Download Palomares Bomb Grrls by Johhny
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PALOMARES BOMB GRRLS JOHNNY PULP A 1 published by ALIENIST magazine www.alienism.eu JOHNNY PULP, 2018 2 3 1 L-Bomb knew something was wrong. She looked at the city clocks high in their insane towers. She knew they were ticking towards a catastrophic event. All she could see & hear was a darkness circling round & round like distressed hyperarousal caught in a time spinning down & down to the blank darkness at the bottom of the well. The well is a dreaming woman’s eye. Sunshine blasted down on her gorgeous face. By the canal she felt her powerful leg muscles tauten beyond sentience. Her insanely sensual body moved beyond willpower on the threshold of inexpiable elation. Invisible, she slowly eased her fingers between her legs & slowly rubbed herself in the place of all mysteries until liquid euphoria blasted her eyes open & parted her slow lips to a pleasured intense orgasmic groan. ‘Tick fucking tock’ she growled but her eyes twinkled. This weird catastrophe-trauma-input she had taken from the clocks was the sort of stuff she dealt with all the time. It was what she did. She had curves in all the right places & skin as smooth as all our denunciations & promised lands. Her breasts & ass were the movements of a universe, sex de-stressors from the far reaches of a fractal universe that no one could ever grasp in its entirety. And she fought metaphysical evils with a brain like a bonfire. ‘Life can be vanity, but it can also be vexatious when this sort of thing gets in under cover of night’ she remarked to herself. She was brooding on the sense of super bad things coming in from the night. She was moving like an assassin of imperfections through her Hackney, along the trace lines of the Roman-times Ermine Street that passed to the west of what is now Hackney Central, a land once covered with open oak & hazel woodlands, with marshland around the rivers & streams that crossed the area of the Catevallauni tribal territory. L-Bomb saw all this with her 90/90 vision- vision ray-gun eyes, & she enjoyed roaming the present via her parallel time-travelling ability. She moved through her own private 6th century Saxon settlement known as Haca’s ey – or raised ground in marshland – a settlement near Hackney Brook that relocated to the higher ground around the later St Augustine’s Tower. Her body remained in perfect synchronicity with both the ancient & the new. Her old Hackney had been hidden from the Norman Domesday Book by being enclosed within the manor of Stepney, & she was similarly hidden from her modern contemporaries who saw her as just a sexy girl on a damn fine bike. Of course her immense intelligence was a complete secret. Her t-shirt & tight tie-dye leggings hugged her perfect warrior sex body as she biked through the modern streets to the old church. In the churchyard stands the tomb of Francis Beaufort, deviser of the Beaufort wind force scale; & that of John Hunter, the second governor of New South Wales, Australia. The Loddiges family also has a tomb in the churchyard & memorials within the church but she wasn’t there to meet with them. Sitting on a wall sat the ghost of Anthony who’d died first time round at the age of 4 105 in 1630, the first recorded black resident of Hackney. ‘Hi girl, you looking fine’ he greeted her but despite his cheery smile L-Bomb could sense he was uneasy. ‘What’s going down Anthony? Something in the air I can tell,’ she said. ‘Something came into the city last night’ Anthony replied. ‘I have a bad feeling. You know what it is?’ she said. ‘We dead folks like to steer clear of this sort of thing. It’s strong,’ whispered Anthony, his wraith-like figure shimmering on the wall in a grey vaporous separateness. Dappled light through the trees felt melancholic. ‘Can you find out more? I don’t like to be in the dark,’ L-Bomb whispered. ‘Sure, sure, but I aint going too close. Like I said, this thing, it feels bad…’ said Anthony. L-Bomb glanced at the old ghost’s face & saw fear there, a shy glimpse of it that she could tell embarrassed him. She said nothing more. ‘Awful lonely,’ sighed the ghost, suddenly horny at the sight of the super fit Grrl standing there all ready to do the biz with unknown forces of evil or whatever. L-Bomb grinned & felt a surge of the cataclysm that was her own body, its glacial erotic landscape pursuing itself like a perpetual orgasmic crucifixion of delight. ‘You’re a fucking ghost,’ she retorted, & placed her hand where his cock would have been. ‘Just air,’ she commented, licking