Tuesday, October 09, 2007


The Murkyworld of MiSTER ZERO (part 2)

Mister Zero has been spending a lot of time discussing matters of no great importance with Joshua Kane. Recent letters that Joshua Kane has been sending to him as Kane travels the globe, searching for the thing that does not exist, has delighted him. Mister Zero poses in front of the mirror, admiring himself, fondling and stroking his velvet smoking jacket. He has recently hired a secretary, who types and writes in shorthand the words of Mister Zero.

She is a young, rather large breasted creature, who worships Mister Zero and will do anything for him. He has strapped her to his fake dentists chair, by her neck and her ankles, her hands are free to take Mister Zero’s dictation, She is partly naked and as Mister Zero dictates to her, he sometimes will walk past her and tweak her eager pink nipples. Her name is not important, which is a good thing, as Mister Zero has forgotten her name and only really likes the idea of her.‘ Mister Kane, I am very pleased with your most recent correspondence to me, one of your most interesting and disturbing letters to date I thought, you must be congratulated sir, and then be placed in a maximum security facility somewhere in the Mojave desert, with only the IT for company, the IT will be dressed in a see through cellophane suit covered in razor blades, for IT will guard you, whilst singing Violator by Depeche Mode.’

Mister Zero then stares out of the window, watching small children be cruel and unusual with a large dog. Mister Zero feels an excitement brewing inside him and he hopes that the dog will kill and eat these small strange children who have invaded his privacy and his acres around the control tower, where Mister Zero hides and abuses his secretary every evening at 9pm (on the dot!). Mister Zero finds that he thinks a regular thought ‘WHAT AM I GOING TO DO? I HATE CHILDREN!!’Mister Zero suddenly realises that the dog is biting into the children and as he watches, his erection becomes harder and he thinks to himself.’” when will the screaming stop? Is the day close when the farmer will cut the rapeseed and discover the architects decaying skin and bones, one eyeball staring up through the crop circle, to the single puffy white cloud hanging in a clear sky high above?”

Mister Zero watches the dog devour the two small children and lets out a sigh of pleasure, he goes to his secretary, who is whining and mumbling quietly to herself, Mister Zero leans towards her face to hear what she is saying, then he takes from his desk drawer a barbed wire whip (a present from Joshua Kane in 2001) and starts to gently whip her milk white thighs, her cunt juices dribble out of her and she wets her panties and it oozes down the fake dentists chair. This pleases Mister Zero then unbinds her mouth, she gasps for air, but Mister Zero takes out his hard cock and stuffs it into her whore mouth and releases his sperm into the back of her eager to please throat, he then forces her mouth shut and quickly from his velvet jacket pocket, brings out silver masking tape and covers her mouth. He then whips her thighs for a few more seconds, and then tells her to continue taking down his dictation; she eagerly complies, doing her best to gulp down his salty acidic spunk down her slut throat.

Mister Zero continues with his letter to Joshua Kane’” do you ever wonder when the septic tank will overflow, offering up it’s cargo of past crimes? The hacked up remains of a life dedicated to order, self-torture and coco-pops?’ Mister Zero glimpses himself in ‘her’ old Victorian mirror, he is breathing deeply, in a trance. The wind is whistling, his mind is twisting. He decides to go and make the usual cup of tea, he carefully lines up a row of spoons and mutters “Nothing ever quite fits does it – I am the Ikea man’ Mister Zero makes his tea, goes back into his study, his secretary is watching him with mad stalker eyes, he wonders if he should cut them out and eat them with pickles. But, not yet, not yet, it is too soon and there is still so much to do, he still has things he wants to show her. He goes up to her and whispers in her ear.

