helga von porno

Tales of my fortunes in London involving philosophy time travel heroin addicted granny, prophesy, prostitution, murder, global conspiracy, friends, and personal finances. I am from east germany and fled to england when my parents where murdered and have been living here unofficially since.

Friday, October 13, 2006

Hollow

We, the new psychologists, found a sympathetic group of philosophers in Scotland. No psychology or psychiatry department would accept dualism or the existence of disembodied spirits, dogmatic fools.
Clarke has been imprisoned for corrupting the youth so we are on our own now. Cuthbert, Herbert, Damian, Alexander and I went up to Scotland to demonstrate the thought amplifier to the dualists there. We need LSD and therefore needed to deal with street people. The others, who constantly joke that I am a Chav, damn their priveledged eyes, allowed me to negotiate the purchase of a bottle of LSD.
The supplier found his role romantic and had romanticised his persona. He thought of himself as a kind of Rob Roy and wore a three cornered hat and a bearskin coat. Spotting Cuthbert's outrageous accent as soon as he walked in the pub he called us collectively "Sassenachs" saying that he hated us.
"I hate the English too, " I smouldered, "They've beaten my country in two world wars, flattening cities and killing innocent women and children. If it wasn't for those pesky English bastards, europe would be German now, and free from genetic illness and degenerates. So we are on the same side, brother Scot."
I could see Rabbie (the acid dealers name) was wrong footed. On one hand he was wanting to impress me for sexual reasons, but on the other hand, he wanted to distance himself from geneticide.
The romantic fool had us meet in the middle of Loch Lomond. O the romance of the freezing cold dampness. Everything was black, the water, the sky, the creaky rowing boat. I sat with my hands in my armpits looking out into the silvered blackness. Cuthbert rowed, and the others whined.
Rabbie emmerged out of the blackness underlit with one foot on the prow. The poser, he looked most impressive. He did a windmill pirrouette and passed the little glass bottle over. Damian threw him a leather wallet containing £4 000 and he snapped out the torch and vanished. I blessed his theatrics, the twat.
We rowed toward shore for about half an hour when we heard shouting from our broadside. Then shooting. We were under attack. The new psychologists grovelled and wept in the bilge. I stood tall.
Bullets hit my body and bounced off, making a pinging tin sound, like a dust bin round pound. A bullet hit my cheek and I felt nothing. No tear, fear hair tare hare ta ra ta ta.
The boat started sinking, the brats wailing, the bullets out of blackness assailing, failing to stop misstress metallic (me).
The ship was sank but I stood tall, head below the waves, feet dancing on fishes graves, and those snivelling chav dispisers clung to me, and I dragged them along with my strength, bullets bouncing off me. They clung to my arms, they clung to my legs and I dragged them out of there, under fire, riptide tugging me under, like Moby Dick dragging harpoon boats. I emmerged head first like being born, like a sea monster with five manly limbs swaying in the current, Cuthbert bleeding from a bullet wound. I strode on unstoppable like a low geared machine. Like a vice.
I dragged them up the weedy beach and they lay panting, shaking weeping ingrates. I strode on mechanical, straight as a crow, up the bank, middle of the road. To the hotel.
In my room I looked in the mirror above the sink. I itched the side of my head and felt a hinge. I felt the other side and there was a clasp below my ear, another below my armpit, and another on my hip.
I undid the clasps and my body and face swung open. I was hollow. I am made of metal, and am hollow. There is nothing inside. Bullets can't penetrate into that emptiness within. And nor can you. I am hollow. I am filled with nothing. There is nothing inside. And nothing is sacred. I am hollow. Iron clad emptiness.

19 Comments:

  • At 10:54 AM, Blogger Zen Wizard said…

    Can't you just drink Rob Roy's?

    They are a delightful mix of whiskey and vermouth.

     
  • At 12:26 AM, Blogger Latigo Flint said…

    But damn if impenetrable emptiness isn't just damn sexy and also awesome.

     
  • At 7:41 AM, Anonymous Strange Forces said…

    I'm with Mr. Flint -

    I didn't realize I found the concept of hollow metal female automatons erotic until now.

