Blog of literary hijinks and the dudnering whirl of expatriotic vitriole.


This is a work by Jim Young, copywright protected.

She was the violence-honed woman I needed, but she was too dumb. She
envied and admired me for my great palace goodness and calm, hating the
impotence which, however, she refused to help me get rid of. She just
admired my calmness and great good mind without thinking it encumbent
on her to help me bring it to action.
Then we met a very hardened, incredible man whose violence was
accompanied by an intelligence equal to mine. He could see what our
situation was at once, and I could see that he saw it. I almost dared
not ask him what he would do. He scoffed at us, yet it was my pride to
have held him, not quailing away from the violence he had ready for me.
And the contempt.
"I've had a thousand girls like Rennie," he finally consented to
admit wearily. He hated taking time to instruct me. It was not fair:
I had had the privilege, whereas he had earned his way. Also, he was
uncertain that my mind did not contain some kind of magic he had not
thought about.
He is caught up with a very well-established, intelligent woman and
does not want to jeopardize that by helping me with Rennie.
"I could fuck her for you, would that help?" I looked away in angry
embarrassment and despair.
He took pity on me, but warily; I could see he was worried that,
should I snatch his ability deceitfully the way the powerful and
privileged had snatched everything else, I might forget about him
What did he want? To become powerful, smug and blind, like me?
Living among the technologues and mechanics, who coddled you, told you
there was no need for violence from a guy like yourself, so talented
you were in running the numbers, arranging the pieces and parts.


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