Carnival of the Vaginosi Arts

LinLu had told him of Melody's impending interview with one Dr. Fulcanelli, who was a new arrival in Baghdad By The Bay and had recently become a Fellow of The San Francisco Royal Science and Advanced Technologies Society. Propitiously, Dr, Fulcanelli was the possessor of the Magnus Opus that Pyotr proposed to steal. Melody nodded appreciatively. Pyotr obviously was more alive than she had ever seen him. She laughed and applauded.

"You are willing to include me in an adventure?" Melody chirped innocently. "But I thought we were going to fuck in the central lane again and create another Happy Hour of Hybrid Car Chaos."

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"Isn't that what the art critic on public radio called our concert?" LinLu asked.

"If we are going to fuck and play Bach in the central lane, we must hurry," Melody warned. "I cannot be late for Ginsburger's Soiree."

Perhaps Pyotr's irascibility had penetrated in the extreme. LinLu signaled Pyotr that he was to silence his vulgarisms if they were to solicit Melody's assistance as an attorney in a very questionable exercise. LinLu had cautioned Pyotr not to offend Melody by equating her license as an attorney with a license to steal, though their commission for Melody was nothing more than felonious thievery. Certainly, Pyotr would not approach Melody with the proposition that she would steal the book.

More respectfully, LinLu would engage Melody as a solicitor making an offer for a priceless obje't d'art on behalf of a client. Since Melody fortuitously had been summoned by Dr. Fulcanelli as a solicitor on unrelated and unrevealed matters, she could raise the issue of purchasing the manuscript during her interview.

In his desperation for money, Pyotr had devised the scheme that hinged dependently upon the unique manuscript displayed in the offices of Fulcanelli, the magician. Realizing that neither he nor LinLu could credibly gain access to the private rooms, he had devised a plan in which Melody would steal the invaluable object during her scheduled interview with the enigmatic Alchemist and Necromancer.

"We will create another living art tableau for the commuters tonight, we promise," LinLu agreed. "Before we perform the concert, however, we must have a little meeting to discuss business. Understand?"

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At the moment, LinLu explained delicately, she and Pyotr had additional interests that required Melody's assistance as an agent. LinLu proceeded hesitantly, sparing no superlative in acknowledging Melody as an attorney. More to the point, LinLu emphasized, the proposition could not go forward without Melody's agreement to participate. This revelation pleased Melody immeasurably. Never had Melody been essential to anyone at any time as an attorney. Then Melody tensed as the thought occurred that they were in violation. Just the suggestion of conducting this business was a criminal act. She was terrified of the The Feminosi licensing agencies.

Pyotr suppressed his urgency to attack Melody with vile curses. Never had he indulged this natural being without harshly denouncing her simplicity. Now he could not reveal his contempt as usual. Instead he immersed himself in the sublimation of powerfully recreating the magnificence of Bach's "Chaconne in D Minor," Partita Number two, and Melody listened raptly.

Magnus Opuses were not that prevalent in a world littered with drifting space junk and the intellectual cadavers left by the onslaught of Feminosi Materialism.

"What's a Magnus Opus?" Melody asked once more, and once again Pyotr exploded in a rage that he demonstrated by attacking the Stradivarius to the delight of the Myopic neoSeal Rock Epicureans in the Hybrid Cars.

"Magnus Opuses are simply Great Works," LinLu answered.

As LinLu again raised the prospect of their business with Melody other than the artistic fucking tableau, Melody began to babble almost incoherently as fear of the verboten subject consumed her.

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"But there are no Great Works! Sister Amazonia said so in her Styx Dance on Mount Tamalpais last night. She said there have never been Great Works! Only now will great Works be produced by the Feminosi." Melody paused and glanced across the driving lanes and seaward through the massive red beams that structured the bridge. Against the final glow of the Pacific Sunset, stood the silhouette of the great worshipful setting of Mount Tamalpais, the Temple of The Mother of Earth Goddess.

Sister Amazonia demanded that her Feminosi candidates address her in the masculine gender as God; but Melody's mentality possessed an errant strain that she did not encourage or understand. She found herself inexplicably resorting to the Feminine grammatical usage as she attempted to forestall LinLu's intention to raise the forbidden subject.

