Not every second-hand bookshop has its 'gods and goddesses' section located in a dungeon with live, 24/7, Sub-Dom/S&M entertainment. And, not every second-hand bookshop requires you to strip to your underwear to enter one of its sections through a concealed door disguised as a bookshelf.
Factotum Rarities & Antiquities intrigued me from the moment I first read about its extensive collection of rare 'gods and goddesses' books in Hustler.
A man in a Calcutta bar once showed me a picture of the Stone Goddess. He told me that from the moment he first laid eyes upon her, he knew he could never love another woman in the way that he loved her.
His story intrigued me. The fact that his shirt kept catching on fire due to the heat in his chest made me believe his story. And there was no denying the beauty of the Stone Goddess from her picture.
At the time, however, I was searching for the geographical location of Eden in the Bay of Bengal, and could not afford the time to investigate further.
Plus, the man eventually burst into flames and disintegrated right before my face. And, I had to pay for the drink he offered to buy me, plus his, because his wallet combusted.
But the image of the Stone Goddess's beauty stayed with me (it was seared into my memory), and I promised myself that if I ever did discover where the preternatural garden of paradise was, my next project would be to seek out this Stone Goddess.
Having discovered Adam and Eve's Bones, God's footprints, The Tree of Life (of the knowledge of Good & Evil) with its singed leaves, the flaming sword, Cherubim wing-feathers, the famous fig tree, Eve's virginity, and other associated artefacts, (And having a damn good feed of apples), I was not only the world's most famous archaeologist with more knowledge of good and evil than anyone on the planet, I also had wealth beyond my wildest dreams. (A special thanks must go to 60 Minutes for devoting their entire year's programming schedule to me, and to Time Magazine for doing likewise with not just their covers but the contents). Being the philanthropist that I am, I did loan Bill Gates a bit of money, and wonder if he will ever pay it back.
As soon as the media frenzy died down (which took about two years; but there is still a yearly memorial*), I resolved to keep my promise to myself, to seek out the Stone Goddess.
So, there I was sitting in my underpants in Factotum's dungeon with a raging fat, tying to read about the Stone Goddess while some Dominatrix was whipping this metrosexual pansy to blood through his Armani suit while he was screaming out, 'My mobile phone is ringing. Can't you hear the cool ring-tone? Let me answer it. Do you know how important I am?' And she was saying, 'You faggots make me sick. You're not men. You're not even boys. Now shut up you sooky-la-la.' CRACK! K-CHSSSSSSSH! CRACK!
How I was supposed to concentrate on reading while this was going on, I'll never know. Especially when I wished I was the Dom. Bloody Nancy boys.
Fortunately the book I was reading, 'The Stone Goddess,' soon made me forget everything that was going on around me (but not what was going on in my underpants, for it had pictures).
I soon realised why these rare books were in a dungeon, and why I had to wear my underpants. It was not a security issue after all (as I had initially suspected), it was so I could whack off to my heart's delight.
I must have masturbated over every picture in that book at least ten times. I was there for days.
I was whacked in more ways than ten, as I began to read the text, 'The Stone Goddess'.
And what I discovered was simply Amazing ...
Briefly (well, I'll try) ... the story of the Stone Goddess is this:
High in the Punjab mountain regions near the border of India and Pakistan, in the 'land of five rivers', there still exists to this day, an ancient tribe / civilization called the Amag.
Until I visited the Amag myself, only one white man (outsider) had ever entered the Amag's territory, and he combusted before he could pay for my drink. *
The Amag have always been, and still are a tribe of fearless warriors (both the men and the women). All have royal blood lines dating back 5000 years.
The Amag all possess heroic spirits. Fear is not in their vocabulary (and not just because it is an English word, either, okay? The word 'fear' cannot be translated into Amag because they have no word like that. They are fearless and fear-free. They neither know the word, nor want to know anything about such a word existing). More about the Amag language later.
The Amag are an advanced tribe, not a backward one, even linguistically speaking (well how else can you speak? Braille?). The Amag speak a simple language full of depth, clarity, meaning and subtext. To hear the voice of an Amag? A Christian would swear it was either the voice of an Angel of the voice of God Almighty Himself.
