Maria Delivers me to the Goddess

She must have seen me come in to the bar because after I was done and the two men left, she gave me a desultory twitch with her head, not surprised I missed her cue, preoccupied as I was with positioning in the broadest, most general sense of mixing situations with awareness…at a time like this. It’s not always an easy task to make sense of what’s going on and in this case, I had just conducted a fifteen minute love affair with someone, a man who said he designed wedding dresses (a fashion person, well dressed, wealthy somehow or maybe just in an edgy set, blown back Bowie hair), a sweetheart except for the initial challenge, whose will would pervade or prevail as a matter of initiative to swiftly dispense or subdue the guy, twisting his arms behind his back and gently immobilizing him with genuine care, something slightly less than audacity, I would say proactive assertion is the best descriptor for that move towards some kind of private enclave for two in the midst of a cultural shakedown, the Internet is haywire, his boyfriend is glowering from the corner as we canoodled with drinks, laughing about what we can’t control and of course he looks exactly like David Bowie but isn’t David Bowie and I don’t comment on it, he knows what he looks like and the effect it has on people. What a sweet guy, except for the strange feeling like they weren’t actually from the City, a lot of Toronto was like that during this time, a familiar spot with an unfamiliar feel and people who seemed to be natural to the environs and yet I wasn’t convinced that I would never see them again or better yet, that I wouldn’t be seeing them if there wasn’t some kind of homicidal game being played on the streets, assassination theater with the genuine article mixed in to keep us honest and random. Maria sipped her drink pensively and put out her hand, taking mine and feeling it gently, stroking me with her just chilled softness, she must have just gotten here and I am almost afraid to talk to her even though I feel as though it might be destiny of a kind. If I think about what I’m made of, for one thing, and what I’m made to do for another, and finally, exactly what the fuck is going on in this City, some kind of shakedown like I alluded to or an event or a festival or some kind of party where we are not all willing participants. What am I willing to do, then, exactly? People want to know. Or they don’t. IDK. I don’t know how to parse this disjuncture because it seems like you have to know something about something telematic or rather, there is a virtual component of para social technology and embodied awareness (and constant presence of observers who it is assumed, probably have people watching them), that compliments and augments the reality we are seeing right in front of us, mostly for the sake of the people who seem to be watching everything remotely, again probably a sequestered activity but perhaps not, and seemingly impossible to avoid the conflagration that was consuming the streets with a slow undulating malaise and frightening reach.Is everyone dead?I figure Maria is a wave that I should catch in what seems to be a film op in the winter, lots of film sets deployed in Regent Park when I was there, and also, hearing in passing someone talking about going to where they were filming and having to appear in some fashion and not wanting to be there, the social worker Darien pushing the terminally drunk Phil onto a street car, more or less delivering him to whatever fate lay at the end of the line. (he could get off the car at any time, but would he?)

Downsview Park comes to mind for some reason, maybe because I became someone new while the overflow buses suffused the quiet desperation of the proceedings on that bitterly cold, pressurized winter night. Even the guys that were deep in the streets were running for cover there was so much topside pressure, this being the crux of the coup from above. You don’t have to tell me there is something going quite wrong here, like wrong on a level that you can’t describe so much as feel and compare to what you know as Canada, and what you expect as basic human dignity. Not on this night, and it’s hard to ignore Maria as she bends forward to put a little pebble of something onto the table. She crushed up some cocaine right there in the Wayla Bar and did a hit, asking me to do the same and telling me that she wanted to take me somewhere and convert me to her cult, was I interested?

I beg your pardon?

We left in a hurry, the cocaine is really strong, everything is coming in waves (that serves me right for making a surfing analogy in the middle of winter but then if you saw Maria you would probably get a little wavy, she has that effect on you), telling me to get in the back seat, calling it her chariot and asking me to just listen to her for a second.

Where are you and what is happening, she asked.

It’s the killing fields come to Canada.