Pyotr, resolved in the notion that they needed Melody to seduce this man Fulcanelli, patiently explained that the Magnus Opus he prized consisted of an ancient Greek papyrus sorcerer's text; a green Philosopher's Stone that predates recorded history, and The Magi's Gold Mortar and Pestle. With the Philosopher's Stone as the Majestic catalyst and the Magi's diminutive mixing bowl, Pyotr could conceivably control the world. Currency printed by the Potomac Oligarchy of the Washington White House had lost credibility, and the sacred symbols of prehistoric wealth that he could create would make him a Midas or a Croesus.

As he genteelly lectured the bemused Melody, the Feminosi Patrol vehicle drew near.

Of renowned supercilious perception, Pyotr knew Melody's capacities beyond doubt. She would do anything for a friend; and

Being of the select 21st Century genre of strong, simplified beings with no burdens of conscience, Melody immediately found the proposition exciting. She possessed a gargantuan appetite for adventure. Reason never interfered. Only her carefully scientifically fashioned ignorance enjoined her accepting the invitation immediately.

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"What's an Opus Magnus?" Melody asked. It must be a painting or statue or priceless gem at The de Young, her mechanistic dictated to Pyotr's further annoyance.

No one could steal anything from the de Young Museum, melody laughed. LinLu calmed Melody's spontaneous laughter.

Stealing an Opus Magnus, Pyotr whispered furiously, was a work of art within itself. Immediately, he regretted raising the complications of aesthetic ambiguities with Melody.

Phantasmagoric swirls of sparkling blues, reds and whites enunciated the arrival of the Feminosi Golden Gate Patrol consisting of a regal Saxon and a squarely massed Mexican mercenary. First to alight was the Mexican, who bowed formally and introduced himself with a wide sweep of his hand.

They fell silent and turned to observe as the tall male with blond hair and blue eyes emerged from the official vehicle slowly placing his symbol of authority on his regal head. The billed cap added three inches to his imposing frame. Melody watched the lithe figure with undisguised interest. She had seen few men of Germanic DNA. They had been systematically removed from positions of conspicuous authority long before she was conceived.

She had seen him the previous weekend, however, when he interrupted their impious rutting in the Golden Gate's center lane and escorted them from the bridge.

"I am the senior officer of The Golden gate Constabulary," the Saxon said quietly with dignity and reserve. "This is my partner, friend and associate, Senor Goosy de la Revolucciones."

"Eet ees Guse, pronounced 'Goo Say'," the smaller man shouted in obvious exasperation. "I tell you and I tell you and you still do not know my name. I tell you again that I am no stinking goose. I am Goo Say!"

"Very well!" the Saxon answered patiently. "I did not insult your heritage, whatever that might be."

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Guse screamed as if in pain. His systematic allergies to the Anglo Saxon consumed him all at once.

"I despise you, Senor Gringo, and your whore mother and all of your whore sisters and your motherbreeding father," Guse screamed. "Oh, Mother of God! Why did I come to this terrible fucking place?"

"Why did you come here?" Melody asked brightly. "And why did you become a Feminosi cop if you are a Mexican who hates Saxons?"

"Thank you for asking, beautiful Feminosi," he answered, suddenly clam and once more courtly. "Just for you I will answer."

Guse de la Revolucciones told of breaking and entering a trailer of a truck in Guadalajara for the purpose of "expropriating" a few hundred cartons of Cuban Cigars. Since he was a commissioned officer of the Federale de la Primamosa, such an act was honorable. "Expropriation" was tacitly agreed as an emolument.

"But that does not tell me how and why you came here and became a policeman," Melody persisted.

"Be patient! I am telling you!" Guse calmed himself once more and continued. "You see, the truck also carried a cargo of spirits, primarily Tequila; and, being an aficionado, I could not pass the benevolence of God Almighty; so after a few joyful hours of appreciating my bonanza, I fell into a glorious cloud of dreams.

When I awoke, I was in the City of Gold by the magnificently Bay of Frigidity; and I was being offered great wealth and power. Being burdened of Aztlan nobility, I could not ignore the entreaties of my many Feminosi admirers, though obviously they were inferior."

"Frigidity?" Melody asked. "I do not know the word."

"May you never know the sorrows of such Godlessness, my beautiful Senorita born of God's Wisdom and Mercy."

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"Oh my!" Melody exclaimed breathlessly. "LinLu we must include this wonderful messenger from some fucking Elysian Field in our 'Fucking Tableau."

"Yes, my dear," LinLu answered quietly, "but we still do not know why Goosy remains in a place he has described as despicable and frigid."

