandiose arguments, always about sex and politics, once raged in the city built by gold and silver from The Sierras; but that had ceased with the advent of the Feminosi. Their consciously manipulated pseudotheological mind warp had hammered apart all existing social psychology, serving as the final catalyst for the post Christian era.

Pyotr's mentors, all worshippers of the Feminosi, had been forbidden to include the Era of The Constitutional Republic in their curriculum. Pyotr had knowledge of that mysterious realm only through LinLu, whose apostasy could lead to "reeducation" centers, never to return.

Their 21st Century City State of Herb Caen's Baghdad by The Bay stood as a tarnished tooth of truth, unflinching and unique. San Francisco's great classical philosopher of the Solipsistic Sixties would find no solace in the San Francisco of the Feminosi; moreover, he would, indeed, be entertained at The Guillotine in Union Square. His Tenderloin Histories would never be understood. In the harsh and uncompromising dictates of The Feminosi, nothing had come before The Feminosi, and nothing would come after The Feminosi. Their Barony of The Pacific Rim embraced Oakland across San Francisco Bay, a neoAfrican enclave of Modernist chieftains.

As the capital city of the Pacific Rim Emirates Caliphate, San Francisco pulsed with toxic designs to strangle the struggling Republic of the Americanos Del Norte. As the focal point of the Bayshore network of anti American forces, the new spirit of Babylon was defined for practical administrative dialogues by the rails of the Bay Area Rapid Transit System or BART.

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Sex was always defined and wielded as a weapon by self appointed intellectuals; and politics consisted of hollow edicts respecting the myth of the superiority of the Chinese or Italians or Black Africans or Black Muslims or Black Americans or Black Mexicans or Black Irish or Black Brits, always unitarily juxtaposed to the ubiquitous "white"; while all other exigencies were relegated to the resourceful recycle bin as implements of a raw culturally cannibalistic thievery. Integrity appeared only as a vague religion articulated by inarticulate Hedonists.

When LinLu had agreed to become the star of the Friday night impromptu concert and fucking exhibition in the central lane of the Golden Gate Bridge, she had gained incredible respect and even adulation from both the students and administration of The Gold Way Conservatory, a key enervating force in the Feminosi pretensions to respectability. Pyotr, through LinLu's good offices, had enjoyed an immediate elevation of status in The Living Theater, though he had pondered the advisability of impeding rush hour traffic in addition to the concerns for his dignity.

His concerns had been allayed, however, when the Culture Committee of The Golden Gate ruled that his presenting a Bach concert simultaneous with the fucking exhibition would counter any objections by the Traffic Engineer's Committee. Certainly, the occupants of the cars would receive incalculable inspiration from the Brandenburg Concerto Number 3 in G performed in harmony with an accomplished display of fucking technique and theory.

Certainly "Fucking Technique and Theory" had been neglected in the curricula of The Feminosi, the univeristy at Berkeley not withstanding.

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Having discovered his niche early in life, a necessity for survival, Pyotr enjoyed the insular sanctity of a concert violinist and free lance symphony conductor. Every endeavor was quasi aesthetic in the unique city established as a Gateway to Gold during the sacred gold crusades of the 19th Century; moreover, Pyotr suddenly not only had been his bills, but also had been becoming very rich through the success of The Conservatory.

True! Not all was peaches and rum in heavy cream. He had recently been deprived of his sole proprietorship of The Academy of performing Arts that he had built in the park like surroundings of the Conservatory. His success had been apportioned under the law.

Through the speculative prerogatives of two supreme party members, the ruling Feminosi had awarded three Feminosi's of the East Palo Alto chapter of The Association of University Feminosi 49 per cent of his profits. Other party functionaries had petitioned the Potomac Supreme Worshipful Master for shares in Pyotr's Symphonia, though Pyotr would be obligated to remain as Conductor and manager until terminated by mutual agreement. Only three hours before this night's grand performance on the bridge had Pyotr received the supreme injunction.

