6. Wails of The Titans

I begin to see a behavioral pattern in the psyche of this white daemon. He seeks a
way out of his condition, a reasonable and accepted one. He seems to have no pride,
hence no ego, but you’ll never know with aliens – that is why we call them aliens,
because they are from far away, and you’ll never know.
“Oh, Doris, why can’t you always show me the warmth in your heart? Why this cold
shoulder?”
“Because you assaulted, tormented and killed women in the past! You almost
drowned them in your sperm and performed genetic experiments on them and their
offspring, resulting in hideous creatures and much grief. Because you also chased and
killed their men in the process…” Don takes the words of my mouth: “…and because the
deeds of your kind on our planet went so far that the Creator was left only with an
extreme option: flooding the many lands under your rule.” The flood of Noah’s? I find
myself wondering. “Yes, Doris,” answers the daemon. “We caused that major flood; we
have altered the minds and bodies of humans to such an extent that God was forced to
treat them as garbage and to consequently wash them off the face of the Earth. It was us!
It was Ouranos with his insatiable desire to fecundate every woman in his reach, with his
insanely blind disregard for the disastrous outcome. It was me for joining him at the
beginning and then, after mutilating him and forcing him out of Earth, for carelessly
throwing the cause of his madness in the water, so that another maniac, Zeus, with
empirical skills this time, could produce an ungodly race of mutants. I was evil-curious,
then hesitant and then absent-minded. So, after all, maybe I deserve to die and never live
the true dream of a Golden Age.”
He wails like a wimp, this controversial daemon. Stirring compassion. Who knows?
Maybe there is still a way to work things out for him. How? I have no idea. What I can
do for him is to listen. I can’t teach the “time-maker” anything that he doesn’t know. But
I can hear him talking in all honesty. As it seems, this guy cannot lie. He is no deceiver.
A mass murderer he is, and an acolyte in daemon-induced global climate change. How
many other crimes has he committed? I can’t tell. But he can. Oh stop! I know you can
hear my thoughts and I don’t need you detailing to me about every abomination
performed by your kind, regardless if you opposed it, if you accepted or if you did it.
Don’t show me this ugly and sickening side unless I’ll ask expressly!
As a Christian, I have a duty to look for what is worthy of hope and redemption in
the souls of my peers. It turns out that this alien case might be the toughest of all. But, if
taking it the simple way, then here come the simple answers: size matters, for better and
for worse, a tiny man can do little harm, how about the harm that a huge giant is capable
of?; Kronos bears a universal constant in himself, this alone would make him a god in
the eyes of many, and playing god never turns in happy endings – case in point.
Where are my nice earthly men who need a comforting look, few warm words and a
jack off before cooling down their testosterone? Why did the Lord gave me the privilege
to counsel Kronos, the repenting daemon? I wail like a wimp myself, it proves
contagious. So I answer myself with a question: Why not?
Mr. Kronos, blow the clouds of sorrow away and talk to me about heartening things
of the past. Oh, and about women that you helped.
“First I have to confess something to you. It regards the potential harm that I was
able, and prepared, to inflict on you.” On me? When? “Last summer when you made
indirect contact with me by the way of the Cron wandering drone. I offered you, in all
nonchalance, the best fuck ever, only thing left was for you to accept.” And?… I feel a
shiver on my spine… “And… should you have said yes to my Cron, should you have
accepted to be penetrated by it and should its liquids touched you, a terrible disease
would have had you killed in a matter of months. I am deeply sorry…”
“Well, it turns out…” I speak in high voice, not in telepathic thoughts, for Don to
hear what I have to say, “…that you still act as an agent of evil. Not just lurking in the
background but actively interacting and provoking women to deadly sex. How many
drones, damned charming Crons, are playing the shooting star role around Earth? As I
speak.”
“Eighty-two.”
“Call them off! On the spot. Oh, maybe a better idea: put them to self destroy. Get
rid of them. All of them! Did I make myself clear enough? Mr. Kronos, why do you
practice murder, even as you confess about it?”
“I gave the self destruct command… waiting for the last Cron to disintegrate. Now, it
is finished. Sorry to keep you waiting. You asked me why do I keep committing murder
even as I confess about it. Because I am a daemon, that is why! Oh, how I wish to be a
man, to find a relative in my ancestry, to connect with your Lord so I can live to see
what runs beyond the sealed fate of this universe.”