“ I only drink blood if I have to. I prefer the sweaty filth that congeals on the skin of the Unwanted” His secretary moans and writhes in her chair, speckles of blood oozing out from the barbed wire slash wounds, Mister Zero watches her coldly, he is not very interested in her at the moment, she is becoming predictable and Mister Zero does not like predictable. Mister Zero takes out his recording device and whispers into it. “Time biology time belief time shapes time breath time aloneness time self time others time man-made time natural time create time nothing”

He looks out of his window again, he never gets tired of the view, the dog has now been joined by other stray dogs, they are all devouring what is left of the small children, Mister Zero feels a little joy as this now means that there will be no evidence of this slaughter and the children will no longer steal apples from his tree’s. He surveys his land, beige Britain looks wearily up from behind its protective veil of canals, brown fields and chalk-faced yobs, and tries its best to breathe and lumber through another day of lost industry and coffee shops. Norman churches cut the grey horizons looking like upturned arrowheads, attempting, and yet failing to ignore the existence of Harlow Town. Mister Zero does not like Harlow Town and has a plan to burn it to the ground, involving Reginald Muddle and eco terrorists.

Mister Zero lights yet another cigarette and considers going for a drive. He makes a decision; he leaves quickly, changes into his outdoors outfit (number 7) and goes to his garage to choose a vehicle. Today he will use number 7, it matches his outfit and he likes the idea of conformity and balance, he also takes great pleasure from knowing that he will be leaving his secretary alone for at least 3 hours and in that time it is likely that she will piss and shit herself, and if she does, she knows that Mister Zero will punish her, oh yes, he will punish her!! Mister Zero folds his ageing limbs into the drivers seat and lights another cigarette, pondering on where to go. But, he cant help thinking that his body is like an old deckchair, sat in by plump seaside ladies a thousand times, and starting to give way. He looks to his right, and stares at the fields of corn; he must ignore their whispers. He must stop the dreams of hospitals and clean the puddles full of multi coloured tractor oil from his driveway.

As he drives off, he looks into his rear view mirror and watches the tower fade away, a dark purple cloud hangs over the building and his thoughts turn to deeds previously executed. ‘When will the farmer cut the rapeseed and find the architects eye, staring up through the crop circle to the single cloud in an otherwise clear sky? When will the septic tank offer up its interesting and vile cargo of lost lives? When will the strange contents of the seemingly innocent Coco Pops packet be discovered?’ Mister Zero knew he needed to do something about his thoughts. Of course, he laughed, ‘On my Return I shall continue my letter to Mister Kane’. Mister Zero drives around the countryside for a few hours, and then heads back to the Tower. The drive did not clear his head in the way he hoped and his thoughts had turned darker ‘”I am lacklustre without the lust. I am a dying flower, petals falling off, stem brown and torn, diseased leaves hanging down towards roots that rot in a dry cracked and parched dustbowl, no more do I even want to taste cool water, no sap rises to quench small flying insects. Red backed spiders crawl with spindly caution over me, performing a macabre ballet as they eat their way through an audience of green fly, I am plant, I am dying, I am naught.”

When Mister Zero turns into the driveway to the tower, the place he calls home. The headlights cast menacing shadows across the fields, the bright eyes of the dog stare out at him as it waits by the garage, in its mouth a remnant of a small arm. Mister Zero nods, he understands his dog, and will mince what is left of the small children’s flesh and grind the bones into paste for the dogs enjoyment. He gets out of the car and goes to the front door. Once inside, Mister Zero walks silently through the concrete corridors. He does not turn on the lights. Breathing deeply in a trance, he catches a glimpse of his face in ‘her’ mirror. The winds are whistling, his mind is twisting, in the moonlight; he carefully arranges a line of spoons. “Nothing ever quite fits properly does it – I am the Ikea man,” he says out loud to no one.

Mister Zero re-enters his study, the secretary is asleep, he watches her for a little while and considers killing her, but that is too quick, perhaps some pleasure and pain, or maybe some torture he thinks, yet he cannot make a decision, he has got used to her sitting strapped in his fake dentists chair. She has managed to piss and shit herself, so Mister Zero WILL have to punish her. He wakes her roughly by forcing his walking stick into her vagina, the cloth of her knickers, stained and creasing into her as he forces his stick further into her crack, he does this roughly, her eyes open she is startled, sees Mister zero and relaxes, and it seems that she is looking forward to her punishment. This displeases Mister Zero; he wants her to fear him! He leans towards her and whispers in her ear. ‘ Nothing ever quite fits properly does it … I am the Ikea man, should I lick you with my black lizard tongue? Will you make little squeaking sounds or low deep manly groans I wonder?’

