PART ONE - THE SEVENTH
Scraping remnants off the mirror gilded, construction barking its way over Finnish death drones, a slant slice of light crept its way through my shuttered windows. Spring in its purest form, unadulterated by the shrinking throes of a season past and forgotten, thoughts of froth and bitter gold tormented me as I finished off the rest of the tepid ProSecco. Stumbling my way out of this living cemetery and into another Viennese district was not even an option. Half matted hair hung damp as my panties as I pulled on some jeans, shoving my bare feet into rather war torn Adidas. No plan. No stress. Fresh air. Beer.
Around the corner of where once stood the Chapel birthing graves sunken into swampy trenches I wandered. Empty streets devoid of the usual ego suckers, knowing I could manage one drink alone on the sidewalk of my least frequented cafe. Taking a seat, I lit up another cigarette. Mirrored Aviators shaded the damage of past weeks maniacally painting and fucking, as I took some easy respite at the table closest to the door. Fucking wanker cafe. Usually walking past, I am always on the opposite path such as to avoid the ever vacant looks of uptight cunts who gather here past dark. Hipsters and their pensions. The gasp of a memory of my sacred elixir stirred while I waited on my order. Oh yes, bountiful hops worked its way down my longing tubes as I reminded myself of the first and last time I visited this Cafe feasting on Steak Tartar with my tattoo trainer after almost kicking a girl in the face after she passed out, blocking my exit, from one foresaken Rum and Coke as the rest of us downed the bottles at 3am. I hate when bitches can´t handle their alcohol.
Intermittently ranting on some social media platform whilst checking the joke known as news, planted prehumously in the shining shards I sipped. Slowly. Due to the incredulous service at my telephone company on the corner I had to do without any functioning audio device once again. Nothing to hear anyways on this most indignant of mornings except my low breath and muffled laughter as the thought of the past weeks debaucheries trampled my soiled brain. Choking on the last line which crept its way down the back of my illustrious throat, a very young boy of three or so found his way to the table across from me. American father loading up loathsome kiddie cartoons. Shrill squawks beckoned from his mobile, subsequently running to appease his child as he walked inside. Leaving the toddler there alone with me, of all people, on a white metal chair on an abandoned street my drug strained eyes focussed on the radioactivity the young one must be suffering as he clenched the mobile to his own face, drooling. Sipping even slower, I ordered a larger Wheat Beer to accommodate the fact that I should actually not leave the kid, autistic or not, alone until his parental figure returned from what was starting to become a rather long trip to the toilet. Ten minutes turned into twenty, the sun seering my pale brow. Another countless cigarette as his guardian appeared in the dooChapter rway schreeching “Me, Me , Me meeeeee…… Oh it is all Me , Me , Me, riiiiiiiight Big Mouth?! That´s riiiiight Big Mouth.”
“Sweetness, sweetness I was only joking
When I said I'd like to smash every tooth
In your head
Oh...sweetness, sweetness, I was only joking
When I said by rights you should be
Bludgeoned in your bed
And now I know how Joan of Arc felt
Now I know how Joan of Arc felt
As the flames rose to her roman nose
And her Walkman started to melt
Oh... “ - Morrisey
On and on and on it went. Repetitions incessant he said nothing other than “Big Mouth” which was slightly diffused with baby babble and pattern male aggression. Loathsome grimaces plain as a Mormon´s loins, his empty echoes ravaged my skull. Forcibly feeding the child hand to mouth, this sorry excuse dropped the crust and cheese on the sidewalk. Foraging the dross below, he continued stuffing the awe shocked suckling with the fouled sustenance whilst continuing with his brainwashing repetitions. Plaguing my social network with a drunken play by play, I paid my drinks as quick as possible. Lurched back to thee abode, my own private Bunker.
Nevertheless I found myself harkened back three hours later to the scene of the crime after catching a possible fifteen minute blackout. An impromptu business meeting with a post-op Transexual looking to become well paid Sadist contorted itself into just another excuse to freshen up my alcohol level as my personal slave looked on whilst I convulsed upon the inane questions I had to confront. To this day, I still do not understand how anyone who is gender focussed enough to cut their genitals off, obviously perverse enough to meet me for business advice did not know that you could watch extreme Sadomasochistic videos for free on the internet. Maybe that was her fucking problem all along. She was stunning, fresh and incisors like razors… yet the driftwood known as intellect withered as my pack of Gauloises before me.
