A Sobering Anecdote

Men would travel from beyond the furthest reaches of the universe to be with her. They flocked to her doorstep with salivating mouths and tongues hanging out, and all of them terribly hot and bothered and all things aroused. Of course, it was not just men that came. Women too were seduced by her siren song, and would bed with her without hesitance. Citizens of undiscovered planets, hidden terrains, isolated countries, remote villages, distant galaxies: they came one and came all to be with her, to feel her flesh, smell her scent, taste her and take her in. She was, by all accounts, the first, last, and living Original Sin.

And she knew this.
She was more aware than anyone of how good her body felt; how potent her aroma smelt; how easy it was to seize the soul of a living, breathing being, by simply bending over and revealing her mind. There is something to be said about a female that acknowledges her brain is between her legs. Sure it may end with a swollen stem in the lofty regions of her skull, but it starts with her hole, and only there can she become someone.

Men in black ties would try to convince her otherwise. They lingered in the shadows of her yard; broken from their ride; burdened by their lies; Bibles at their side. There was no time however for their other testaments of Christ. One day, she opened her door and blew them a kiss, holding out the results of her Oxford Capacity Analysis. Her messiah was a scientist; of the science-fiction diocese.

And they knew this.
They were more aware than her of how right confusion felt, how crooked the cards are dealt, how easy it was to seize the soul of a living, breathing being, by simply bending the rules a bit and callusing the mind. There is something to be said about the blind leading the deaf. What wicked webs we weave just below the Robin’s nest.

Men would assemble at her footsteps; following the outline of her prints, the curvature of her hips, and the ribbon of her lips. Their fingertips were greased with salt and various seasonings. Religion exists in the sweat covered fists of savages at the bar. Her disdain met with their contempt, as she gripped the polished stainless steel between her thighs. They threw stones with their eyes but she, she met their lust with pride, flung her hair to the side of shame, and made them guess her name; something sweet, something dirty, something that could spin straw into gold. There is no greater mystery to behold, than a woman who finds grace around a pole.

And she knew this.
She became more aware with each passing day; the way a child learns to say its first few words before turning to its maternal unit and telling it to fuck itself. ‘Go fuck yourself mums’ but what she really meant was ‘I hate my father’ or ‘I hate my disposition’ or ‘I hate that I hate anything at all’. But we are creatures of the fall; both in context and in season. Our reason for being is simply because ‘we are’ and always will ‘be’, and she knew this when she turned the red light on. A new dawn would only come after a prolonged, painful dusk.

Men would travel from beyond the furthest reaches of the universe to be with her. She was a standing emblem of their vanity; a statue of their justifiable means. Of course, this was before the empty wars and unmerited battle scars; before the conquest of the many moons of Saturn; before the slave trade on the surface of Titan; before the worship of the bright and morning star. She stood a copper-clad embrace; enlightening the world. But we, the human race, set fire to the hem of her great garment, in favor of security and wealth.

So tonight I drink to our health, and toast the burning corpse of Lady Liberty.

Salud – we are not Free.