Revelations by Frederick K. Foote

typewriter

[The contentious and jealous Goddesses and Gods have not perished or retreated to on high or sunk into the depths. I see them hidden in the faces and places I call home.]

Don’t shake dat thing like dat. You give an old man a heart attack. You make a good man go bad. You widen a brother’s eyes, open his nose, scramble his brains and put steel in his dick. You just keep that jelly rolling. Yes, you do. May the Goddess have mercy and the Gods save my sorry soul.

Oh, now you hush. Stop that mess. Get your eyes back in your head and keep your hands to yourself. I didn’t come here to start nothing. Just looking for my long, tall, dark, and handsome man. Good looking man in a dark green silk suit with matching patent leather shoes and gold rings with a five-carat diamond on each hand. His smile sparkle like sunshine and his skin shines like black gold.

Ain’t seen him. Not in here. No, no way. Nobody like dat. But, he might come by here. You can wait for him right here on this tired old lap of mine. I’ll feed you ice cream and cake, bourbon and branch water, ham and cheese, gin and tonic, bacon and eggs, rum and coke until you damn near choke.

I can find my own seat, buy my own booze, bake my own cake and make better cream than you can even dream of. My man got jet black, long wavy hair and a black Stetson hat to match his silk shirt. You sure he ain’t been by here?

Now, I got to think on that a bit. Order what you want. Anything you want. Put her on my tab. Anything she want and in a clean glass. My mind ain’t what it used to be. Come on over here and sit, help me jog my treacherous old memory and refresh my feeble eyes.

Masquerader, pretender, impostor, I feel your eyes crawling all over me, up and down, head to toe. Your twin orbs not missing a curve, a speck, a blink, a beat. You counting each eyelash and every hair. Eagles envy your true as light sight. And all your greedy eyes see your lecherous mind sucks up and holds tight. You will still remember the curve of my ass, the shape of my lips, the flow of my hips long after you have forgotten your own name.

Who? Who are you talking all that shit? Are you some kinda hoodoo? Now, now what glow is that about you? Hold, hold, don’t pay no attention to me. I’m just a tired and retired pensioner. I mean no harm at all, no disrespect, I will avert my gaze. I mean no harm. I’m harmless. I’m less than harmless.

Slink and slide your rough ride and hide as best you can. I twist out of you the bones of the answers to the things you conceal. Age is a shabby disguise to an acute eye and an expansive history.

As you wish. In all things, I’m your servant.

Sing for me the song I need to resonate, echo, rattle and roll my sweet temperament. Off your knees lift your voice.

I sing to you, sing to you. Sweet and charming tall and comely, a black warrior in jungle green romped through, roared lion-like, walked tall in this hall and sniffed the air, followed his nose to her honey nest between liquid gold thighs, brown eyes that nearly slayed him, stripped him bare and the honey nest host led him away on a leash of her braided, black hair.

Stop! The pestilence you breed in your mouth is rude to my tender nature. Close your foul sewer. Stay your acid tongue. Bind teeth to tongue and seal them as one. Choke on your lurid lies.

I cease. I stand mute with tongue of stone and iron welded lips. I weep without words before your displeasure.

Yet, your chatter batters my mindful ears, and your rant irks my mild disposition. I shall rip and slash and batter until a whimper, a whisper is beyond your grasp. I- You point yonder, a distraction from my purpose of damming a toxic- Your animated airs and anguished looks will not-

Look! See! Look! And take forever my eyes if I deceive you.

Such a fair bargain I cannot resist. One quick lightening glance. Just a peek and, and- NO! No! She walks him like a dog, rides him like a horse, has made earrings of his manhood, shaved him bald, wears his suit, and melted his rings for her teeth.

I shall leave you to yourself and these matters that concern only those of your august station.

Stay! Stay you will and judge my sweet revenge without end or mercy. Shall I bind her, bleed her, feed her slivers of her living liver and keep her on this bitter diet for all eternity? Is that not a fitting riposte?

Such as you please in your wisdom that exceeds-

NO! It is my kind heart that speeds my rush to justice. Has she offspring? If such a vile creature has cursed the earth with more of her kind. I shall find them, fetch them and roast, bake, broil, grill and fry them to perfection limb by limb, organ by organ and feed them to their mare and astonish her palate. Is this not a better, more proper and appealing punishment?

Your infinite wisdom is beyond reproach–

Stay your tongue. My natural compassion overrules my judgment, Has she a sire or a dam still fouling our air? Unnatural diseases that must be exterminated. I shall have her rut with her sire and feed them both the offspring or her dam shall rut with wild dogs, and I will feed the offender to her snarling siblings. Is this the solution to my dire dilemma?

