The first chapter of a novel that might never get published

A dozen mystics, seated in a circle, on the edge of town. They agreed to be silent until one of them had something worth saying.

The first to rise and speak, he said,

‘There is nothing worth saying. We might as well carry on in silence. So long as we speak, we are bound to the very materiality above which we seek to rise.’

The second mystic to speak, he disagreed.

It continued thusly until finally all the mystics died from the cold.

Hypothermia. Hyperthermia. Idiotics. Otix. Semiotics.

Thousands of years later, sometime around 1985AD, a human known as Madonna showed up with her speeding vagina. Nobody quite knows how she managed to construct a vagina that had a capacity for speed. For going fast. When the Egyptian Mysteries were consulted, it was discovered that the walking vagina had long since been documented. However, the conceptualization of a vagina that could actually go fast, so to speak, as in, to, say, run, or, sprint; this is absolutely unheard of in human history.

What is next on the desk?

Must we with haste jump forward to 2021AD. Is it OK to use Salve Dalimit as a Crutch? To by-come-sur-ur-reyal. Of the body. To retreat into. Inscape. Abstraction? No mind. No bother. No gap to page. Paginate. Cognate. Paga. Apagalaluz. Turn off the light when you leave. Auld Karima ain’t able to bolero like she used to. Still got those legs though. Fine as. Even the varicose veins have a certain charm on a woman for whom the word MEUF is always in all-caps.

Are we getting bogged down?

To this day we must simply bow to our knees and accept the Good Fact that for some bizarre reason that eludes all Kantian rationality, there appeared amongst the human race a true woman whose vagina could speed and speed in all directions, a vagina with a velocity.

We might correct ourselves as saying that if the vagina did truly speed, it would’ve sped in a direction.

That is to say, the vagina is real; it is located between the legs. The body is all that is the case, after all.

The real of the body of woman is the real of the speeding vagina, the vagina with velocity due to the mere fact that for a vagina to move at all it must move in a real-space-time direction. Vector. Not a pure scalar.

Vec. Tor.

Zarbi . . .

Zar. Zar. By. Buy yourself a new bolo tie and dance with Uma. Cerveja. Sir, vez a . . . Sir! You forgot your change. Keep it. Keep what. Keepsake. Keep it.

. . . IMAGO . . .

However broken.

Sun piercing Granjakohen clouds to reach the Man in the Gap who gazes with forlorn eyes back out at the Sun-Rays.

Convexation, and Concavation:

Not to worry. The ale will fund the priestcraft.

. . . and the Poetry appears in the present space, present lune; tiger, white, sleeping in the bowels of the Jungle. Only one. Tiger. And jungle. Heap of.

In the meantime, think only of vaginas that speed. For the vagina, there is no speed limit.