What is happening here? A battle with ourselves; there are no enemies just bad outcomes for people; you can’t negate who you are in this and who you are to people in their mental equilibrium. Yes, the physiology of the mass has been laid on the physicality of the individual. Do you know how extraordinary that is? If you were to simply die right now without explanation there could be unrest. However, what is your duty, to yourself and to the world?

She looks sublime while she is driving thru the oncoming sleet. I’m on the edge of precipice. Her hair hangs over her oval face and her obsidian eyes narrowed as she relented for a moment, allowing me to regain my composure

I can barely talk, I said.

My heart is in my throat, this accelerated poignant moment, and it is everything to do with a coup from above, this is supposed to be the new regime, the new reality cut from the suspension of the old by it’s neck; really it’s Stephen Harper turning Canada (and parts of the States apparently) into his private dictatorship, not sure how the international community views this (there are international observers for the next election because of Harper) or would likely view any extension of the current government’s powers past a certain, acceptable limit.

Then again I passed a body wrapped in a tarpaulin on College Street, something to compliment the body coming out of Seaton House, ash gray (why so dead?) because the staff named M*rk put something in the oatmeal, this I heard from the black lady, his co worker screaming “you poisoned him, you poisoned him” and it didn’t faze him from doing an intake with me that was nothing if not embodied with para social import.

Go out and fight, even though it might be your friends on the opposite side, it might be someone you love for example or who loves you, which is even more to the point of necessity that you act with as much influence as you can muster. We are intervening, me and my friends because these people and this current cult of deception needs an answer, it begs for some kind of response even as it’s mystified as to what constitutes good faith. The cult of the Goddess is a cult of One, it’s your own personal purpose and motivation to worship women as divine and to elevate the feminine estate to where it needs to be in order for the species to survive. Currently we don’t do that because the patriarchy and the scapegoat myth of Jesus Christ and the abomination of organized religion as well as the simple fact that there is a cult around you and if we didn’t attend to this matter of converting you to the Goddess than we would be remiss. You are much more than their scapegoat in this moment. Prophet, messiah, something of some order of magnitude, hard to quantify what you really represent in this landscape because they have taken away the qualifying language of context, making it hard to describe what you could normally dispense with a quick descriptor or at least, with some details as to where the substance of the engagement really lay.

With the Goddess she intoned. Live for her always. She loves you but she is distant from you, remote in some ways and also, immaculate in her capacity to touch you without you being anywhere particular or doing anything but focusing your attention on her and seek to serve. She is in the flesh so serve the flesh if I maybe so bold as to suggest that your troubles at home with surveillance can be turned on their head.

How so?

I will show you.

She parked the car on Lakeshore and crushed up some more blow.

She risked indignity and climbed over the seats, cat like, her dark eyes flashing as I caught a hint of her breath coming across as her face brushed mine briefly and I felt a warm surge in my loins, the heat is in my pants and I can only gently roll her nipple around with my finger, putting her aureole in my mouth and sucking on it delicately, like it were a piece of candy or something delicious and sensate, both at the same time. I helped her out of her pants and lay down as she thrust herself out over and above me, sinking down gently to rub the lips of her Goddess hole on my face, the lips of her vulva, her labia rubbed me gently and I flecked my tongue into the moist opening. She moaned and sunk further in, my mouth suffusing her clitoris as she bucked and came in an instant after I touched her pearl. She turned sideways and felt for my penis, grasping me gently, a sure touch as I licked the sweet musk out of her asshole, spreading the cream from her pussy into her anus, moaning as the divinity wrapped my senses and I was raised up in supplication and agony of separation, the glory of release. We collapsed together in an unctuous heap, my mind racing as I pieced together what she had said. She was going to take me home so I could do battle with surveillance, and then what? What was to come from there, from the Cult of the Goddess, was this the ceremony? The vow was in my heart and played across me not unlike an injection gives you a flashing taste in your mouth. Dying with prayers on my lips and ready to relay the seriousness of the medium condition without delay.

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