Back in the Bunker, I drew the shades tight, bemused by my new painting of Hecate splayed before me. Taunting me as I laid on the floor, she sneered. I could not help playing the burgeoning whines of Morrisey repeatedly as all recognition of what was once reality faded with the passing light. Take me out tonight, take me anywhere. I don´t care. I don´t care. I don´t care. Spending warm summer days indoors, writing frightening verse. I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour, but Heaven knows I am miserable now. Why do I give valuable time to people who don´t care if I live or die? Why do I smile at people who I would much rather kick in the eye? Last night I felt real arms around me. No hope, no harm… Just another false alarm.
“Shallow, shallow … Knee-deep acid river flows to the sound of south-east low end. Plated silver bronze and silver again up against your yeast dripping slit, the land of sorrow where a flea is rising. Overthrowing cross and shovel lurking behind heaps of smelly messy hay slowly rotting in the graveyard, that´s where Lars the fiddler plays his miserable flea repelling rat worshipping tune to all the children of the dawn spitting hell-fire to the face of a very hungry public taste,.” Nax taking twilight talks further.
“But what of the engorged sacks left rotten by the plague? Unending trial of pestilence? I would have knit their skulls into a ladder for eternity. No better than any creature, yet always they stay committed to their superiority. A thin veneer splayed over wretched humankind…. Surely Lars knew what was coming. It was all laid out in advance,” Ms Drüh slightly shivered as she extinguished her fag.
“The bodies collapsed, swollen with gas. Into that darkness, into all darkness, they plead… There, Nancy, your face to the storm. Yet to bleed, yet to break into countless realities. It´s the blood call of lightning, the gut shriek of thunder,” Nax adjusting his glasses.
To his fire she claims destruction in black Vienna, “For I was born beneath a dark star, you've found me both near and foreign. You´ve found me every night as you sweat, you have found me in the blood that barked and bled.” Nancy sighed, “ My lips are mourning, turning darkness to thy might. My eyes reveal such secrets as the fire of corpses eyes. My blood will flow forever, a flood which waits to die…let us speak of Heaven falling … my tongue must be cut out.”
“Hey… I need a fukkin cigarette and I cannot wait to rape the DM of some more eyeshadow for this painting… aghhhh… “ I sputtered as they sat whispering unknown platitudes in spanning tones and gestures. Hands racked with lacquers of every sort smeared death slash marks across my forehead. My friends had been here for innumerable hours or even days as I chiseled in the face of an otherwise forgotten Goddess. In perpetuum I snorted up the excess nasal drain, grabbing the beer out of Nancy Drüh´s hand. In silence, I observed… “Wherever I am, I am what is missing.”
“Fuck it Rachael, let´s go to Europa. We need to get out of here. If you can´t tear yourself away from your work, that is not my problem. I really need to see some shred of what was once reality,” Nax imploring me to put my fucking pants on and head to the blasted Cafe I was almost recovered from last visiting. Why not? Fuck. Just one beer with friends. No children. No post-ops who can´t figure out how to stream porn. Maybe some Steak Tartar.
“Fine. Rack em up and let´s hit the road.”
Mirrors are magick in and of themselves. To catch a gaze of another through the looking glass, one can fasten themselves to the demonic aspect of another´s being. In this case, we were in the fishbowl. The mirrors surrounding the reflection of our hazy eyes and subtle love shone Nancy and I masquerading behind our glasses. Nax, no exception.
Checking in with the useless stream of dribble as I am drawn to trash like most to a car crash, I checked the state sanctioned news filtered in gleaming micropixels on my own substandard yet functioning piece of shit mobile device. Usually amounting to nothing, the Emperor remains shrouded under a veil of deceit.
“Sssshhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” he held his ringed finger to his lips,”Fourteen is fixed.”
“Bastard!” the glass rattles, smashing on the floor next to us, “You will never know….”
Of course we were caught up in our own girl talk with Nax listening. Everything from shaving our cunts to what to wear to my vernisagge. Lurid details of my adultery hung upon dumb walls. My gay wife was just that. No one fucks their wives in Vienna, and neither do I. She cares about me, Nancy. I try to take care of her, the horse riding injuries and random opiate ODs. No other woman actually cared so much to really ask how I am feeling, and for this, my joke about gay marriage cemented itself into being. As Kindergarterin, she must excel, taking their energy as hers and returning it into something beautiful. As my wife, her tolerance equal to mine, we cruise the long waves of intoxication and creativity. Nothing lost upon a deserted conscious.
“ Fukk they think it was us” Nax gasped….
“Why? Those yuppies just wrecked their glass, take it easy man.” I mumbled
“Ok, let´s pay and get out of here,” my wife offered.
“I am gonna go take a last line in the toilet, pay and we leave. Fuck this. I wanna go back to the Bunker and listen to Impaled Nazarene,” I whispered coarsely across the table.