“Well, pray more, you definitely know to Whom, and stop killing people, for Christ’s
sake!” The sharp blade of a new fear sparks in my head. I ask the daemon directly out of
my mind, not wanting to scare Don for nothing. How about your breathing salts that you
breezed us with? Are they potentially harmful? Mr. Kronos?
“No. Not at all. Rest reassured that they are safe and will cleanse your system of all
parasites and toxins. These salts are immune boosters. You inhaled them by sharing the
air with me, not the bed. Big difference, don’t you find?” The daemon may be
dangerous, but he has some positive parts as well. I must admit. Okay, Mr. Kronos, let’s
talk about a woman that you helped.
“There was one, the sweetest of all, they called her Lissi, or Sissi. I suggested her to
sign her poetry with Titania, a name so dear to me. Loved to hear her, to stare at her
beauty.”
You did that via one of your Crons? “Yes, at the beginning.” Seems that she refused
your Cron-mediated sexual advances or else she would have died long before that Italian
anarchist met her in Geneva. Or am I missing something? “No. Not missing much of the
essentials. You are right. She loved her prince too much to fall for the strict carnal love
that my Cron offered her. This means that I never touched her. It also means that we
became best friends. Let me reproduce a few bits of her poetry. I find myself in her
verses.
“O’er thee, like thine own sea birds
I’ll circle without rest
For me earth holds no corner
To build a lasting nest.”
Another one.
“I wander lonely in this world,
Delight and life long time averted,
No confidant to share my inner self,
A matching soul never revealed.”
(Sisi, The poetic Diary)
Titania
“I hasten to the realm of dreams, my master, there are you,
My soul, and heart, they jubilate, for you the only true.“
To my master, 1887
“Elisabeth, who has written poetry since her adolescence, turns more and more
towards lyrical poetry. She loves Homer and writes, inspired by her main idol, Heinrich
Heine, numerous poems, affected by her frustration, her melancholy and her longings,
but also by contempt for mankind and increasing isolation.”
( www.wien-vienna.com/sisi.php )
“Titania shall not go where people walk
This world, where no one understands her,
Where hundred thousand gazers her beleaguer,
Whispering and prying, “Look, the fool, look there!”
Where jealousy and envy sneak her out,
To distort her every action,
She returns homebound to those regions,
Where allied, kinder souls abide.
To Titania, 1888
The giant in front of me is mesmerized. “I was enamored of her beautiful body, of
her fascinating hair, of her celestial grace, of her sensible soul. I could read her mind,
her letters and her verses. I could watch into her. Here, listen to this simple way of her
signing.”
“An endless lake
Is my soul:
I see no end to it”
I wonder if she was conscious of your peeping going so intimately, I ask Kronos
with my thoughts. “She was conscious because she met my Cron, on a full moon night
when she gazed at the stars longing for affection.” Like I did last summer? “Like so
many beautiful women do all the time. It is quite a cliché, don’t you think?” Well, yes.
According to your daemonic mathematical machine, it is a cliché, but according to the
romantic lake to be found inside a woman’s soul, there is no end to see, or to count… So
no!, it can’t be a cliché because it is unique. Every woman is unique in her beauty and
her dreams. Why is this so hard to grasp for you men, …and daemons? “Hah, haaah,
haaaaah…” Not my way, please, turn around when you laugh! “And hah! You are indeed
fascinating, my dear Doris. To make some proper use of the dirty modern language of
your times, I may call you a feminist because of the passion you manifest in defending
your own kind. But then, when looking closer at your soul, I see the generosity in
satisfying your man, this crazy geek sticking his butt to the glass on a quest to capture
the entire universe inside a damn tablet of stone, a simple toy that I handled him so he
may leave me alone, so I can have you all for myself. You can be a feminist for a minute
and in the next minute you can advocate for polygyny, understanding the manly urge of
possessing more women at the same time. Out of your generosity, you even chose to
defend a murderous daemon, like myself, to find a way out for me, to comfort me, even
after I have confessed that I would have killed you, consequent to your consent to sin
with me (which never came). You are fascinating because you walk the fine line with a
courage that scares me. I don’t know where to take you from. I don’t know where to put
you in. You come to me, offering yourself, according to your terms, but still I don’t know
what to do with you. I keep wondering who is owning who in this game of minds and
souls?”