     
  • At 6:11 PM, Blogger Amandarama said…

    We need LSD and therefore needed to deal with street people.

    At first I read this as "We need LSD to deal with street people". Maybe I'm just projecting. You're a psychologist; what do you think?

     
  • At 11:05 PM, Blogger Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said…

    "I didn't realize I found the concept of hollow metal female automatons erotic until now."

    I wouldn't mind taking a tin-opener to you myself... Unless you're one of the ring-opening sort of tins. In that case opening you up could be accomplished in a few deft hand movements...

     
  • At 2:36 AM, Blogger Helga von porno said…

    Zen, thats sounds appalling, I must try some. Mixing the grape and the grain in the same glass. The scots are hard core.

    Latigo, "Awesome"! Is that a gun slinger word?

    Thanks Mr Forces, though I am autonomous therefore not an automaton (I think)

    Amandarama, Haha, I can't think of anything, so I'll just grok out on the images. The government giving LSD to police for example. Tripping bobbies in housing estates.

    Gosh Sam, that's filthy!

     
  • At 6:19 AM, Blogger Ultra Toast Mosha God said…

    Then there isn't much point in you taking LSD. It would just sit in a little puddle on the topside of the soles of your feet after dribbilng down the inside of your strange metal body.

    The mind expanding reputation of the drug would be rendered useless on you leaving the whole experience seeming, well, hollow, for want of a better word.

     
  • At 7:42 AM, Blogger razboynik said…

    Maybe the answer for all the 'chavs' in the world is to take LSD ? I'll give you a good price ! :=)

     
  • At 8:12 AM, Blogger Doisneau said…

    This is another level.
    I just started reading and have no idea if you are sexy or not.
    How is this relevant?
    I enjoyed the post, it made me think....for a change.

     
  • At 2:44 PM, Blogger Zen Wizard said…

  • At 9:49 PM, Blogger Ari said…

    Intrepid poetry, this is.

    Also, "chav" and "slag" are my 2 favourite Britwords of the moment.

    Also, I linked you! finally :(

     
  • At 10:48 PM, Blogger Sam, Problem-Child-Bride said…

    Wha? I just wanted to know if you were full of beans! A tin full of beans. That's all!

    It was either that or an odd mood. No, I'm sure it was the beans.

     
  • At 3:16 AM, Blogger Arthur Quiller Couch said…

    Whatever you're on, I'll pass.

     
  • At 2:07 AM, Blogger Helga von porno said…

    Very practical Ultra, we need scientific minds like yours

    Razboynik, you go too far! Though I find your extremism alluring

    Doisneau, thank you for your charming comment. "how is this (sentence) relevant" is a fascinating paradoxical question that put me in a trance for several weeks.

    Thanks Ari, I'm touched, I like to think my posts are poetry.

    I'm full of sugar and spice and all things nice Sam

    Arthur quiller Couch, I'm hurt, I'm not "on" anything, which means that you just wouldn't like to be me. Well fuck you, it is splendid being me, I fear death for a reason.

     
  • At 1:10 PM, Blogger Daphne Wayne-Bough said…

    I am caught like a rabbit in the headlights of your fertile imagination Fraulein von Porno. Was fur eine Fembot sind Sie? I am a Germanophile and therefore back to your site again I will coming be.

    So this is where you have been lurking, Sam, neglecting your own readers while you indulge your strange little interplanetary-homoerotic fantasies. Get back to your husband and children immediately!

     
  • At 1:33 PM, Blogger Trevor Record said…

    Dualism is for wimps, I rue the day that Descartes had to sell out idealist monism for it. Since I live in extremes I can only respect idealism and the identity theory - and the latter I also pity.

     
  • At 3:27 AM, Blogger razboynik said…

    PLEASE COME BACK HELGA !
    ALL IS FORGIVEN :-)

     
  • At 4:04 AM, Blogger Ultra Toast Mosha God said…

    Perhaps Helga's strange metal body has rusted out, or she is secretly a computer that has been rendered obsolete by some blinkered IT professional

     
  • At 8:22 AM, Anonymous Aislinn Kottwitz said…

    so introspective

     

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