As the gaunt eyed waitress tip toed to Nax, I made my way around the corner. A loud crash and shriek from the kitchen echoing amongst cavernous monologues. No. How can these vacuous
creatures lose such jewels against the filth. I picked up the rather fine gold necklace from the piss soaked floor. One charm hanging, nothing like Laura Palmer´s. Broken in form, a shining cage smashed by some foot. Now a token, space which was used to imprison, a two dimensional reminder of captivity. Plucking it from the waste, I rinsed the delicate collar in cold water and hung it around my long neck.
Arriving at our not yet devastated table, I returned. High and hung with this vulgar chain against my tattooed chest, grabbing my heavy leather jacket which served me for almost a decade I motioned with a quick flip of my lips and hair… “Let´s get out of here!”
Turning to leave, rather subtly, we made our way out of the mirrored alcove. Cash flashes as the swollen pupils of the desperate ones. We never liked those faces, we never really heard them laugh. We all know pretty girls make graves. Heaven knows they will soon be gone. Nature plays her tricks, women lose their faith in womenhood. Glints off his glasses and my wife languorously smirking, two conservative ghosts make their way towards us, only to absconcd our warm seats.
“Please don´t hurt me,” she pleads focussed upon my new filth chain. “Please don´t hurt me,” her fresh pressed Dolce Gabbana silk shirt quivered as she tried to take a gaze into my red eyes.
Looking to Nax and my inconsequent wife and then to this waste, “I do not think you have enough money to pay me to hurt you, bitch.” Leaving.
That fucking den, what a horror show. I fingered the golden cage smashed to bits around the auric continuity wrapped tight upon marble. Harrrharr… ask me why, I will spit in your eye. An old dream, containment. Control. Under foot, we cough, snort and laugh our way back to my iron sarcophagus.
Bondage invites her to solemnity, indignity of time. Rise and fall. We spent these weeks pushing ourselves to the limits without a chance for sexuality. Her laughs resonate round red walls. Harder I strike, the louder she bellows. Always asking if she is incorrect with her response, I can only laugh along and assure her I do not need anything but her truth in the wake of violence. Freeing her hair from the uptight updo once again, I blind her by removing her glasses. Ms. Drüh, a mess of dew stained frigidity.
Hours collide as stars burn bright, we dance to the sound of war. At one point last week we came to realize if we never sober up again, absolutely nothing would happen in the world. Seems to be working. We vow to sacrifice our minds and lives for “world peace”. What else to lose? Nothing to gain but ever humourous trash headlines blaring against each other. Coiffure to the stars, we weep delirious at the histories foretold. Destined to corrode in the decay of the lost ghost Nazarene, Easter derails our plans to hit the Gourmet Spar for more ProSecco.
“What the fuck time is it?,” smearing my visage with leftover scum of oil pastels, my brow reeks hot pink.
“Time to get the hell out of here. Europa is open in 5 minutes,” Nax answers.
“Oh yeah, fuck that place, I told you it is nothing if not a delusion of my own madness.”
“Well then, it suits… Passsssst Rachael. Past, hey?”
“Yes, it fits, lemme wash my fucking face off… and,” kicking Nancy back to reality, “Make one last one before we head there. Jesus Christ, I almost hate you both. Lemme take a piss and fix my face before we go.”
“Huh? Where are we going?” she drools.
“Back to Hell,” I laugh spraying myself down with Chanel no.5 as if it would even help.
“You gonna wear that sick fucking chain there? Maybe someone wants it back,” he reminded me as it dripped with my heavy scent.
“Oh yeah? I would love to see who would own up to possessing this thing. It is ruined anyways. Cage flattened before I ever found it. It´s funny. Whatever, no one will ever notice. and if so... get ready to laugh, my friend.”
“Hahaha… yes. Just tell them, “Take my hand. Anything you need, it is in my arms,” Nancy comes back to life.
“ Oh yes,” I rip my nasal cavities once again, “You know I fell asleep masturbating again with that owl lamp you left here last week thinking of which yuppy slut lost this shit. Did you see the underside of the cage yet? Jesus.”
“No, show me,” they reply in tandem.
There it goes. Flipping it over, the dusk illuminated the owl etched in gold surrounded with three numbers. I only noticed it upon reaching climax as the owl lamp´s beak dug its way into my swollen clit the morning before. The chain coming loose, inverted between my lush thighs, every number has a meaning.
“What the fuck does that mean?” she dragged her small hand across her dreary eyes.
“Who knows, maybe we should play the lottery tomorrow.. haaaaaa”
“Come on, fuck it, no one wants that shit anyways. Let´s grab one last beer there,” getting the two ladies back on track.