Assurances were given, however, that Pyotr remained the premier Conductor and exemplar of Bach for all of the Pacific Rim Emirates. Another exquisite administrative lie; for the stipend mysteriously withered to nothing

Hence we have the explanation for the dangerous difficulties related to gambling. In the first instance, during his period of affluence, Pyotr had come to enjoy the game of chance as well as the hyper sensually charged atmosphere and pseudo classical sophistication.

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So seduced was he by the mysteries of Baccarat that he was mesmerized into the assumption that his losses were insured by his closed society and fellowship of the inveterate gamblers.

While an intermediate arts student, Pyotr had exhausted his inheritance in the creation of The Presidio Sunset Symphonia and String Ensemble. Of his crowning successes, only his Stradivarius remained, and he enjoyed the loyalty of only one of the 52 Feminosi's who had comprised his orchestra. LinLu, who held the First Chair of the cello section, had incurred great risk in leaving the Feminosi dominated aggregation to conceive the ultimate expression of the 21st Century Being.

Now the Feminosi Cultural Guard would have evidence of her covert Romanticism. Any degree of investigation would uncover the devout Idealism of the beautiful Bach cellist.

As he watched LinLu unfolding her chair, hoisting her formal skirt and settling her cello between her legs, Pyotr briefly entertained the persistent question of their attachment for each other. They could satisfy their lust in any number of conventional erotic venues, but they preferred each other. Such a peculiarity could compromise their licenses and entitlements, perhaps even their expectations of mortality.

Incidental exposure of the softness of her inner thighs once again effected in Pyotr a strange unanticipated response that was at once erotic and intuitive. Having been denied access to the ruminations of Plato, Aristotle and Socrates, Pyotr was increasingly curious about this undeniable individualistic attraction to LinLu. Holding esteemed credentials in the effort to preserve the works of the masters- Bach, Mozart, Beethoven and Handel- made him more aware of the unpredictable and illusory potential of fucking; and such a condition perpetuated a palpable risk that he would be cited and indicted by the cultural commission as a despised Romanticist.

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Cutting the strings of the cello too deeply had always shaken Pyotr's artistic sensibilities. Too many cellists dwelt on the pathetic and apathetic. To him the cello naturally created sweet and happy melodic whole sensations and pleasurably perceptive polyphony, combining notes at once majestically pure and oxymoronically sexual; contrarily, the deceptively fresh and lilac scrubbed LinLu irritated him with harmless though perverse titillate purpose, employing her great grandfather's ancient concert cello, made by the fabled Antonio Stradivarius.

Once a month they carried their instruments, she her cello and he his violin, out onto the Golden Gate Bridge and settled into a blocked center lane to perform an open air concert for the commuters. All gifted performers of the Aesthetic Community assumed this obligation of public service.

As the insect-like vehicles passed them, they performed next week's San Francisco neoObamist Cello Ensemble's program for the weekend's concert at the Ginsburger Festival of The Vagina Dialogues.

They would proceed to Bach's Brandenburg Concerto once they began the fucking exhibition.

Occupants of the chopped and tweaked little vehicles with their Meow Motor's Logos nodded as if controlled by dullard Puppeteers as they crept past to pay the insulting toll enroute home to Sausalito. All residents of the neoAcid Section 8 Condos mounted on Sausalito Houseboats knew Bach's "Air on the G String" when they heard it. They had been assured of the association of the music with a tight fitting covering for the vagina. With their 21st Century Monocelled Consciousness and Timmy Leary Cogitators, the chemically erectile citizens of the Pacific Rim recognized the mystical odor of the neo Baghdad by the Bay National Anthem in all of the misanthropic manifestations.

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In the twilight, the chartreuse taillights of The Obama miracle cars seasoned the suicidal red tints of the Golden Gate. Streaming phantasmagoric streaks lazered the edificial span of commerce and worship, just as the inspiring mechanical melee synthesized LinLu's sensual playing of the Bach composition on a singular G string.