Turning to Goosay, Melody shrugged and invited him to make another effort to explain himself.

"No! I did not say that you were frigid. I said that I have been cold ever since I came to your cold Bay of Fucking. The air here is so frigid that my cajones are always heavy with icicles."

"Your answer only begs another question, Senor Goosy," LinLu said. "Why do you remain where the people are so despicable and your balls so frozen?"

"Very simple, delicious one," Goosay answered, smiling disarmingly. "Never in all of the Republica de Mexico would you find such fucking as you do here."

"Then your Mexican integrity and dignity are fraudulent, kind sir!" LinLu responded triumphantly. "Any true Mexican would never fuck such despicable creatures as you describe."

"When the fucking is so good, it is like deep sea fishing, Senorita; because the possibility of seeing the Face of God justifies enduring the misery of your despicable 'Anglo' nature."

Though Melody, the exemplary 'Anglo," was dismayed at the Mexican's rejoinder, LinLu was energized.

"I have checkmated you, haughty Mexican!" LinLu cried. "I am not an 'Anglo' and you will find few 'Anglos' in your Fucking Forays into the byways of our Pacific Rim Culture."

"Everyone who is not blessed to be Mexican is a despicable 'Anglo,'!" Goosay screamed in a mixture of laughter and anger. "But I do not care so long as the Customized Fucking continues and you continue to play Whore to The World."

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"Now that Goosy has removed all doubt of his station in life," the Saxon interjected, "I must see your credentials."

"I remember you!" Melody squealed in delight. "You stopped our Fun Fucking last week and drove us out of the centermost lane."

"I have no recollection of such an event," the Saxon answered. "I certainly did not arrest you for Fun Fucking, for it is not prohibited by any statute and requires no license or permit; however, if you were performing some other specialty requiring the penetration of the vulva without an appropriate license, I very likely charged you with a crime. Failure to obtain a permit for friendly fucking, moreover, is only an administrative violation."

After launching a learned discourse about the differentials of Fun Fucking, Ceremonial Fucking, Socialist Fucking and Capitalist Fucking, Melody had exhausted her intellectual resources, though the subject encompassed her limited reservoirs of experience and expertise. The Saxon stood awe stricken; and Pyotr rocked in a shock induced trance; while LinLu stood pathologically speechless.

"Your language is barbaric!" the Saxon responded.

"My language?" Melody asked in unfeigned puzzlement. She was confused and disappointed. "What have I said that has offended you?"

"You uttered an Anglo Saxon word that connotes a disrespectful attitude," the officer answered in a learned monotone.

"What word?" Melody asked in abject frustration.

"In the Germanic tribal heritage, the sexual union that creates children and propagates the tribe was sacred. Those too limited in quality to understand our mores and the importance of our language were disciplined." His manner was not threatening. The Saxon was firm but resigned.

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"You said 'fuck'!" LinLu informed her. "To say that you 'fuck' demeans the sacred act of procreation described in the chronicles of the ancient mythologies. Even Chaucer apologized to the vast population after having written the 'Canterbury Tales'."

Demonstrably impressed by the discourse, Melody addressed the Saxon with more respect.

"I apologize," Melody said, addressing the officer. "I have never met an Anglo Saxon."

In incidental comment free of argumentation, Melody told Saxon that she had no intimation that the word "fuck" had offensive cultural connotations. Momentarily considering her astounding new knowledge, Melody reviewed all of the academic, official and profane usages she had witnessed of the word "fuck."

She recounted: "I have always said 'Let's fuck' when I desire fun sex, but I concede that such usage could be described as a vulgarity;

"Then I must point out that the word has been a common adjective, noun and verbal in every movie and novel since 1964;

"And consider that the Oxford Dictionary has listed 'Fuck' as a legitimate usage for more than a generation;

"Also, I have seen the word in official correspondence;

"Moreover, business persons cannot proceed without a frequent conjuring of the act of fucking;

"Even presidents have been 'fucking' addicts;

"And all of my professors have strained their sphincter muscles to create an opportunity to say 'fuck' in their lectures and party talk."

Erudition did not become Melody, the most admirable feature of the Carnal School of Feminosi accomplishments. Her sudden spasm of creditable summary intellectuality sounded an off key sourness to the otherwise enjoyable ping pong experience.

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Rising to the mature stature of his Viking frame, the Saxon officer nodded his yellow coiffure in appreciation as he began his own equally recondite response. He professed as if embodied in a DVD purchased from The Great Courses clearing house.