Fifty meters could in all actuality be another time dimensional rift from my own abode. One quarter of a cigarette and we arrive at the gates of my second most hated place in this district. Of course the mid point between my bunker and the ego prison known as Cafe Europa is even worse. Totem Records. No wonder the owner´s name is Wank. The biggest wanker in this entire city, Alex Wank rules his dusty hole with an iron fist. I never stop to hesitate thinking about how better off he would be with a fist up his own ass. I haven´t seen that uptight scum sucking hypocrite since last summer when Herr Sunlight dared me to grab a bottle of ProSecco and pay him a visit after I kicked a diseased whore out of my apartment at 9am. In the midsts of our heatwave I landed on my knees, the wooden floor of Totem spattered with my alcohol poisoned spittle. Squealing pig noises to the miniature hound in a micro-mini, no panties, and my ever infamous mirrored aviators, I clocked about 4 seconds before he belched out some bullshit about how I am not welcome there. Herr Sunlight lost that bet, thinking I could even last thirty seconds before being thrown out.
Door open, five minutes before service meant nothing to us. The pungent stench of the Vatican wreaked havoc upon my nostrils. What in Satan´s name is burning in here? Wafts of Frankincense, Myrrh, and burning blonde locks assaulted our senses. This was no hippy incense, nor yuppy neo-witch lavender. Patchouli as Armani, Europa stank of a crumbling obsidian scepter. The booths empty as our minds, I sneezed.
Oh no. Lars came from a maligned witch´s corner….”Oh hey, I knew you would need a beer now, I meditated upon you as I scraped this shithole of the plague last night.”
“Fuck off Lars, the rats are in right in front of your face, smiling,” I choked.
“Oh yeah baby, and I hear the tune of the piper through your open windows all night long”
“Yeah, I lead you to the grave, psycho.”
“Yeah, which is just where you wanna be, isn´t that right you loved up dirty bitch?”
“Nahhhh… Nax needs a beer, I would rather denigrate Satyr for his hotel pseudonym than take a breath in this…” I sneeze again, “fukking hell hole.”
“Yeah Satyr can´t get anything here without that chain you have. No one can. Who gave it you, the American?”
“Nah the diseased drug slave from Lambada Bar,” I joked, “ Hahaa, no man, you know Wank slipped it in my goddamn mailbox, trying to make amends I guess.” Might as well keep this fuck going whilst he seemed to know where anything led in connection with my new 14k bullshit necklace.
“Oh fuck. Rachael. Fuck stop sneezing.”
“I can´t it smells worse than Stephan´s Dom here. Fuck this shit, I thought it was a yuppy bar, not a Pope´s crematorium. Fuck you Lars. Lets get out of here. Corruption is piss.”
“Prater?” my wife injected.
“Prater!” Nax relayed.
“Geisterbahn? Hell yes…. Come on Lars….” I laughed, still fumigated.
“Geisterbahn? Whatever, I will show you the entrance to hell.” he lunged.
“Geisterbahn is no “whatever” I will blast your fucking mind. Come on, its a dare.” I egged him on.
“It´s like Lost Boys, vampiric amusement…. You know my wife loves it. You gotta hear her screams on the new Geisterbahn, its always free for her anyways. Let´s rock.”
“Yeah, fuck this shit. Why does it smell like flesh burning in a goddamn cathedral in here? aghhhh. Its the reek of Wank´s cum burning in Hell.”
“Alright”, Lars gave in, “You know I gotta speak with you anyways, lets hit Prater in the face.”
“Let´s!!” we roared in triplicate.
“Did he bring poppers?” Drüh whined after exiting the Geisterbahn. We stopped in front of the floating human lab rats, encased perpetuity.
“No bitch, stop asking. What is the problem, suffocate on water repellant like you were eleven again. “ I replied, terse as fuck.
“Yeah but Lars always has some, give it to me or I swear I will go in this inflated hell, its as pumped as your ego, Rachael, you whore,” she swore.
“Fine cunt, get in there. We dare you,” I snorted, choking on Jaeger, the strobing lights of Prater reaffirming my past psychotrauma. Her newest drug afflicted mood swing struck me like chewing on the metal which holds a pencil eraser.
Junkie under suspicion of methodic literacy, no Kindergartenin needs to worry about tense or tenacity. Rhythm the rancid reek of reason, we staggered and gagged as she cleared the line. There she crawled into the spheric body bag, inflated, no frills. Take a step. Extra careful not to languish in copious amounts of a broken neck or vomit. What a sight, shoeless librarian, hair close to her skull. Tight as her morbid cunt.
All the Turks fled as she entered. Alone she spun as a dosed gerbil in a hamster´s wheel. Again and again she fell, the gravity of water against bloated oxygen. Demonstrating my malevolence, I poked the floating bubble she spun in. My paint ridden fingers tormenting her longing desire while he slipped the poppers from his tight jean jacket pocket, we roared as others tested the edges of gravity.
