Sunday, December 23, 2007

1. Miss Semipalatinsk's Extraordinary Spasm #1

Miss Semipalatinsk’s extraordinary spasm rips her body to pieces - but all Mangels sees is a flash of blurred motion.

Then a moment of clarity, a cloud of gorgeous jewels, scintillating in the rough shape of a woman. These crude contours then warp, stretch, compress to a dense sphere which explodes immediately in a spray of bright elastic. Again the iconography of the female body presents itself, before fracturing with the sound of breaking glass - and recreating itself a hundredfold.

Mangels cannot help but look at her - however mutilated, transformed. However monstrous her agony. Somehow, she is become the feminine mystery incarnate, coruscating in brilliant pieces, ricocheting hysterically from one end of his plush cabin to the other.

She is evolved and, at last, perfect.

Six months ago, Mangels plucked Ms Semipalatinsk 2037 from near-victory in a bogus international beauty quest. He has come to know her well since then. His affirmations of love have been many and mucid. She has been his constant companion through a full, hair-raising season of Solar Safari.

Yet these things are no longer important.

Suddenly and for the first time he can remember, he feels himself driven by an imperative not rooted in his glands. The germ of something sacred, a feminine quiddity, is exposing itself here, sloughing the girl’s base flesh as a lover, reckless for the touch of her partner’s skin, will desperately shed her clothes.

Mangels shows no sign of hearing the ship’s plangent distress tones. Absently, he tethers himself to a bulkhead as the atmosphere blows past towards a rent in the hull. Naked, but for a monogrammed jockstrap, he stares into what Miss Semipalatinsk is becoming…

A treasure beyond imagining.

Then loudly a generic female voice, urgent, intrusive...

“Raszewski’s out. Your turn now.” Bolex, the advenurer’s vintage Pratt & Whitney peripheral, is drifting towards him, legs trailing like the tentacles of a squid. “We’re compromised. The hull is shriveling. Counting four minutes to hard vacuum.”

But Mangels is transfixed. In her previous flesh the woman had been beautiful. Now she is transcendent...

“Mangels? You conscious?”

Bolex is beside him now, legs radiating from her shell like the spokes of a bicycle wheel, mooring her to the cabin walls.

“Kingsize chunk of frozen faecal matter. Mangels?”

There is no response.

“It totaled the airplant, Mangels. New Harmony is either weak on hygiene or very strong on make-do ballistics.”

With a beatific smile, Mangels allows himself to drift into the cloud of hot, miraculous jewels. He cannot abide the thought of leaving Ms Semipalatinsk.

4 comments:

H.Glass said...

while we are faecally focussed, may I direct you to Dysthymiac's link DonkeyBlog - his new post describes Tibet's outdoor toilets - just crap in the river in public.
It's rivetting reading.

and poor Mangels.
on the horns of a dilemma.
Will he stay with Ms P and be torpedoed by frozen turds forever?
Maybe they are Tibetan Turds recycled.
Onward and Upward!

Bwca said...

oh drat.
She's Ms SemiP ...

and here is the link to that DonkeyBlog post - he's a great guy:

Sam Sejavka said...

Congratulations, h.glass. First comment. I warn you now, this novel is longer than Dune. Mangels, a hint. Remember Alby Mangels?
same thing.

Ann O'Dyne said...

Dune? that was the one that idiot hippies bought to take the place of LOTR in their woven shoulderbags about 1970.
I was discovering Raymond Chandler and despising handcrafts at the time.

Alby? ... OH! and Judy Green his nubile assistant ... naturellement, and quel obvieuse.

oh the Old Days were much funnier than the Dannii and Delltaa drivel we are dished-up these days.

keep on rockin