‘A smuggler, and yet so knowledgeable of Mozart?’, she giggled.
I took one good look at her again… She took one of me as well, giggling, but confused now. Behind the deep confusion I detected that along her face, like a bugger in the night or a snake dragging her belly across the red-hot rocks, slithered and crept a shadow of disgust.
Am I so vile, so unbearable to everyone?
True, I hold nothing against whores. If I did, it would mean that I maintain a rage against civilization as a whole within me. Ever since culture existed, whores existed. And every single society has its whores. If it did not, it lacked culture. Does the word “cultus” nor remind one of coitus? Who am I to moralize or change anything? Who cares for the virgin Ishtar under the fertile crescent moon of Mesopotamia who goluptiously sucked Marduk’s dick in the hot Arabian nights? And thus it went by in history… an endless vastness of whoring – and the Japanese kind is somewhat dearest to me – I was unaware that I was saying all of this out loud.
And everything else, reduced to the point of being invisible. A fount of artistic fire, a poetic flame, a superspiritual beauty, no!
‘For you, madam, I have a book… A whore through the centuries. It might be of interest to you.’
***
excerpt from the novel
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