“She would make a fine corpse,” Lars´ sour voice rang against the screams from the Black Mamba twisting grimaces over and over as the mechanics jolted the entirety of blue collar adolescence from its own pheromones.
Eyes locked on my nostrils soaking up chemical incense of decades, darkroom homos grabbing slimy cocks amongst shadows. Red as my past multiball, the unrewarding replay, her throat etched with screams against the silent plastic. Laughs ripping as amyl nitrate bounced beyond eternity, all reality turned to dust. Heat acclaiming hatred wasted in the void of gravity. Distant time, my last detox was a bleeding memory. Nancy held her arms in a fleeting glimpse of solemn repose, middle finger pointed to the heavens as I take another deep haul from the toxin. Falling again as the fool before us, cyclic, we descend together. Lars howls as she slobbers hate in her own two token ecosystem, expensive toys employ a vermin´s weakness rancid in lacking respect.
Glance tripping glimpse, a blade shone through the carnival pornography. Loosened from her several pockets, my gay wife ripped through the enclosure, her construct plunging into the water which once held her. Nax consequently returns, licking the sweet mustard and cheese off his fingers, stunned as we plummeted the fumes spilled to the lonesome ground. Fast as cunt, we followed, Lars and myelf buckling at the knees. Bruising my ass against pebbles, neck cracking on his thigh, the beer slipped from my grasp.
“Cunt! Watch out you fucking slut!” I shrieked as the amusement pool´s water quickened against my tears of laughter.
Nax´s clenched jaw against the knife she held above her pinched brow, “Nancy! Noooo….!” he exclaimed.
“Haaaaaaaaaaaaa….” I moaned, weeping.
Lars thrusting my heavy head in one motion, a drugged mouth shovels carny dirt. Fast as any viper he extricates me as the dagger rends deep through twilights eye. Martial in screaming solitude, the lonesome blade twists easily in her weak possession. Any pleasure I once perceived turned to sickened hysteria, the alloy poised to rend her senseless. Breathless, he snaps her to the ground, pouring the rest of the amyl nitrate upon her surly visage.
“Lick it up bitch. You want to get high, hey? You wanna get so high the stars sigh in mad delight?” he basks, triumphant.
“Fuck you! Fuck the poppers, I just want a line….!” She reeks, “Just give me a line or kill yourself. I hate you all, just give me a fucking line”
“Jesus, whore!” I wipe the sand from my lips, standing, “I will give you a line… up against a wall with a gun to your head.”
“Hahaaa… stupid fuck,” Lar´s kicked some rank popcorn to her face, dragging her by the now languid locks to the alley. Lights flicker, screams upon screams, the Turks got back in line. All games end empty as their schemes. Summoned back to the court of the Crimson King, Lars and I suddenly renounce any sense in the heat of perpetuity. Michael Jackson´s guarded sneer airbrushed on the Magic Mirror funhouse, our fever pushes her into the labyrinth, splaying a few euros for entrance under a hirsute mongo´s gaze.
“I told you we needed to talk,” he winks driving her dull blade shallow against decrepit ribs. Again and again, air bursts and manic clown laughs, mirrors twist in ritual. “No one will miss her, not even you Rachael. If it wasn´t for her freaking about the poppers and more drugs, I would have finished her off anyways tonight. Body disposal is taken care of,” he smirked as her thin digits ceased to function, blood rendering manifold infantry in ever reflecting cheap metal impressions.
Nax lost amongst one way mirrors, we taunt him and sent a text. “Meet us at the Wurstlstand by Fluc. Nancy took off with Michael Jackson.”
When a part time dirt snorting street junkie musician tells you to wash your hair, all dials point to steam and stringency. Barring common sense, we head to the Gourmet Spar across Neubau Gasse in step. Flowing black silk, lace caressing my fine form, the second hand platform heels gifted from my perverse female client clack upon moist concrete. End of May and dank the clouds hang.
“I prefer the cemetery…” reeking of heavy irony she giggles about our conversation, “that´s the best thing I have heard all week,” She passes us turning. Turning back once again, taking in the sight as a dream, we howl at each other.
Obviously that lost out hipster cunt took my comment into a free flowing yogic context that did not pertain to the conversation I was having with Spike. Any phrase or single word can be taken out of context. Cemeteries always strike a chord, personally I was responding to Spike´s story of gypsies and horny teens setting up tents in Schonbrunn since the weather was close to turning. She was most likely confessing her last miscarriage which preceded graveyard foetal rape.
“Fukking cunts,” rasping, Spike and I tickle each other before the automatic censors controlling sliding glass.