She makes a strange noise, Mister Zero glares at her, then slaps her across her face, as he slaps her continually he counts them in his head, he hums a rhyme as he slaps her, her cheeks turning bright red, her tears of pain give Mister Zero ‘happy’ thoughts. When he has reached number six hundred and sixty six – he stops. Tells her to stop sobbing and continue with the dictation. Mister Zero leans towards the top of her head and gently kisses her hair. She smells vile, but Mister Zero is very good at pretending. ‘I love you’ he tells her and his secretary forgets about the pain, her tears, the piss, the shit and the abuse, because she loves Mister Zero and will do anything to make and keep him happy.

‘The terminal disease of life-thoughts, things and events, is grinding me into dust. It’s like a tidal wave of misery that comes from nowhere, drowns me and then surges on to the next poor fucker. When I’m occasionally sitting in high branches, I’m eternally waiting to be banished to the dirty pool of muck that collects at the bottom of the old stone well. Probably the same well where Jezebel played drums and a Japanese woman crawled on her hands and knees’
Mister Zero stops dictating and goes to his fine drinks cabinet and pours himself a good thumbful of 1966 brandy. He sips it slowly, watching his secretary, she is busy hiding her shame, her knickers have stained badly and the dampness in the chair is making her buttocks and thighs look like a small baby who has not had a nappy change in 3 weeks. Perhaps he should let her wash, after he has finished with her dirty little holes. He goes to her, takes off her gag, talks to her gently and softly, he unties her and suggests she cleans herself up. She eagerly goes to the bathroom. Mister Zero is delighted to see her so happy, especially as he knows what he has planned for her, to ruin her happiness.

Mister Zero waits patiently for his secretary to come back from the bathroom and he imagines all manner of things. Am I going to climb the Eiffel Tower otherwise known as The Secretary? Will I scale her ramparts? Should I clamber over her statuesque frame with passion and dark relish? Will I insert things? Insert things into those hot fleshy mandibles of crimson? Will I become lost in the nest of her scalp? Mister Zero starts to hum as he waits and soon he starts to sing.

Bitches and Bags
Harlots and Hags
Big Breasted Prosi’s with mouths full of fags
Middle class tartlets
Who Witter and moan
They all come to Zero
Before they go home
To their husbands.

As Mister Zero finishes his little whimsy, the secretary comes out of the bathroom, looking refreshed and as usual eager to please. She heads for the fake dentists chair, but, Mister Zero demands that she sits on all fours, he wishes to use her as a table and she can write perfectly well on the ground. She must remain gagged, and have her ankles tied, but she must also allow Mister Zero to stick a long candle into her arsehole and he will light it, he is anticipating the delight of watching the hot wax dribble into her gaping shithole as it grips onto the base of the candle, because he will make her feel real pain, horrible pain, if the candle should pop out of its cradle!

Once she is prepared, Mister Zero inserts the candle. Lights it and starts to dictate once more.
The Worthless are milling around. The pathetic are stumbling over each other. The humiliated crouch in corners where the smell of piss is strong. We the flowers of confusion hang our heads and wilt, as hope disappears over a horizon of concrete and blood. MY DEAR Kane, you must be careful in Cornwall or whatever god-forsaken part of merry England you are visiting. They don’t like people like you down there sir, they’ll want to string you up. Push fishing hooks through your skin and piss on you. Yet, you are the 13. More and more I am realising that contentment lies in a solitary existence with occasional dips into the company of others. I need re stoking, all my coal has been burned and turned to steam which is floating around the peak of Kane Mountain, almost vanished, almost gone.