“None of us. You can still move the universe even if you have been trapped under
this rock for eons. You can kill innocent ladies with your delightful drones. You can see
and hear what happens in every corner of this vast celestial world. However when you
notice a naked lady, then all of your wits vanish like the dew in the morning. You are
more of a prisoner of your languishing desires, magnetized by the daughters of Eve and
scared by death. In so many ways, you think like a man. Then, from my perspective,
what am I? A little woman taken by her crazy man wherever he wants to go. I long for
the freedom to fly as I wish, not to dance on his tune, but to sing my own and dance on
it. Telling him this, he gently invites me to write my tune so I can dance on it, he even
asks permission if I will let him peep or even join. He gives me all the keys to my
freedom. Yet, when I hold them in my hand, then I understand how lonely I became
within my self. I wish back in his arms, I wish to rather be his asset than for me to live
on my own. See how complicated is the soul of a woman? When bound to my man, I
long for freedom, and when freed of him, then I crave for binding. Such dichotomies are
very good teachers, eventually. They teach us that everything is naught in this world,
that we have to live the moment and enjoy the best of it, of the better and of the worse,
and then give a thank before we move on to the next moment. In all accordance with
your fractal functions, Mr. Kronos.”
My Don, mentioned by Kronos and by me, throws an expected rant at us without
even bothering to move his eyes away from the tablet. “You are a pair of pussies. The
daemon and the lady. At least the lady owns her pussy. Hah!”
“Do you wish to incite my ego into a fight, Mr. Dawn?” Says Kronos in moderated
voice.
“I just retaliated. Now go on with your pussy talk, oh, sissy talk.” My rude and crazy
man declares himself absent again. I don’t waste a moment away from studying the big
eyes of this daemon. For an instant, I guess…, or maybe I was wrong… was that a tic of
emotion on his face? Did Don hurt him when calling him a pussy?
“It did, my Doris. Any man, or daemon for that matter, will have his feelings hurt
when someone calls him a pussy. But my very long life taught me that a bit of critic is
often better than a lot of praise.”
You were saying that your daemonic soul fell in love with Lissi’s. Was she an
exclusive for you at that time? Did you call back your drones from other distractions?
“Yes and no. There were moments when she had my heart on fire. So ardent was my
desire to comfort her soul, to sustain her, to be there and cover her with my love, that I
couldn’t focus elsewhere, on the drones. It is no logistic hassle to handle, because when I
can’t focus on them, then the Crons just fly idle by the moaning gooses staring at the sky.
Nothing happens. No potentially deadly romance for any of them.” Hey, wait a minute! I
have asked you to stop killing people and disable all of your drones. Eighty-two, you
were saying. Hope that you completely destroyed them, that they vanished, for good,
kaput, the end, rien va plus, les jeux sont faits! Am I right?, or you just let them fly idle
for another time? Tell me! “All my eighty-two active drones are kaput.” Please tell me
that you won’t build new ones and, if any inactive drone escaped your annihilation, that
you will destroy it as well. “All my drones were active, why keeping them inactive? I
am telling you that I won’t build new ones, although I had quite some plans. It all
depends on what your man discovers with that tablet. But I wish to have the friendly
humans in my plans, rather than shooting drones to seduce and kill their women with. So
rest reassured, I don’t lie to you.” Sounds good. However, I can’t say that I trust you
entirely. Guess that I shall need more time for that.
“He doesn’t have that time, Doris.” Mumbles Don my way. Hm, the god of time has
no time? Weird!
“Might be weird for humans believing in the illusion of time, Milady. Not at all
weird if you do the maths. Which is, Mr. Dawn?”
“Consequent to my analysis, I am about to offer you a set of solutions with a logic of
implementing. Should you consider my report, I am open to elaborate and assist you to
perfect your plans for an afterlife. Premise number one: putting all your righteousness
aside, you shall humble yourself and beg forgiveness from your daemon peer Ouranos,
for castrating him; the case will be closed once he will forgive you. Premise number
two: stop looking for daughters of Eve; God is not pleased about this and He will never
allow one of your kind to mate with one of ours; I am positive that there are beautiful
titan-type women out there, probably one in the waiting for her daemon-charming,
which is you; else, why all this tumult in your soul?; hence, there is a call for you to
mate and you have been knocking at the wrong door for too long; change your habits
and focus where you are meant to be accepted. Premise number three: confess about the
unspeakable sin that you committed in the Prior Age against God’s chosen, therefore
against Himself; bring yourself at peace with your Creator, surrender your soul to Him
and expect nothing, so you may receive! That’s all, man!”
