Mercy (98 page)

crazy man, a hero o f freedom, a loose man, unattached, a

solitary poet o f drink and darkness, a city prince; I have always

found that a girl needs a boy. These ones are old and mean;

none o f them’s innocent and who cares? I fucking don’t care.

It’s been justified up m y ass. Besides it’s just sport, recreational

training, some ways to get through the night, means and

methods, because I can’t sleep, because if you go to sleep they

will hurt you, one o f them or some o f them or some other o f

them; whoever these ones hurt, I’m taking her place, whoever

she was, they don’t know us apart, cunt is cunt is cunt, I’m

taking her place now, when I choose, I’m standing in for her

now, when it’s good for me; is it good for you? And there’s

one will stand in for me. There’s anonymous women m oving

through the night; I have m y husband here, right in front o f

me, I have a gun to his head, I pull the trigger, it is an

execution, m y right, any time, any place; his life is mine,

because he hurt me; dreadful; a dreadful hurt. I want him

executed so I can be free o f fear; and if there was justice I could

do it any time, any place; I’d have the gun; I’d have the choice;

I’d have the right. I think I have a twin in the night, some girl

standing in for me; who will just smash his fucking head in. I

think one day they will gather, the women, outside where he

lives, I think there will be thousands o f them, I think it will be a

crowd, a mob, a riot, a revolution, and I think they will chant

his name, and I think they will surround his house, and I think

they will block the city streets for blocks, and I think they will

stop traffic, and I think no one will be able to pass in or out and

they w ill stop the police from getting to him to protect him

because they will stretch for miles and someone, an unknown

someone, will kill him, it will be one and it will be all and no

one will ever know who except for her herself, they will smash

him or shoot him or knife him, or fifty will knife him, or a

hundred, but so it’s final, not making a mistake, they will kill

him good and real and quick, and no one will know who,

because it will be all o f them; for me; do this; for me; and when

an indictment is read they will all stand up; for me; including

the ones who heard me scream and including the ones who

weren’t born yet. M y eyes work. I see. It is not a mystery. If

it’s in front o f you you can see how it works itself out. It’s not

prophecy; it’s simple seeing; what is there; now; naked from

the lies. I see the future, a pretty place. The men make a sex

circus, we are the performing animals. There are hoops o f fire,

we are chained in cages, they whip us to make us jum p: high

enough for them to look under. We jum p, we hop, we spread

our legs; they’ll paint us purple underneath; or shave us so we

look like babies; or put brands on us, or chains through us,

underneath; they’ll hurt us, more; more than now; more;

killing w on ’t be enough; rape will be the good old days, when

it was simple, how they just forced us, in private, or how they

just beat us, with fists, in private, or how they put fingers

inside us, when we were too small, underneath; w e’ll be the

dog-and-pony show; they’ll leash us and they’ll manacle us

and they’ll paint us pink and w e’ll have nostalgia for the good

old days when the living was easy before they grabbed us o ff

the streets in vans and gang-raped us and bashed us with

baseball bats, smashing us not looking where, arms, head,

chest, stomach, legs, and filmed it, and dumped us, some o f us

lived, some o f us died, or before they set dogs on us to fuck us,

and filmed it, or before they cut us open, to ejaculate on us,

and filmed it, or before they started urinating on us, using us

like common toilets, to film it; but I don’t expect to be listened

to or believed, certainly even the simplest things o f an already

distinguished life cannot be believed, I couldn’t say anything

simple in the whole course o f m y actual life and have there be

belief; as if justice for me, from him to me, could count; but I

been through that; m y grievances on that score are between

the lines, at least there, always read the white space; I’m tired

from it and I’m sad; Walt could say blah blah blah this will

come and this will come and this will be and he was venerated

for dreaming, as i f his dreams was true dreams o f a true future;

m y nightmares are true dreams o f a true future. I’m not alone;

though I can’t find them; in the dark raped girls wander;

smashing drunks; sometimes someone sets one on fire; I see

the flames; I smell the carcass; the raped have stopped being

kind, generally speaking, though it’s still a secret. I personally

have done the following. I have blown up several rape

emporiums. I don’t have bombs or explosives but I cannot be

stopped. I steal a car; I back it into the rape emporium when it’s

deserted; I make a fuse to the gas tank; I light the fuse; the

whole thing blows; it’s simple, if a bit extravagant. Any man

will follow any feminine looking thing down any dark alley;

I’ve always wanted to see a man beaten to a shit bloody pulp

with a high-heeled shoe stuffed up his mouth, sort o f the pig

with the apple; it would be good to put him on a serving plate

but yo u ’d need good silver. Y o u ’re the piece o f ass; he’s

invulnerable, o f course; it’s his right, to come after you; so if

he follow s you and you have the urge to smash him to death

he’s asked for it, hasn’t he? I mean, he actually did ask for it.

The arm y o f raped ghosts got together and we marched, we

marched, we marched in Tim es Square and the Tenderloin

and Soho; we marched; everyw here there’s neon w e’ve

marched; we visit the slave auctions; we have the names o f the

pimps, addresses, photos, telephone numbers, social security

numbers; I plaster their neighborhoods with pictures o f them;

I say they are pimps who slaughter wom en for fun and money;

I say he’s at your P . T . A ., he’s with your children; I pursue

him; the army o f raped ghosts stays on his tail; we drive him

out. They hide; they run. One day the women will burn down

Tim es Square; I’ve seen it in m y mind; I know; it’s in flames.

The women will come out o f their houses from all over and

they will riot and they will burn it down, raze it to the ground,

it will be bare cement; and we will execute the pimps. N o

woman will ever be hurt there again; ever; again; it is a simple

fact. I threw blood all over their weaponry; their whips; their

chains; their spiked dildos; their leashes; I have buckets o f

blood, nurses give it to me, raped nurses; and I cover

everything, the slave clothes, the bikinis, the nighties, the

garter belts, and the things they tie you down with and the

things they stick up you and the things they hurt you with,

nipple clips and piercing things; I drench them in blood; I

make them blood-soaked, as is a w om an’s life; I think over

time I will engage in a new art, painting their world blood red

as they have painted mine; simple self-expression, with a

political leaning but neither right nor left per se, the anti-rape

series it will be called, with real life as the canvas; and I will try

to make the implicit explicit; a poet said, make the implicit

explicit; a political theorist said, make the implicit explicit; the

blood o f women is implicit in the weaponry; I will take the

blood o f women implicit in the weaponry and I will make it

explicit; and from this I enunciate another political principle,