The manner in which Amag's speak? There is so much variety to the tones and inflections, David Attenborough's wife would think she was in an aviary listening to David mimic 1000 different bird calls all at the same time, and probably die of bliss (if she was still alive that is).*
The Amag are a tribe of kings and queens and princes and princesses. There are no classes. They are all equal. All uniquely equal, if that makes sense. It does to me so bad luck if it doesn't to you? ... *
The Amag carry themselves with an air of dignity, gravity, nobility and grace. To see an Amag move? It is as if the most divine music and the most divine poetry imaginable had blended into one and assumed tangible human form. If you could touch music, and cradle it (and even make love to it)? ... If you could insert your favourite words or music into you physically (females) or insert yourself into your favourite music or words (male) ... This would be called Amag. And, in fact it is, but only in Amag. Not in English. The OED is yet to insert Amag under A. Ignorant pricks! *
Yet for all of their dignity and grace? The Amag possess the most exquisite sense of humour, and appreciation of wit. And not just an appreciation of wit. They indulge in, and engage in, and exchange witticisms like modern Westerner TV Zombies channel surf from Foxtel to Free-To-Air.
You will never see an Amag downcast or with a sour expression on their face. Dignified yes. But morose? Never. It's one more word that is not in the Amag vocabulary. There is often a smile on their lips, laughter in their bellies, mirth on their minds, and fire in their hearts (always). The Amag? Passionate. The Amag does not know how to live non-passionately. That is a modern Western disease or moral disorder, okay? The Amag lives with such an intensity from moment-to-moment, each successive moment of their existence, that they live the equivalent of the typical modern Westerner's three-score-and-ten years in one week. Modern Westerners? They do not live life at all. They exist and take up space that could be utilised more effectively. Global Warming? It is all the hot air that Modern Westerners eject into the atmosphere when they talk the rubbish and bullshit and piffle and dribble and banality and inanity that they go on with day in and day out of their meaningless and purposeless and rudderless existences. Again. Modern Westerners do not live. They exist. Passion? The word? It is in the Modern Westerner's dictionaries but should be struck out. *
The Amag are essentially a child-like tribe of true adults. Their aspect is more akin to the innocence of (innocent) children, unless of course they are fucking and then their appearance is simply orgasmic. To see an Amag orgasm? It makes a grown man with no premature ejaculation problems (no interest in Penis-Enlargement SPAM and no interest in Viagra) blow in his pants (if he's wearing any, that is).
An Amag? At first sight? One may be led to use the word haughty to describe the expression on an Amag's face, yet this is not the case at all. It is more their own contentment with and knowledge of their own intellectual and bodily superiority. It is simply a Divine expression. Simply Divine. Or to put it even more simply? Divine. The most simple way to write simply divine? Divine. Get rid of the adverbial prefix simply, for that only complicates what is essentially a very simple process? ... Modern Westerners? Consumeristic Fuckwits. Simply? Fuckwits. No need to add consumeristic? Why? It's not a word. * Modern Westerners? They complicate everything that is simple and do their utmost to destroy simplicity itself. Itself? After simplicity? Superfluous. Simplicity. It's like people who say, I myself, me, personally think. (They're lying. They don't think at all. If they did. They would just state what it is they think, not qualify it, with four different pronounical (another non-word, okay?) versions of ego, just to mention themselves and hear the sound of their own pronounical name a bit more in life, okay?) ...
The beauty of an Amag far surpasses all the natural beauty and wonder of the natural world, even if you could capture it all and bottle the lot of it in one go. (colloquial, conversational tone employed there for a bit, okay?).
Each Amag, is a universe of incomparable delights both exteriorly and interiorly. The exterior of Amags is but an exterior expression of the beauty of their interiors.
The Amag are a deeply spiritual tribe whose focus is love of the divine kind, of the gods and goddesses kind; a love which embraces all of mankind (although they do have their moments when dealing with fuckwits* They love them, but don't particularly like them).*
According to oral tradition, it was members of the Amag tribe who were instrumental in driving Alexander (the not so Great as he thought he was?) from the region when he attempted to invade it in 326BC. But the Amag are a humble tribe. Arrogantly humble. (Again, this is a question of their superiority). The Amag have never taken any credit for their part in this victory. They prefer to live in privacy, and keep themselves to themselves and to the earth. Nothing like a bit of mud sex during monsoonal season, hey? ... *
Apart from spending the majority of their time fucking like rabbits, or dogs on heat, or a bull during mating season, or a horny Lion humping a lioness? (Think Foxtel Animal Channel or whatever it's called. Is it National Geographic Channel?). Amags till and work the earth, growing grains mainly (but also fruit and vegetables, and cotton).
This region is known as 'The Granary of India' and 'The Bread Basket of India'. And the Amag? They're a bun-in-the-oven type of tribe. Sex? Love-Making? It is high on the agenda. And the Amag are into prioritising in life. Love first. Everything else? From Second to Infinity (plus 1), add some, times it by 2, square it, then add a bit more, okay?) ...
