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Category Archives: cats

Pages torn from the unexpurgated memoirs of Far Gresham

Fragment dated 1/26/1992

Edited by R.E. Prindle

Do you remember me? Or did I ever introduce myself? It doesn’t matter. I am the master of reality. You know me; I encompass you. You and I are one, not two, One. I am what you think you are; you are the sum of my thoughts. Last night I had the strangest dream. You were in and out of my consciousness as I dreamed my dream. You were the woof; I was the warp. Do you remember that dream?

I had been reading Justine by De Sade. De Sade lives in your subconscious, rolling around, directing your actions, but you are afraid to look him in the eye. You deny the basis of your existence and thus falsify your perception of life and refuse to come to terms with the contradictions of your nature. Did I say you and your? Did I say I? I say a fusion, there is no individuality, all flows from the godhead in an uninterrupted stream, now one aspect prominent and then submerged and then another and yet another. Parmenides? Yes, he is here too.

It was at the part leading up to Teresa’s escape from the church of St. Mary in the Woods; from those monks, those priests who lived so far beyond the edges of self-control. Before dropping off to sleep, the passage having struck me so forcibly I ruminated once again on those twin engines of despair that that emerged from the furnaces of modernity, the Revolution in France to dominate the thought of and characterize the nature of the tumbling years that spewed forth from the cornucopia of Time in a flood, the washes of which trouble the minutes of the moment, railing about the limes of our consciousness as though a stereo played so that only the loud passages intrude into our awareness but the quiet passages still trouble our dreaming awakeness.

Despair, despair, the negation of hope. The ugly overwhelming beauty; beauty submitting to the ravages of the hopeless. Life as it is now lived. Holy Mother full of grace, grace us with relief.

I dreamed my dream or my dream visited me in the depth of the night when I was ill prepared to receive it or defend myself against it. It blazoned through the mirror of my mind which was unprepared and failed to capture the photographic clarity, the cinematic verity with which it existed for that moment, for that eternity which vanished. But let me tell you what I remember or perhaps now invent, perhaps the gleaning of a lifetime of observation, viewing, reading or phantasizing. In my dream, shared by you I was sitting on a sofa in a long narrow room. The sofa, a normal sofa, perhaps brown, perhaps maroon, more likely I would own a maroon sofa. Am I molding the dream to my own needs? No, I don’t think so, for my dreams are of a fabric with myself, with you. With you, who need me who are me.

My book lay open on my lap as the bible is required to lay open in the church ceremony. To be closed would be sacrilege. Neither I nor you, we are not sacrilegious.

Before me was a woman and a man. I can only guess, but perhaps the woman represented the concept of Sex and the man represented the Libertine. The woman was lovely. She was the dream of that you, I, we, the One ever hoped that the warmth of the flesh could ever be. Her figure was opulent, her throat and copious breasts defied description. The memory of her features is vague and perhaps unnecessary. The promise of the fulfillment of desire overwhelmed the atmosphere.

The two were about to engage in sportive sex. I was asked whether I wished to join. I looked blankly back, extending my senses to penetrate the nature of the situation. A vague aura of soft danger emanated from the two. I politely declined. They, she was sitting or reclining in what was either a plastic swimming pool or a rubber life raft, he was poised over the Sex Goddess, posed to begin his redemption. An aura of tentative horror began to fill the room. As the moment approached an innocent, yielding threat began to emanate from the woman. She smiled one last inviting smile at me and then two began to sport about. The woman never lost her self-possession, following or leading as the moment required. Her sense of anticipation of his desires was marvelous to behold. The man never attempted self-control. The man quickly roared through arousal to excitement, high excitement and into frenzy and beyond as shall be seen.

When his frenzy had attained an intensity beyond which I could ever have imagined the woman suggested an injection of some strong chemical drug. I had then and have now no idea what it could have been. The very smell of the drug which immediately overwhelmed my senses not only hinted at but exclaimed destruction.   The acrid and corrosive aroma was such that I wanted to shout out a warning, but he was so eager for the sensation in his excitement that I thought better and clutched the book I was still holding more tightly in an attempt to still my quaking hands.

She injected the eager man and he at once disappeared into a deeper frenzy which intensified as he indulged his fantastic desires on the woman. His frenzy, I say, expanded as he ran through his excesses. Incredible as his earlier exertions had been he now was reaching a new plateau. Without asking his permission, her own face now glowing in anticipation, she reached for her hypodermic. Once again the air was rent by that terrible odor as she injected him another time. He had no means of assent or denial. I was horrified, watching quietly and objectively as he immediately redoubled his efforts as he sought to realize the mystery of her nature and perhaps his own. The woman submitted to, encouraged, led him into his most outrageous desires. How she survived his, what were now brutal attacks can only be explained by the irreality of the unreality of my dream.