From the exemplary Saxon head resounded, "Fecundity, from which the slang word for sexual intercourse is derived, is the subject of many religious fertility rites. From a mystical experience of reproducing the Pict's clans to the pathological sexual obsessions of the late 20th Century scholastic, the Saxon has painted a self portrait of socio-pathological decay. Continental Saxons stand before their primordial gods more recondite than their detractors; Anglo-Saxons whimper in eternal pain from the arrow in Harold's eye; American Saxons illustrative of classic cowardice pose as hyphenated mountain aborigines. From the optimism evoked by the ancient blessings of the crops and food animals, the Saxon has descended into unfathomed depths of self contempt and abuse. His chiefs have led him into an ignominious defeat in both the worldly wars of material wealth and the eternal trials before The Angel Michael.

"Once proud descendants of King Alfred have diligently cheapened his life and eradicated his culture." Pausing for breath, the Saxon's gaze hardened into a shroud of disapproval. He concluded with conscious sanctimony: "You, my lady, defile your exquisite beauty with such gratuitous degeneracy of form and intellect."

"Where is this unpleasant lecture leading?" demanded Pyotr, never pausing in his perfect fingering and bowing of the Stradivarius.

Listening to this Saxon's learned discourse about the sanctity of his language aroused an interest in Melody that had lain dormant until that dramatic moment. Strange questions squirmed in her right lobe. Were there men capable of being offended? She had never met anyone who considered her language degenerate.

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"You talk strangely for a Feminosi police official," LinLu said. "More like an old predoctoral Berkeleyan homeless leader still waiting for Mario Savio's second coming."

"My limited existence here is protected by a parchment signed by Philip V of Spain awarding the Reservation now known as the Presidio to the crew of a mysterious ship, of which my ancestor was an officer, that explored the Pacific Rim long before the recorded historical facts."

Feminosi diplomats, until the present, had hesitated to assign an expeditionary force the dispute his tribal claim and oust him.

Saxon did not appreciate her notation of 20th Century cataclysmic pipe dreams that had destroyed the Saxon's constitutional republic. LinLu could not be expected to know that Saxon's tribe had once exercised the determining voice in governing the Americas; for Vaginosi history arguably began with the victory of the Free Speech Movement one cloudy afternoon in Berkeley at the midpoint of the 20th Century, 15 centuries after Saxons appeared in England and 20 centuries after they began to form in Central and eastern Europe. The Feminosi

Melody could understand LinLu's history reference, having stared in puzzlement at the small hole in the ground near Sather Gate that memorialized the creator of The Free Speech Movement. Unrebutted myths prevailed.

As LinLu reconstructed the excitement of the "Movement" that began at the steps of Cal Berkeley's administration building in 1964, the Saxon

Saxon said stoically: "My Viking genes first came to the shores of Northumberland seeking sex and booty and sired a new race; however, it is true that King Alfred prevented their ruling the English hills and dales. My claims lie with the cousins who became known to historians as Anglo Saxons."

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Unfortunately, Melody lacked the intellectual connectivity to synthesize the few scraps of knowledge. As Saxon and LinLu talked in low tones, ignoring Melody, she began to soliloquize, a strange experience for her.

"I once fucked a professor who was in the Civil Rights Marches in Berkeley when Magnificent Savio became famous," Melody squealed in delight.

Remembering the "Fucking" Professor's stereotypes of the orgies, orgiastic marches and oxymoronic riots of The Free Speech Movement, Melody recognized the stirrings of vaginasal inclinations. She had always responded empathetically to LinLu's academic knowledge of the adherence by the young recruits to a strict Code of Lusts. Recreational free sex had held the Anti War, Free Speech and Civil Rights Movements together. LinLu's limited categorical discourse was spell binding; but, having had no introduction to the great 20th Century Vaginosi Conquest of San Francisco Bay in The Battle of Telegraph Avenue and Bancroft Way, LinLu could not appreciate the implications. She had missed the grandiloquent retelling of the legends and myths derived from the victories of the opiate brigades in all corners of UC's Strawberry Canyon.

Joyfully rising in animated suspension as his cocktail of rum, coke and acid lifted him; her Black Studies mentor had proclaimed the civilization brewed by King Alfred and William the Conqueror extinct. His Berkeley Sloth Battalions had killed the "Anglo Beast."