her lips & slowly stroking herself as the ghost in primal despair faded from view. Her therapeutic eyes saw what was now more real than ever – trees deliberately burnt into crosses, or beings, often doubles, expressing some strange duality reduced to its prime element in a sign, enclosed in a ring that was the rough shape of the edges of the cemetery. In the surrounding trees she could see embedded spears, trefoils & acanthus leaves. Here & there, in sunken places, she saw corridors choked with rocks, rows of weird Egyptian ankhs deployed in files, & in the architecture of the stone church secret doors of Tarahumara houses with Mayan world-symbols inverted, triangles whose points were joined by a bar, a bar that was, she knew, the Tree of Life, passing through the centre of a centreless reality right here in an obscure, overgrown patch of Hackney. Her grey eyes fixed on the spears, crosses, trefoils, leafy hearts, composite crosses, triangles, the strange beings that confront & oppose themselves as doubles, a division, a war that carried heavy memories, & she felt sadness sweep across her. This was the real history, encrusted in rockfaces, stones, tree barks, roads & slipways, signs as genuine as those carved in jade, hammered iron, rituals of the Flood, a primitive disaster conceived of as a cleansing. She hopped on her bike & rode on, looking like a shooting star when under the Victorian iron bridge at Mare Street. 5 The bridge was one of the barriers erected to bar their entry. Whose entry? The doubles who were coming through. She swore to herself. Bad stuff. Everyone she saw was now potentially a danger or in danger. She felt her heart beating slow & strong beneath her perfect breasts & enjoyed the bike tight & snug between her legs hissing along like a gigantic serpent, each surge of her own power tilting her fibres in a kind of erotic hyper- awareness of the environs. She was summonsing her powers knowing this was going to be a day of trouble. ‘Hey gorgeous, give us a shag,’ grinned a youff at the far side of the road. ‘You’re sexual precocity does you no harm, but I fear you harbour violent & fascist tendencies that need to be curbed before I even consider your kind offer,’ L-Bomb responded politely. The youff looked a little taken aback by this no-nonsense come-back. ‘Fuck you, you middle class bitch. Now I just want to brick you,’ he snarled & began to move towards L-Bomb. She was faintly annoyed as she knew there were bigger fish to fry than this annoying twat. However, she also calculated that this wouldn’t take long. ‘How’s about I take you behind that bush there & we discuss this further?’ she suggested as he stormed towards her. ‘How about I just beat you to a pulp & then fuck you senseless, bitch cunt?’ roared the youff who seemed to lack any awareness of a decent chat-up. L-Bomb had anticipated this. Without dismounting, she shot out her right foot & slammed it into his pale drooling face. Kaboom!!! Blood & gunge sprayed out of the goons’ face. Spinning round on one wheel L-Bomb cracked her fist down onto his skull cap with lightening speed. The youff crumpled up unconscious at her feet, blood & gunge spraying out of his desiccated head like the end of some collapsed ritual. Peddling away, L-Bomb knew that this was going to be a difficult day. ‘Shitbags’ she hissed. In Broadway market she found Janine, her self-effacing lesbian Yoga pal who ran a market stall selling assorted Yoga gear such as Ultralite gym running tops & bras, Queenie K power stretch & high waist yoga pants, an assortment of leggings – nine points leggings – seamless bra-pants leggings & so on, plus compression dry fit tank tops, racerback & pants sets & that kind of jazz. ‘Janine, we need to talk. I need some help,’ said L-Bomb. Janine loved it when L-Bomb asked for help because she was always looking to shag her friend. ‘You’re looking very lovely today,’ she grinned. Janine had curves in all the right places & wore her Bluester athletic workout yoga leggings to show off her fine ass & thighs. She knew she had legs that reached the sky. L-Bomb was always impressed. 6 ‘Come inside & we’ll talk,’ sighed Janine who moved from the street into the dark snug of a rented room off the market. She pulled down the blinds & locked the door. ‘What can I do you for?’ she slyly enquired. ‘There’s trouble come in during the night. As you know, I can sense things others can’t. And this morning I awoke with alarm bells going off all over.’ ‘You’re always aiming at maximising happiness Grrl,’ commented Janine with deep love & approval.