Ah, there… the Lady gazed past her rolling basket. The Queen, more function than futility, she was raised from birth in the Seventh. A sinkhole would suffice as the echo of her laughter.
“Ah Darlllling!” Her voluptuous aura reverberates against genetically modified produce, “So fantastic, I could never walk in those, hahaaa”
“Yeah baby, Just here for the last bottle as always!”
“Ah but I owe you a birthday gift Lady!” She mirrors Patsy Stone, “Which ProSecco is it today?”
“This one, it looks like it says Argento!” coyly I point, pulling my dress up to show her his signature tattooed weeks before upon my ass. Taking a few too many weeks to heal, naturally I doubt the guitarist from Taake wrestling me down five flights of stairs in a miniskirt and heels two days after the procedure didn´t help. Bruises healed quick as cunt.
Lining up at the cashier, I ponder how a lead apron would look hanging tight over our trusted cashiers hidden latex skirt, seven inch platform boots. Glinting rhinestone tips grip the chilled bottle, she purses her goth lips, “Gruss Gott.”
“Gruss Gott,” I cough, toying,”Ahaaaaaaaaaaaa…” Snort, snort. Oink, oink.
* * *
“Und, ein Stiegel,Lady?” rubbing his fatty sweat drenched man-tits, “Was ist? Alles ok, hey Lady?” he slobbers, the grin shining from here til Hauptbahnhof.
“Ja, alles klar, mein Helden! Aber jeden morgen spater ist…. You know the sun goes down later every night,” breaking my broken German, I laugh,”I exist dependent upon the sun´s cycle… Vampyr!! Early morning sun is enough for me… Fuck this afternoon, I would rather take a nuke bomb to the face….!”
“Was trinkst du, bruder?”
“Vodka als immer, schatz!” he grunts, eyes twinkling,”Wo ist der Mann? “
“Welche?” oinking I smile,”Ich kann alles haben, aber für was? Jaeger, baby, ich muss heute abend uber dich schreiben!”
“Ja, aber …. komm jetz… sitz hier baby!” padding his greasy lap.
“Nein, mein Helden!! Du bist covered in Kasekrainer fett!”
“Ah, ja… aber….” he snorts, dripping sweat, downing the schnapps.
Green party mafioso dealing in construction of pedestrian walkways, how suiting, the jackhammers scream as the sun beats bank accounts. I never voted for or against Mariahilfer becoming a pedestrian zone. Walking in the midst of night I don´t actually give a fuck either way. If I was to take a taxi, it would be with a generous friend, or… for a session which pays. Vienna´s transport is perfect, almost too well functioning, barring the early weekly closing hours. Give me convenience or give me Death. Better than London in every case, at least I can make my way easily, once I convince myself to exit the rationality of my NecroBunker.
Numbers of the districts in Vienna maintain no actual geographic relation to each other. Upon moving here, lost I remained for months as every past visit was spent trashed in venues or mates´apartments, possibly wandering to another drunk friend, park, or club. How shall I learn the layout of this legendary mass standing, so compact in actuality, if always in company of another morbid joker? Art Nouveau peaks shading much darker scenes, Secessionist gold rings rife with auto tar. Everyday village empty in nocturnal tides, the Seventh remains a mystery unto itself. Residing here for over a year, my necrotised ghost companions moan, doors creeking above yawning catacombs which lay quite close underfoot.
Clack, clack, clack. Bowie was obsessed with the Third Reich. He woke me from rapturous dreams this evening as twilight fell between half hung blinds. Johann, my bloated Wurstl Meister must still be there, I reflect walking back to his workplace after draining the last Steigel. I promised him I was writing about him tonight, and it is just past three am. Sometimes I force a little spliff on him, he hates it but smokes anyways, snort - cough - laugh to the grave.
“See Lady,” he calls ahead, his eyes shine rapidly as I approach in spiked platform sandals, a denim miniskirt and tshirt blazing “FUCK”. He takes out the cardboard shard from the cash register, ”You have a tab finally. Haha…. and a new name, Lady.”
Looking upon the dirty scrap in his swollen sausage digits,”It´s Aurora!” Laughing he gasps, he must be at least fifty-eight, ”Domina Aurora, als die Sonne, Lady…. haha”
“Yeah, Dawn of the Age of Aquarius,” another iced Jaeger hits my tramp grip,”Mein Helden, jeden abend zu still ist! Was hast passiert? Alles ist untergrund… Kannst du die Opern hören?”
“Was?? Lady, brauchst du ein Mann,oder eine Wurst?” prosting me with his Vodka, sighing drips. “Ah, Komm jetz Fraulein, wo hast dieser Kette bekommen?” He reaches for the trash chain, almost ripping it from my fine tattooed neck.
