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, December 22, 2006

Herbert and the Ice Queen

Herbert strolled across the meadow with melancholy in his heart and sat down beneath an old willow tree, took out his lute and began to play the sadness of his heart. The sadness was so sad that the singing birds stopped singing and flew far away. The sky turned from blue to milky bruisey grey. The trees and grass crackled with frost like cut glass. Dawn approached dust and dust approached dawn like dancers in a square.
Herbert looked up to the hill where the Ice Queen stood stock still surveying the grey and dismal veil with unblinking stare. He had never seen such a statue of beauty so cold and austere.
He went up to her and greeted her grinning. "Hello maid, and what a beautiful maid you are." He tried.
She turned to him from her neck like an owl. She leveled her gaze on him. Placid, yet unforgiving.
Herbert was great at staring people out. At bard school he never was forced to look away or giggle. But he found his cheeks grew rosy and his feet needed visual attention.
Wheresoever he looked there was Spring but as the Ice Queen's gaze followed winter layed over.
"Happy Christmas!" He tried, and danced a gay jig.
Such uncompromising scorn had never been implied so explicitly as by the Ice Queen's silent response.
"I know, I will throw you a party, we'll have a great big fire and lots of lovely local folk, that should break the ice......"
Herbert's voice trailed off. The Ice Queen's cold blue eyes told you easily what foolishness this was.
Herbert disappeared into the wood. I watched him go. For I am the Ice Queen. I turned back to the vale and poured ice over the world with my steady impenetrable stare. In the periphery I knew there was colour and warmth in the world, but wherever I looked was ice and death and solid cold.
Herbert returned with local folk. The area was anarchist. The people of the wood were free. There were Bodgers and love makers, jugglers and drug takers, nude dancers and vegetarian cooks, singers and ranters story tellers and rugby teams, all manner of musicians bearing bassoons clutching cellos garroting guitars and banging banjos. It was a jolly jamboree and the fire grew higher and higher. But whenever the Ice Queen turned her gaze to the fire it smouldered sputtered and went out. Jugglers dropped their balls, Bodgers bungeld their chair legs, cellists snapped their bows and the organ grinder ground to a halt. Herbert wrang his hands and wondered how to melt the Ice Queen's heart.
Shouting came from the woods and a phalanx of Fascists appeared in formation. They destested freedom and battered the free folk in a disciplined and ordered fashion. They took them screaming and struggling to pre prepared pits in the wood, slit their throats and threw them in big open graves. The anarchists resisted, but only Herbert knew how. He drew his sword and sliced and slashed and slew and wounded and gashed and fucked up badly fascists who came near the Ice Queen. But his heroism didn't break her Ice. He got drawn into the melee, called to arms by a hurdy gurdy player.
A big black brute of a fascist set his maliscious attention on the Ice Queen. "I'm going to take the frosty wench!" He anounced and stided towards her like a walking tree.
A little boy, the son of a nudist, ran in between the Ice Queen and the Fascist giant. "Don't you hurt the pretty lady!" He squeeked at the fascist, and stabbed a stake knife into the fascists foot.
"Arrrrrgh!" went the fascist clutching his foot and hopping. "Right, you little bastard!" He growled, and brought his Axe down on the little boys head and cut him in two.
As the two little arms twitched their last in a bath of gore, and incredible thing happened, The Ice queen began to thaw!
It started in the corners of her eyes. Two springs bubbled up cutting streams down her icey cheeks. Then her heart glowed red with fury and fire lashed from her tongue. She screetched and screachy scream blast of fire and a great heat of fury poured from her like she was a pillar of flame and vengeful rage.
The fascists singed and recinded recoiled and retreated defeated.
The sun rose rosey rose and streams gushed from the mountainside and birds returned and sang their silly songs of love.
I collapsed back in the leaves and gazed teary eyed into the deep blue sky.

Saturday, December 16, 2006

Absolute Truth

So much has happened. Cuthbert got a bullet wound to his stomach. Two of the new psychologists had medical degrees and we decided to treat him ourselves. We knew he had no chance to live, so we thought we might as well make use of this opportunity to strap a dying man into the thought amplifier. Christ save us all. I can't go into the horror, the collapse of safety. All I can tell you is that death is real. Two just dropped dead as their souls got sucked into the wailing apparatus. The others arrested on charges of murder and manslaughter. That chapter in the broadening of human understanding has closed and thank God we are plunged back into the soft and comforting darkness of ignorance. Only I managed to escape capture by the police. I jumped out of a window and fractured my arm. The others only knew me as Helga Von Porno anyway and there is no real record of my existence. And besides, they are all probably insane and ranting about blue pain and the great green light and other stuff the police won't be able to spell.
All I had was an ankle length white fur coat, a black mini dress and fur lined boots. I bunked the train to Leuchars and walked to St Andrews. My arm hurt like hell, and everything looked like hell, the wind battering the streets, faces tight with anguish and personal misery, rain and hail punishing the scurrying population. I had a paper to give to the Philosophy department on absolute truth in a weeks time. They paid for my lodgings in a bed and breakfast. I got into my room and lay back on the bed. I thought deeply and intensely about the truth. I was elevated by pain, loss and despair. I lay there til the next day when I emmerged to eat my breakfast. The Land Lord put his hand on my hip while his wife was in the kitchen. I punched him in the eye with my bad arm and the pain made me cry. I returned to my room and dissolved into pure thought.
The details are unimportant, but the train of thought is this, if you want to know something, then you don't know it. If you know something, then you don't want to know it. Move around a few symbols and you can know everything by wanting nothing. Of course, wanting nothing is not so easy. I lay motionless for seven days without food or water. I knew everything. The limit of my knowledge and the limit of the world was the same.
So lost was I that my physical location and embodiment became irrelevant, just another thing I didn't want to know. I found myself standing naked, the North sea lapping around the tops of my thighs. Looking out into the night, the wind howling, the rain whipping, the electric cold pain through me like a charge from the core of the world. I was connected and screaming. I wanted nothing and knew everything.
A Handsome man in an Aryan Jumper hailed me from the shore. I later found out he was called Mark. He waded out into the bitter sea and put his coat round my shoulders and took me in. He took me to his home and fed me warm tea and whisky. I could not answer his questions because my lips were too cold. He took me to his bed and held me close and tight. He held me as if he loved me, as if somebody loved me, as if someone wanted to sheild me from the horror of infinite knowledge. Desire awakened in me, and with it ignorance. I wanted to know this man, I wanted to know what he thought about me, I wanted to know what he would do if I kissed him, if I stroked his chest with my hand and slide it down to his belly. I wanted to know how it would feel if he were to make love to me, if we could make a connection, if I would be filled with love. Ignorance is bliss.