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Melody's Creative Fecunding Motif

Rattling hood ornaments, fashioned from bin wa balls and other paraphernalia recovered at Central Emergency the previous Saturday night, provided a pleasing distraction for Melody as she crossed the iconic Golden Gate Bridge in her smoking, belching old KIA.

LinLu sawed her cello strings in feigned madness as Pyotr confirmed that he, too, heard the KIA. With self appeasing vigor, she jammed the instrument sensually between her knees and leaned into the exaggerated bow thrusts in anticipation of the arrival of the ubiquitous heteromorphosis of Feminosi Jurisprudence.

Heteromorphosis? LinLu

In the distance on the Marin side of the bridge she saw Melody's old KIA advancing menacingly through the maniacal traffic jam. LinLu had insisted that Melody would add a creative motif to the fucking exhibition. Melody's certificated mastery of fucking mechanics, as a derivative of her studies in Feminosi jurisprudence, would provide an accent that would coincide with that of their more practiced measure.

Quick agreement from Pyotr at first disconcerted LinLu. Then she remembers that Pyotr had asked her to schedule a meeting with Melody about his plans to steal the bejeweled Kell Book of magic from Dr. Fulcanelli. Pyotr had convinced LinLu that only one course of action remained open for him. He would be compelled to become the premiere Magician and Astrologist of The Pacific Rim Emirates.

Since the Feminosi's deterministic intellectuality and Somatic Existentialism had spawned a hybrid sociopolitical theocracy, Pyotr had fixed on a plan to ingratiate himself with the Feminosi rulers. To execute the scheme, however, would recast him in the character of a noble thief and manipulator.

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Simplified in the extreme, his strategy required the consolidation of the mysteries of the Philosopher's Stone held by the corporate governors with the omniscience of "The Alchemist's Magnus Opus," Fulcanelli's key to the secrets of The Universe.

Those secrets of timeless omnipotent powers, Fulcanelli's Primaeval Treasure, could be acquired through ingenious perversions of Melody's good offices as a solicitor. LinLu would enable Pyotr, the object of her desire, to command the environs of The Pacific Realm and redress his material grievances. But he must acknowledge Melody's incomparable achievements as a Fucking Master; which he seemed pleased to confirm, though any enjoyment of Melody's gifts invariably and paradoxically goaded him to new heights of irascibility.

In truth, as LinLu understood, Melody's hedonistic simplicity drove Pyotr prosaically to the brink of self destruction; however, the magnetic nonentity's classical mastery of the academics of fucking always mollified his anger and engaged his academic interests. Melody's intuitive coital happiness, always Pyotr had begun to formulate questions about the redundancy of engineered New Yorkean fucking as opposed to the implications of casting LinLu in a portrait painted independently by his own preCartesian imagination.

Good Lord! LinLu shuddered as the chill of incredulity flooded her systems

As he had become more Idealistic and Romanticist, she had appraised her own intuitive reactions. Pragmatic? Too American! Platonic? Too Christian! Aristotelian? Too "white."

LinLu was the first to understand the seriousness of their transgression. They were in danger. Romanticism most assuredly was a threat to the majesty of the state; however, it was the state, she reasoned, that historically had been a threat to creative fucking. Her dilemma required more academic and artisitc attention, LinLu consoled herself.

Melody roared into the closed center lane, crushing the abominable red cones under the KIA. She alighted amidst steam and blackened exhaust smoke. Soon the troopers would arrive to issue a citation for illegally parking or leaving the motor running; or maybe they would haul her away to jail when they tested the gaseous content of her exhaust.

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"Brahms is wonderful in this great cathedral of golden steel ribs," Melody gushed, wishing to obviate Pyotr's unfathomable and unpredictable objections to her inclusion in the Golden Gate Bridge Performance Art Fecunding Tableau. Pyotr's abrasiveness toward Melody, however, was not diminished by her tactic.