“Ah, das ist mein Gemheimnis…” I toy, once again… fiddling the crushed cage with freshly lacquered stubs, a glimpse of my cleavage struck him. Quickly he turned to the next customer waiting in the makeshift window of his legendary Wurstlstand.
Jesus… No! I shriek internally, looking around the corner of the wagon. My dealer. Oops. I had no idea he ever came up here, fuck. Hm. Successfully coming off hard drugs for the past three days, I whimper to myself, knowing that one last beer with Alex would be hysterical tonight. Looking quick at Johann in his wagon, he eyes my tight bosom and necklace as I adjust my tampon string.
Alex rocks from giant foot to foot like a pirate just off his ship. Massive, he lunges to the tiny shelf serving as makeshift eating area. Aluminum and mustard reflect, enhancing his tobacco stained teeth. Scraping a ship worn index across his dripping nostril, he smells me.
“Raquel? Oh baby, I know that Chanel Number 5 anywhere. Where are you Lady? Can´t run now!” heavy feet shutter closer, he takes a long, slow step back,”I got your messages, but I needed a break and I think you did too.” Peeking around the wagon, beaming.
“Ah man, Nah I am fine…. Yeah, I needed a break, whatever. Your shit is so good I can´t even type when I want, just masturbate! I told you haaaa,” I fake yawn, gulping the frozen elixir,”Woke to that fag Bowie going on about Life on Mars at nine this evening.”
“No way, why you wearin that necklace Rachael?” he inches closer as does Johann.
“Aurora, Lady of the Dawn!” Johann oinks again, drowned in salty pig scum.
Princess of the Dawn starts in my ears. Not a huge fan of Accept, but my mind always locks on the hits. The seventh moon was raging fire as Heaven cried for the sacrifice. The midnight sun was rising higher, Beauty and the Beast. Lies about her royal crypt, her kisses bitter sweet. Death upon her bloody lips, Holy Grail and the Dawn. A new day for Hell and Earth, first sunbeam kills our night. Once upon a time for ever more, the gloom beckons the spirit of their Lady, so white.
“Princess of the Dawn, that´s right motherfuckers!” swallowing with two middle fingers to my allies, ”Got a gram? I gotta write. This shit sucking story is going on and on. Hey Alex, how can you listen to all your clients stupid fucking stories over and over? You can´t even believe what shit I am writing about the Seventh.”
“Harhar Rachael,” Pirate as ever, blonde beard quivers, ”As much as they detest me, they can never look away. Thankfully, in my business I destroy their noses so they can´t even smell me! Prost, Lady! Sieg Hell!”
“Oh this,” I remember´my gilden charm, “Yeah in Europa, saw Wank take it off some anorexic bitch in a corner, that fat cunt. One night some weeks ago, next morning I found it in my mailbox. Maybe he wants to talk to me. Who knows, maybe since Argento signed my ass?! Ahaaaaaaaaaa!”
“You´ve seen Nancy?”
“Nope, think she is caught up on that goddamn Tinder dating thing. Who knows, maybe she´ll be murdered at Prater in a funhouse on Acid, haaaa”
“Hahaaa… Ok, Fuck. Actually where you heading? I gotta hit Europa now before closing,” Alex offers
“Uh, always back to the Bunker you know, I told you I am writing this deranged tale. Dont take me to Europa now, it will be a witch hunt.”
“Why, hey Rachael, what´s your problem? You know you shouldn´t go there in the daytime. Wait until everything horrible moves to a place you can´t see it happen. If Wank gave you that chain, maybe it is time, time for both of us. That´s why I gotta go give back this shit necklace that bitch I fucked, once, gave to me two months ago,” becoming serious he and Johann open their respective beers, “I told that slut I do not want it, but she told me to wear it until I was invited to see her again. Fuck this shit, gold looks as bad on you as me. We´re not Latinos, praising fallen Saints. We deserve some white gold or platinum, Lady”
“I love Latinos, but yeah, gold looks like shit on me,” opening mine, “In any case I am heading back, let´s move, always welcome at the Bunker. It´s a bit trashed of course…”
“Auuuurrrroorraaa,” Johann faking an erection with the next Kasekrainer to find the grill, he waves it, pink as a pig.
* * *
“It´s not so bad girl, you have seen my place,” He gags back the line, beer as chaser,”Fuck it, good to be back here. You were right, Europa is screwed. “
“See, I told you man,” wretching black panzers powdered, “Good thing they took my necklace too, a few free drinks was worth it, hey?”
“Chocolate cake wasn´t bad either, Lady,” he sank back into black leather,”That chain really didn´t suit your goddamn Devil´s Mark anyways.”