The gas molecules have halved, then halved again. I am no longer visible to the naked eye and eagles fly through me effortlessly. Sometimes I can put on a performance for the book club, not tonight. The arm of the sofa is becoming worn; I must find the tightrope again. Which reminds me Mister Kane, I’ve just realised who you are. You are Michael Douglas in ‘Falling Down’. Ask yourself, as a man of code, are you economically viable? Yet, we are men of art and substance. When we depart on our trip we shall stroll through the cobbled streets of the Latin Quarter and dine at La Coupole, reciting poetry and prose in the grand tradition of Sartre, and hum Juliette Grecoat our table in Les Deux Magots! So, be seeing you. Mister Zero

(Of course, he has now untied her and released her from her gag, but, before she is allowed to read back to him his letter to Joshua Kane, first she has to beg for Mister Zero, plead with Mister Zero to PISS on her, she must drink and swallow his dark yellow liquid, and enjoy it – so she does, and he sprays her, fills her with his hot stinking urine and laughs) When she has finished, he nods his approval and Mister Zero listens carefully, as his secretary reads back to him his dictated letter to Mister Kane. Once she has finished he awaits her to finish her typing, so he can sign, stamp and seal his correspondence. He will then bugger his secretary and force candle wax into her vagina. He will then pay her small fee and send her away with instructions to post his letter and purchase items for their next meeting. Once she has left. Mister Zero will be once again alone in the control tower.

Many hours later, The secretary has finally been sent home, Mister Zero content and happy with the knowledge that her punishment and her abuse will continue next Wednesday at the same place at the same time, but now Mister Zero needed to rest his weary body. Finally, he was truly alone at the control tower and he had a strong craving to watch something on DVD that was very filthy, depraved and utterly disgusting, preferably involving women’s mouths, cocks, animals, torture and death. Mister Zero realises that if he had remembered to record the activities with his secretary, he would have his wish. Next Wednesday he will remember to press record, so He and Joshua Kane could enjoy the abuse of his pathetic secretary together. But Mister Zero, needing visual stimulation, texts Joshua Kane, asking if Kane could assist in naming a film that would appeal to the desires of Mister Zero. Mister Zero waits impatiently for the reply. Joshua Kane finally sends a text back.

Zero, you should watch KARLA, and make sure that you are wearing a pair of blue stilettos taken from your shop of twine, and dress yourself in a blue Lycra top, stuffed with 2 soft toilet rolls that will look like large breasts. Then you can pretend to look like a female serial killer on the run and no doubt, you will probably masturbate. As you are alone in the control tower, invite some small children over while you are dressed as Karla and feed them chocolate and spunk. Then boil them in acid and shove the remains in the septic tank, then have a cup of tea. Goodbye.

Mister Zero is pleased to read this message and immediately decides to make a cup of tea and masturbate in front of the mirror dressed as Karla. As he wanks himself into a frenzy, his mind is filled with thoughts.

The I does not represent the thou but meets it. The meeting moreover, is to be distinguished from the silent dialogue, the mind has with itself. Except sometimes the silence is deafening, when the interval between the I and the thou, the Zwischen, is the locust where being is realised.

Mister Zero erupts into ecstasy as his juices spray across the mirror in splendour. Mister Zero licks his semen from the mirror as it slowly dribbles down his cracked and crinkly image. Then as he tastes his saltiness, he starts his frenzied wanking once again.

The interval between the Kane and the zero cannot be conceived as a kind of stellar space existing independently of the two terms, which IT separates. For the dimension itself of the interval opens uniquely to the Kane and to the zero, which enter into each meeting and the utmost transcendence, is bound to the utmost particularity of the two.

Mister Zero erupts once more, his screams echoing throughout the fields of darkness and silence. Small animals shake in fear and Birds of prey quiver, thinking that they are about to be eaten, by some terrifying predator. Mister Zero calms himself, has a shower and then wrapped in his Persian cat fur coat, he drapes himself in front of his television, tea and cake ready and waiting as he watches the film Karla. Yet even during this film, his mind wanders.

Consistent with contemporary views, the self is not a substance but a relation. IT can only exist as Kane addressing himself to Zero. The sphere of the IT coincides with EVERYTHING, which the Kane comes into contact with in his objective and practical experience. In effect, the sphere of the IT is posited as the correlate of all Kane’s mental acts whether willed or felt.
Mister Zero is pleased by his thoughts and decides that he must pause the film and wander onto the blood red decking that surrounds his control tower and try to decide whether it was the colour that made it look that way or the dampness of the late night dew.

He lights a cigarette, stares into the night and plans for tomorrow.

Because tomorrow was to be a new day, new blood and the delivery of the Electrical device.


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