"Bach! We're playing Bach, you idiot!" Pyotr growled.Melody spontaneously kissed Pyotr passionately before becoming entwined with LinLu in a peculiar embrace more akin to goon wrestling and the bare knuckle events that dominated the entertainment South of Market Street, the community of derelict coke noses known as SoMa. Melody in time withdrew from LinLu's greeting, consciously making an effort to comport herself as Pyotr required.

"Don't mind Pyotr," LinLu soothed. "He is always impossible before a performance."

Inartistic curses from Pyotr contradicted LinLu's welcome and inferred apology. Pyotr furiously began adjusting strings on the Stradivarius.

"Consider it good fortune I got your message," Melody said. "This is my night to go to Ginsburger's soiree and I am almost late."

That Ginsburger attracted few defenders was an accepted fact of social intercourse in The Emirates. Pyotr's reaction, however, arguably possessed the scourge of the Puritan; and that note touched Melody's simplistic curiosity. She did not understand his depth of ill will toward Ginsburger. When he bitterly predicted that Melody was certain to contract the dreaded "Pusillanimous Pallbearer's Pox" at Ginsburger's orgies, Melody stared at him with bright blue undiscriminating eyes and happily amoral auditory faculties.

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"Melody never comprehends your moralizing, Pyotr," LinLu said, attempting to explain Pyotr's mood as a reaction to Melody's temporizing of Bach. That infuriated Pyotr. He screamed invective at Melody's offending insensibilities to the dignity of Bach before turning his gaze on Melody.

LinLu grimaced and continued plucking the strings of her cello

To confess to Pyotr that she consciously was playing prohibited improvisations of Wagner would reveal too much of her predilection for the proscribed works of The Great War of the 20th Century. Without comment she continued to recreate measures from the forbidden Jazz Genre dominated by a man with the intriguing name of Brubeck.

Pyotr always spoke with an inexplicable harshness when catalytically stroking into Melody. Always amused at the homogenization of her lover with this specimen of Feminosi perfection, LinLu concomitantly drew an inference from music theory that both intrigued and frightened her. Adduced from this artful combining of nature's mundane fluids and neoPlatonic Christianity was a perception that raised specters of forbidden intuition. LinLu had surreptitiously read Socrates, Plato and Aristotle as well as the confounding Homer alongside Sophocles, Aeschylus and Euripides.

Acknowledging the circumstance that he needed Melody's solicitor's persona as well as her sociopolitical licensure as a Master Fucker, Pyotr modulated his customarily abusive attitude.

"We must hurry and tell you our news before the Feminosi Patrol gets here," Pyotr said peremptorily, continuing to saw the strings of his violin as if he were at symphony hall.

"Do you not have authority from the Culture Commission?" Melody asked.

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"Our license is only for playing Bach while engaged in Exhibitionist Fucking in the central lane," LinLu answered.

"Yes! I am certain the patrol sensors have relayed to the toll booth LinLu's rendition of the variant strains from forbidden 20th Century historic eras," Pyotr said.

Flashing red lights at the toll booth warned that the patrol would soon arrive. Melody gazed at the lights of the city across the Bay. All of the Feminosi intelligentsia who claimed Golden Gate roots would stand on the bridge for hours conjuring mangled philosophy from a mixture of solipsism and abjuration. Occasionally one would jump, and they would mourn her with a week of multidiscipline orgies. Melody was not like her sisters. She was happily devoid of thought. No history of any nature persisted in her unique Space Age monolithic mentality.

Pyotr demanded that she attend his words. She smiled serenely and fixed her concentration upon him.

"Listen to me Melody! We are going to steal a priceless treasure and you must help us." Pyotr succeeded in mollifying his voice despite his irritation. He was saying that he proposed to steal an Opus Magnus and must have Melody's assistance.