Suddenly the narrow room was filled with a dark light. I was unable for a moment, almost a moment too long, to apprehend the vision which arose before me, for the man under this extreme stimulation had realized his inner reality, the reason for his existence. A holographic image of his hopes and fears terrifying and ugly but with a beautiful mathematical symmetry and intense dark tones sparkling with an impossible black light. As the image gained definition and a clarity of reality it became apparent that the vision was emanating from the mind’s eye of his desires, filling the room before me. As the man’s vitality was eroded and his essence consumed the vision faltered and began to fade. As much in awe at her achievement as myself the Sex Goddess exclaimed excitedly, ‘Can you see it too, Far, can you see it too?’ She hoped I too would enjoy what she had conjured as intensely as she did. I sat amazed, stunned, stupefied. I was shaking uncontrollably. I understood what I was seeing and accepted its impossible reality but could not make consciousness accept the fact. I was terrified as I watched because I knew that in the realization of his desires he had sacrificed himself on the altar.

His effort spent, the clamor, noise and commotion in my room subsided. My ears cleared, my eyes refocused, my dazed and dazzled mind sought its equilibrium, my breathing lost its rapidity and sank to normal, my body stopped quivering, my hands stopped shaking, my book saturated with perspiration was shredded and ruined.

As I say, my senses returned to me, my perceptions were startled anew. I saw the woman holding a transformation in her hand. The man was no longer with us. He had turned into a white cat. He sat hind quarters down, his front paws rigidly distended supporting his emaciated panting heaving body. His ribs were plainly visible while his pulsating belly heaved rapidly. His fur was distended into sweated tufts. He appeared not insane, not mad, but still in a frenzied state of rut. I noted with a revulsive horror, mixed with a grudging sympathy, that his eyes, little red eyes, bulged beyond their sockets, their pupils forming a raised blip on the ball. At first glance he appeared ferocious but then the truth became apparent that he was a frozen, immobile panting statue. His tongue extended, he was panting heavily and would pant that way forever.

Trapped within the realization of all his desires he was now separated from the external world. Like the man who got on the subway with his dime in his pocket only to learn that the fare had been raised to fifteen cents when he tried to exit he was doomed to ride forever, unable to leave the subterranean world for the lack of a nickel. The Libertine was trapped within himself; in a tunnel at which there was no light at the end.

The woman who had endured brutal treatment and had shown cuts, bites, bruises and welts which had made me dizzy with fear for her was now miraculously returned to a wantonly inviting freshness which aroused a hunger deep within me which I fought to resist. She appeared to be filled with remorse rather than gratitude that it was all over. As the traumatized cat sat in her hand, she would flip his desensitized head up which would then fall back to its former position, alive but lifeless. She did this repeatedly muttering, perhaps in a low wail possessing a shadow of satisfaction, perhaps in a plaintive plea to undo what she had done: ‘I only wanted him to have a good time; I only wanted him to have a good time.’ She turned a warm, succulent, inviting smile on me, a smile that would have made the nose on one of the faces on Mt. Rushmore twitch, and said once again: ‘I only wanted him to have a good time.’

I don’t know that I made a move to go to her or whether my resolve not to was weakened for at that time the night faded before the dawn and the rising sun cast a beam through my window and one reality gave way before another.

 

Exuent The Dream

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A Children’s Story by Jeannie Prindle

     One day a shiny new kitten arrived at my home and I named him Jimi.  Now Jimi was by birth an elegant and regal Himalayan Persian, specifically a Blue Point.  This was one impressive kitty and should have been very proud of his heritage.  His Dad after all was a Grand Champion and much admired by his peers.

     Now Jimi was a happy little kitten, until one day I found him sitting looking sadly out the living room window.  When I looked to see what he was looking at, I saw a beautiful large male cat, full chested and regal with a magnificent  coat and an imposing mantle of fur aound his neck which almost touched the ground.  Jimi was feeling very much inferior because he had no such distinguished ruff, and maybe he was not a pure bred Persian kitty as he had been told.

     This sad little kitten that had only yesterday been so happy and joyfull, now just sat in the house all day and stared soulfully out the window.  He did not want to be seen by anyone for fear that they would discover his fault and laugh at him.

     As Jimi got older he grew more and more depressed, but somthing was happening to Jimi that he was not aware of.  I tried everything I could think of to get him happy again.  I tried to play our old games and cooked him special treats, but it all was to no avail.

     Now as I said, something wonderful was about to happen to Jimi, but it would come as a great surprise.

     One sunny morning before I awoke, Jimi stretched himself and took a stroll into the living room.  There in front of the window he stopped.  He stood at that window for the longest time just staring.  Now what Jimi was staring at was a beautiful fluffy male cat with a magnficent regal ruff.  Now a funny thing began to happen, when Jim moved, the cat in the window moved in exactly the same manner and when Jimi sat, the cat in the window sat.  This shadow dance went on for a few minutes until Jimi let out a yowl, jumped around and finally came to the realization that the cat in the window was none other than a reflection of himself now a mature glorious male cat in all his splendor.  He ran to my room, jumped on the bed and curled up beside me and purred himself to sleep.

     The next morning first thing he had to go outside to show all his friends and neighbors and he was proud