“Wow! Did you call me MAN?”
“If you don’t mind…”
“I don’t. Not at all. Are you really serious about the titan-ladies out there? Where?
Where?”
“First things first. Premise number one is seeking forgiveness from Ouranos. I know,
this is not the most pleasing step, but the necessary one for you to initiate a change in
your life. Do you understand what I mean?”
“I’ll have to make some efforts in that respect. When can we start working on it?”
“Dunno. I say we keep in touch. There will always be a next time.”
“Always?”
“Almost always, man! Doris, get ready, our first visit to Saturn is approaching to an
end. We’ll be back!” I look at my hubby, trying to make a sense out of his haste. Why do
we have to go so soon? “Well…” hesitates the daemon, “you may take your time… but
you may leave if you so desire… I won’t be the one halting you here.”
“Exactly!” Shouts Don. “But a technicality in translation might just have us trapped
for good under this rock. I wonder if you were so dumb to have had ignored this matter
the first time you came here. Then, after jumping the interval of grace, you had no way
out. Not anymore! Which should be your mistake, not mine. I don’t want to spend the
rest of our lives in this prison of perfectionism. I want to be free. Which works in your
best interest as well, because it may prove instrumental for you, having two friends, like
me and Doris, free to roam the distant corners of the universe as match makers in your
name. Far better than your killing Cron drones. Agree?”
“Agree!”
“Can I have the tablet?”
“Only if you leave the polar suits in exchange.”
“Deal!”
Don is hurrying me up to approach him and to jump in his arms, my legs wrapped
around his waist. Gathering the new gadget in his hand (I can feel the square stone’s cool
touch on my back), he waves to the daemon with his other hand. I turn to wave him too,
but he is no more, replaced by the brighter chilling white in the imponderable middle of
the Sun, then by the dusty windows and burned oil smells of our garage.
“We are back home, honey! Phew, that was close.”
“What was close?”
“Look over here.” He shows me his newly acquired tablet. There is a mist right over
the surface of stone. Through this layer of mist, of about one centimeter thick, I can see
colors, digits, images, vectors, stars, all sorts of media.
“Are those real?”
“Depends, some of them yes, real time captures of actual events, according to
location, and some of them equations and trajectories helping my mind to make some
sense of what I see. Look over here now.” His finger points to the right bottom of the
misty 3D screen. I look over there, listening to him. “A spiral shell with flashes of green
and orange. How cute.”
“Not cute at all, my bunny! This is a countdown. When the shell turns red, it’s over.
If this would have caught us under the rock inside Saturn, we’d be kaput! Prisoners
forever.”
“There’s no such thing as forever, Don!”
“There’s no such thing as a single one “forever,” but there are many “forevers,” time
traps so subtly intertwined that not even the groovy god-of-time could escape one. Hah!”
“I can hardly understand what you tell me, Don, I feel that I’m lost.”
“No surprise about that, Doris. We’re all lost, a way or another. Prisoners to the
illusion of time. One more catch is that we have to deal with more illusions of time, they
are encapsulated, like the Russian dolls, one inside another, one hiding the next one.
Unfortunately, Kronos, with all his universal wits, has ignored this elementary fact.”
“Probably he was taken away by pride and by his desire to build the Golden Age of
yore, free of immorality and dedicated to eternal peace. As a King of Titans, his
progressive plans ended in bitter space wars and even more tragedy for the human race,
that he initially wanted to protect. See where from comes the deepest deceit?”
“From politics, yes. I see.”
“I wonder, Don, shall Kronos find a bride for his soul?”
“He? Nah. We shall find him a braud, a huge twat, that is. Imagine you can have a
swimming pool between her labia. You can scuba dive in her vagina. You can conquer
her nipples like the Everest. Whoaaa!”
Alright… time for breakfast. Let’s call it a morning…
* * *