Your wisdom is supreme among all–

All? All of them? All of them, yes, yes all of them. You are wiser than your appearance suggests. She approaches. Go, with my grace and gratitude.

Faster than light or thought I depart with your cherished blessings.

##

Hail, hail, you- Aaaww, Mother, I did not recognize you in that splendid representation. What an odd pet you have there. Might I join you in your stroll and delight in your most excellent company? Your wellbeing and good health have been much on my mind of late even to this moment.

Good and modest daughter share my journey as we share our concerns. For indeed, I too, have concerns with your health and happiness. So we are in step even when apart.
It is our mutual and boundless love that binds us with ties of affection and care.
You my fetching blossom, my prudent fount of wisdom have arrived at the most opportune time. For I’m vexed as to the proper disposal of this nose-less, blind, muted, neutered wretch on my leash. I beg your invaluable and necessary assistance.

As in all things I’m your servant to command and you are the very source of the little wisdom I might claim. It is right and proper that it should be at your disposal.

Yes, yes you my judicious and discreet child shall decide this case of blasphemy.
Blasphemy? A capital crime in this place and time. An offense to all, on high and below.
Lean in, lean in closer, closer so that I might whisper the sacrilege that will poison air and taint land and water. It, the vile thing, there claims his rutting whore, his rotten to the core amore is the greatest beauty in existence and places all other beauty under her shadow. He shouted this wicked profanity from pillar to post and top to bottom.

Hold, now, for you have taken the breath from me as surely as a blow to the heart, a boot in the gut a shock to the mind. I’m bewildered and outraged at the perversity of the offense.

And your continence mirrors your concern and disgust. So, you must be strong of mind and fixed in your resolve for there is more.

More? How could there be more?

Let me put my lip to your sweet ear least the scandal widen. This foul, malevolent, beast was encouraged nay, given this filthy mantra by one from on high. Hold steady now. Cease your trembling. Sop the sweat from your brow. Steady, now and bring your splendid wisdom to bear. Now, what punishment for the traitor, defiler, the base monster, the mother of these disasters?

I recoil from the horror of it all. Spare me a moment to recover, to regain my poise, my wit.

Lean on me child. Let us rest here by the restless river. We will find sweet repose and recovery. I remember now your gentle nature and kind disposition. Rest here and enjoy the repast I have brought with us.

Repast? I spy none. Where is this banquet? Have you concealed it in your garments?
Our feast is finely clad in an engaging fashion. I think our first course shall be well-bred liver. I believe you favor that organ. And I lust for mine thinly sliced and raw, ripped from the still breathing source.

Mother, not I, not me – it is a misunderstanding, a-

Of course, it is. And we shall discuss it in full over the seven-course meal. Eyes, I think your eyes will be the second course.

 

Frederick K. Foote

 

Header image: Hieronymus Bosch (circa 1450–1516) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons

8 thoughts on “Revelations by Frederick K. Foote

  1. Frederick, I think the lack of comments on this story is telling. A second read has not helped me enjoy or comprehend it. In some parts it was unclear which character was holding forth.
    Understanding of this piece is perhaps dependant on a familiarisation with the Apocalypse of St John, which is a restriction. The writing has the the flavour of a diatribe and in comparison to your last piece is a dud. In my opinion. You can’t win ’em all!

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  2. Richard, thank you for your honest reviews and for your tenacity in rereading “Revelations.” “Revelations” is an experiment in form, structure and language. I learn a lot from this kind of exercise and the reader reactions and non-reactions to these kinds of efforts.

    Thank you again for taking the time to write a critique. And please take a look at “Doing Time” at: http://acrossthemargin.com/doing-time/ This is a story I hope you will enjoy.

    Frederick

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  3. This is a story worthy of a second or even third read through. Keeping a historical perspective contributes to clarity here. The subject and tone are worthwhile and leave me pondering; your goal, no doubt.

    Always interesting, never dull, Fred. Thank you for that!

    Kae

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  4. Hi Fred, I thought of this to be some form of Svengali writing. At times it was quite mesmerising. For me (My take only!!) I sensed a parallel between reality and the same events in a different level. The imagery and structure were intense.
    This is a story that I will look back on and try and get a complete grasp on. That was what I found so appealing, it made you want to understand. When I first saw this I hoped that it would have that effect and cause people to re-read.
    Skilful is skilful, understanding is an easy read. But when a piece of work is a bit of an enigma it can divide opinions…But there will always be an opinion and that can only be good for a story.
    All the very best my friend.
    Hugh

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    • Kae, the responses to “Revelations” has been more varied and intense than any story I have written. I thank you for taking the time reread it.
      It is always a pleasure to read your comments.
      Fred

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  5. Pingback: Frederick K. Foote List of Publications | Black Foote Arts

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