“Yeah, praise Hail Sathanas…. Damn,” I choke, “ you have the best shit, Alexander!” cough. Wheeze. Laugh. Billy Idol mixes with alien static.
“Oh fuuuuuck,” he shook with delight, glance avoiding my bare bruised thighs.
“What, Xander?” dialing in the next short wave signal. Buttons glow as the sun rises.
“You see what we got in exchange, darling?” rough and roaring, he pulls a little velvet pouch from his gaping camouflage pocket, “Didn´t even check what that stick thin slut handed me. Maybe its her heart, shrunk as her brain, nevermind the lacking titties! Haaaaaar!”
Brass monkey. Skeletal, the key oxidizing the air. My rugged fingers grab it out of his even more unpleasant grip. The studio door slams shut. Doors are bound to open and close on their own here, but only usually when I listen to Type O Negative on tons of cocaine and red wine. Even more disgusting was the start of construction out the windows, sun rising at 5.30am. Can´t they burden some others with their holocaust of metal schreien?
“Bad girl! Lemme see it,” he took it back with force, ”Hm…. Didn´t Hidari lose his cellar key before moving to London?”
“Yep.” I lie.
“You think this is it?”
“No clue, actually he told me there was no cellar to use, so actually no fucking clue.” Honest.
“Yes there is, but it is under the other ones, he took me down once. Smells like Hell”
“Is that the key?” static grates against a cover version of Turbo Negro´s “I Got Erection”.
“No idea baby.Let´s take another and go on an adventure.”
“Adventure? Yeah right. I do not even have a condom here and you know I have a lover.”
“No, Rach, come on,” pouring the reeking pulverulence onto my mirror, “I don´t want you anyways, I have enough bitches. Just like you, total slut, haaaaaa”
“Lemme change my shoes baby,” removing a different pair of platform boots I donned only to Dj and light some candles in. I always love to strut alone, sexed up in here, with an audience it can be even more delirious.
The cracked inlays of my Adidas ripping at my heels, we descend to the first set of cellars which lay beneath the Bunker. Why didn´t Hidari tell me about this? I always need extra storage space for my burgeoning collections. Now as Captain Xander, bulking and heaving, guides me in the dark, all becomes apparent. Pungent Stench, legendary in their own right, was the only thing I could whisper holding his huge moist hand in the musk. Palm against palm, hearts rocking in gluttonous rhythm, he turns.
Towering over me, finger to his dehydrated lips,”Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh… Lady. Do not say a fucking word from here on in.”
Pressing two short strong impulses against his hand, on baited breath I crept closer to his massive form. The lights flicker and blast black. Fuck me Satan. His hand leaps from mine, to my mouth. I wouldn´t dare to make a sound now in any case. One tear dripped down my face involuntarily, possible allergy to the rank mould.
“I know what to do, keep fucking quiet, girl,” he sniffs, whispering with a faint sound of heels coming from the third floor. Maybe my mind was just working overtime in the darkness, they always take the goddamn elevator here anyways. Clack, snort, creek. Latch hidden behind brick, my dealer unleashed the chamber to the secret second level below. Stairs contemplate our decline in cobwebs, discreet. Finally high as Hell, second thoughts about this early morning adventure ripped at my brain. My Captain was tough as fuck, surely he must have at least one knife on him, plus his size was enough to intimidate the most malicious of thieves or any other more morally depraved than ourselves. Trumpets wept as the lights flicker back on, leaving nothing to the dank depths but more dust, another cellar chamber and rusty iron door. All phantoms fade illuminated.
Stronghold gazing down, once again he pulls a digit to his grimace warning me. I wink, swallowing the end of the sharp chemicals draining, another tear joins with my nagging snot. Shifting ourselves to the end of the hall, my loins start burning. Why did he bring me down here? Just to test my aptitude for dungeons? He should know better. If Fritzl was into cellars and incest, I was just as readily nourished by nightmares. All Austrians hanker for illicit sex in dark chambers.
“Fine take me,” hoarse, I tighten my grip as my panties stick to my leather pants, “Fucking down on your knees baby.”
“Rachael, schnauzer, slut,” he commands me to shut the fuck up.
“Why?” I whisper, eyes seering as the drugs from the past two hours finally hit me like a brick, “It´s just a goddamn cellar. Kampusch is not birthing her incestuous love child down here, freak. Take me, I am so wet. Fuckkkkkk….”
“I think this is the lock to their key, Lady” to the rusted door he points,”Shhh…. We have no idea what waits in the catacombs of the Seventh. Looks like no one opened this door for decades.”
“You have anything else on you?” I meow,” Let´s take one last one before we meet our death or lose ourselves fucking in a mass grave.”