SERPENT’S BOULEVARD

There is a certain futility when ensconced in an idyllic, yet ever so tedious Nirvana only to be consumed with wanderlust. A contradiction? I think not. Whatever, Nirvana was not for her, this she already knew, or thought she knew, all too well. Moreover, and in her heart of hearts she was well aware, having skimmed through the rainbows-end’s all-knowing communiques, that beyond the far horizon lay a place of delectable debauchery. In short, the chastity of her current divine abode was insufficient and that was an undeniable fact. The grass is always greener, and what worth immortality without gaiety; without carnal passion? It was thus that she packed a bag with the merest sufficiency of ‘this and that’ and took of her leave.  Oh yes, I nearly forgot, ‘her name’, a debatable subject, as it varied from night to night and hardly mattered anyway.

I first met with her in the filthy…in more ways than one…surroundings of Babylon, a revelation to one and all who arrived at this destination from a ‘safer’ place where love trumped lust. Tiresome that that could be, it mattered; it mattered a lot to the so-called blasphemous many. At the very least, Babylon was a centre for sensual pleasure where lust held sway.

Not long after her arriving I became aware that she’d elected to live here until hell froze over, as would a fish to water. In doing so, what a relief for her as she’d never have to join the virtuous coy brigade ever again, for now she would find debauched nourishment feasting upon the willing flesh of male or female…in essence, echoing me, me the renowned Libertine.

Of course I warned her that the brew of licentiousness comes from a bottle that one day would run dry. She cared not. She had uninhibited lovers far and wide, me included, in their proud number. The thing is she over looked that time plays unbelievable games. She didn’t understood that, poor girl.

Regardless, I had not come across her for what seemed like an age until, during the hours of lecherous darkness, I found her revelling in the company of wanton degenerates in some cheap bar just this side of Gehenna. Once duly sated she took a breather. We got to chat to catch up on ‘this, that and the other’. Eventually, the time came to bid her farewell. At that she, called me back; grasped my hand imploring, ‘Take me back to Nirvana, I forgotten how to get there. This game I have been playing no longer suits’. My face, at first quizzical, then quite blank, when I told her, “Surely you know, there is no going back.”

For the record, the last I heard of her she was making a small fortune selling her wares to the adult sons and daughters of Saint Wickedness, in a ritzy bordello on the Serpent’s Boulevard. Was she content? I didn’t know. As I said before, ‘there’s no going back’, so she had to derive pleasure from the demanding bastards like me. Such is a deathless life.

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