<< taylor << cover << home
Fiction by Andrew S. Taylor
Music by Steve Kane

You by DK McDonald

The Seven Faces of Assassin:
2. You


       A peel of thunder, the sting of an onion, an unexplained shiver, distant laughter, the lost plastic eye from a doll that stares unblinking, wind through tall grass, crickets, a place beneath the porch where we can hear each other breathe, the smell of camphor on your arms, cobwebs that lift like tiny skirts, clouds captured in a cool bead of glass, lemon seeds, love, a coil of wind that churns the dust, a rusted bicycle sinking into mud, lost in memory, sealed in a jar, locked in a safe, entombed in concrete, left in the shadows, frozen solid, on the surface of the Moon.




The Seven Faces of Assassin:Education by DK McDonald
3. Education


       You can see here, in the first version, it is proposed that the Angel of the Lord was reduced to a miniature size - approximately the height of an apple, according to the text beneath the illustrations. While the Virgin was sleeping alone, the Angel walked between her legs wielding a bright, flaming sword - scaled to size of course - which he used to cut away the hymen. Because the sword burned with a "Holy Fire," the medical text explains that the rending of the hymen was not painful, but rather felt like "the warm finger of a heavenly father pushing apart his infant child's lips to feed him." Discarding the flaming sword, the Angel crawled bodily into the vaginal cavity, stimulated the cervix to dilate, and entered the womb in this manner. Once inside the womb, the Angel of the Lord was able to ejaculate normally. Finishing the task, the Angel returned back through the vaginal cavity, and, calling upon the divine power of resurrection later used to reanimate Lazarus, re-grew the hymen back into its original state.

       Turning now to the second sequence of diagrams, we see a different account bereft of any personification of the Angel of the Lord. In this version, the diagrams illustrate, quite vividly, how the Virgin Mary, by force of will, altered the structure of the inside of her vagina to become a makeshift phallus. First, the entire organ enters a chrysalis-like state, with rolls of skin emerging and growing within the vaginal cavity. Then, the clitoris becomes mobile, and with the onset of autoerotic arousal moves slug-like along the inside of the vaginal cavity in the direction of the cervix. The cervix inverts itself, forming into a bulb that points into the womb, while the clitoris arrives at the head of the shaft to become the glans of the "inner-godhead-phallus-structure." The ovaries, meanwhile, have traveled down along the inverted fallopian tubes, growing testicular structures along the way, and attached themselves to the inner wall of the womb, near the base of the inverted cervix, where they immediately begin producing spermatozoa. At the point of orgasm, the cervix-cum-penis-head ejaculates into the womb a cloud of semen. As the vaginal inverse-erection subsides, the ovarian testicles return to their original position, the cervix recedes, and the clitoris sloughs back to its fleshy perch at the base of the mons.

       Given these discrepancies, write an essay discussing the term, “teach the controversy.”

Religion by DK McDonaldThe Seven Faces of Assassin:
4. Religion


       Beneath the ground, the unspent land mines whisper to one another. When the ground is cold, they sleep, and the words come through the frozen loam with the slowness of dreams. The mines are old, and weary, and in the cold they dream recursively, in gentle circles of dream-reason through which they spiral ceaselessly. The mines are old. They have forgotten who they are, and have come to believe that they are seeds.

       I remember his hand, God’s hand, says one. His hand, so cool and deliberate. His hand, making of this stony ground the softest cradle. His hand, placing me within, covering me with the stars, the sky, the dirt, and the grasses. His earth holds me firm, but His scripture seeps through, in the lime, the stones, the worms. In His soil, moist syllables are stored.

       Another, dreaming loudly, cries. His children! His children pass overhead! Their fresh feet tamp down upon us. The children cry for the flowers to blossom. I call to them! I am here! I am here!

       And the others murmur: There are children here. There are no children here. There are children here. There are no children.

       And one wakes and says I wonder if the Earth turns in its grave, and circles through space, a cool mote of coal on a white-hot cataract, and if the Earth is empty, and if vast rocks howl as the wind carves them. (Sleeping again, it feels the coil and clasp of tumescent roots upon it).

       And a distant sleeper muses, I have been creating a reason. I can do it in my sleep. No listen I. No listen I. In my sleep. I can do it in my sleep. Listen. No, we are not born yet. We cannot leave yet. We cannot be born. Cannot be. No, I have been creating. The memory is what exists is what can be held. The Earth holds us. God memory. God memory. The memory of love. We will be born when God remembers.

       And a restless dreamer says, what is God? I mean, what is worm?

       And the sleeper says. Sleep.

       And the loud dreamer cries, come children! Come place your ears to the ground! Come running, with the new earth to hold up your bare feet! When the rains come. When the rains come. When the long rains come. When the long rains come and the soil spreads, we will blossom.

| top |
Nut-Head Productions
Please report any problems with this site to the Webmaestress
last update: November 19, 2008