Altar Boys

I saw the nanny, whom we called aunt Mercy, too, ravished by a Centaurus in a dream one night. Her brother had said during dinner earlier that evening that it’s possible to genetically engineer a hybrid out of a man and horse, but that the myth surpassed the reality as it’d probably be a sorry creature, neither beast nor man; neither full animal strength nor man’s sad case of reason. “If anyone is to blame, is reason. Since then, we’re lost.” Lucid dreaming, I remember him saying that and more, as I stood by the door dividing the two dimensions. In one of the rooms, behind me, was a memory of an event past, talk of science fiction and deplorable human/horse hybrid (a Centaurus is a mythological creature, composed of a half upper body human and a lower horse body, the mixture of man and horse; in order to breed such a beast, a woman and a horse, or a mare and a man are needed) and the other, the lucid dreaming of an adulterous nanny, whom we later in life referred to as “aunt”, perhaps as a precaution to other people’s sensibilities or to avoid social embarrassment.
Aunt Mercy ran her own scheme of life, fucked her brother for years, lived with him more as a concubine than a sister, had an abortion once by another man. That subject was taboo, no one would dare bring up. It nearly destroyed their relationship, she didn’t want to terminate the pregnancy but her brother was so adamant. I thought it’d irreparably destroy their relationship. Either way, one would reason, an incestuous bond like theirs wouldn’t last.
But they always found ways to fight over nonsense, just to spice things up in intimacy; it really seemed, after a while, that their feuds were staged, their behavior theatrical, but make-up sex was cathartic.
In fact, it started as a fight as children. They didn’t grow together but had spent a few years of their early upbringing in the same house. I guess, there was that year when all those cousins coincided in a particular grandparent’s house because all of their respective fathers were out in the world. What reasons make men leave their young and pretty wives, their siblings, life the way their parents knew it. It was another era, men were tired of the norm, there really wasn’t much punishment for a man who deserted his family, not even child support. Of course, the majority stayed but a significant amount of men left their loved ones behind instead of manning up to their duties as family men. They were more or less children at heart.

Lucid dreamers see this very reality of ours, the real reality we live in, here and now, as another dream. Knowing that the reality you’re immersed in is nothing more than the mere projection of your mind. Being aware of the dream you’re in makes you lucid. Lucid dreamers is what we are, since we know that this reality of ours, too, is a dream. Real is what you make of it; you can say it’s completely made-up. Every society lived by its own rules and we are, in the vast majority of cases, designed by the time we happen to be in.
In the dream, her husband’s voice echoed like a reverberating stream of consciousness. I ran through the forest… there was a river nearby, it formed a lake farther down the stream, a waterfall … and through it, I walked into a cave seeking shelter from the thunderstorm. There I saw a half man, half horse beast, half-witted, impetuous, as if you had startled a horse in a stable. The half torso upper part of that creature, the man half, tried to gain back control, take the reins and whip back. But as soon as he or it realized I represented no real threat to his domain, he kept on fornicating. He was insatiable and aunt Mercy could barely take him. Instead of begging him to stop, as she was initially, though theatrically and unconvincing, Mercy would egg him on.
Aunt Mercy was supposed to be a nun, her parents knew she wasn’t all that bright and therefore had arranged for her to live in the monastery where she would be taught how to cook and wash clothes. But aunt Mercy hated the faithful ones, she found them irrepressibly phony, hypocritical.
To prove her point, she went on a fucking spree. With the exception of the gayest of the bunch, Mercy succeeded in laying her vengeance on all others: from aspiring priests to altar boys, even her own little brother. She even fucked the holiest one of them all: the priest in charge of the church, Umberto de las Cien Marías . The priest had never shown desire for a woman; instead of seducing him, Mercy treated him scornfully, appealing to his masochist nature. It didn’t take long before she found his weakness: he enjoyed when Mercy assumed the role of his mother, the most dominant figure in his mind. She unleashed the stagnant energy the holy man had repressed for years, made him get in touch with his inner demonic child. His mother had been overbearingly manipulative, part of the reason he ended up as a church minister.
Mercy would lull him to sleep, give him his bottle, reprimand him if necessary, put the child to bed, play the good mom and give him a taste of the bad mother to the fucker. For years, Umberto had ruled those around, he was well respected and admired by his peers. He was feared, for sure; though there was a softness to him, he had gotten to where he was in life following an inhuman discipline, being a devout man with fierce oratory, and had once been accused of improper behavior a few times. For sure, Umberto chose the prettiest girls to serve as nuns, none of them would dare look him in the eye, but unabashedly upfront and straightforward Mercy looked him right on. That’s how she found out the priest had a thing for girls, not just the altar boys. Mercy wasn’t out to expose him initially, but when they had a fallout later, she decided to stop covering her tracks and these all led back to the priest, Umberto. Rumors,
It was a scandal unlike any other in the small town, and since then aunt Mercy’s reputation as having an insatiable carnal appetite was cemented. Aunt Mercy had lived with her little brother since they first fucked and he went on to marry another woman and have that woman assimilate the situation with his sister, how they got along so well they still lived together until adulthood and how she’ll always be a very important part of his life. And how he’ll never be apart of his sister. Tony had the two women for himself, and since he still had plenty of money left and a lot of character, they both followed his lead and accepted his will.
In the middle of the forest, he built a small cabin underground, camouflaged with vegetation, almost impossible to spot unless by chance.

Little brother’s name Anthony, but we all called him Tony. He was only seven years old when he first saw his half wicked sister Mercy. A woman, claiming to be her mother, said Mercy belonged with her father. She was a stunning fourteen year old girl, didn’t look anything like dad, perhaps the woman wanted to get rid of her daughter and couldn’t find a better excuse. Why would she wait until her daughter was almost of age to get rid of her? Nonetheless, dad seemed unfathomable, rocking back and forth on his rocking chair, dumbfounded by the news but somehow detached, unmoved. It’s obvious he recognized the woman whom he had an affair for years, but the flaming teenager branded in front of him did not quite fit the picture. Later on, dad reasoned he had been depleted by a long day at work and so decided to forfeit the most important battle of his life, the custody for his illegitimate daughter, as something far beyond him.
If dad had been more dedicated, he would’ve been an alcoholic; instead, he just drank heavily. Spare the alcoholic stigma, he was just an asshole, sober or drunk. His name isn’t even worth mentioning and the only reason he took Mercy in to live with his wife and son, it was because he wanted her for himself as soon as he saw her. He even went a few weeks without drinking, just to impress her. We all thought he was a born-again Christian. For a month or so too, he found employment and provided for us, like he rarely did before and never again.
It all lasted until he found his way back to the easy way out of doing things, and simply sat to watch football and drink his six-pack of malt beer, working odd job randomly, enough to pay his share, specially since he sensed that Mercy, his alleged daughter, wasn’t really all that impressed with his reverse midlife crisis (get it? since midlife crisis aren’t about positive changes, doing the right things for the wrong reason still qualifies as a crisis, perhaps even worse since the individual will harm someone else with his actions.
Men are propelled into action by the vilest incentives. The acquisition of power, one that will suffice their constant search for a one-way ticket out of mediocrity, as if we were all meant to be chosen. Men’s drives are power, ambition, greed, and in this ego-based economy what you make is what you are. Of course, women will still be attracted to a spiritual fuck but eons of years of evolution will make the female choose the most likely mate to survive and social status, solvency, go hand in hand. So, you may get to have her your way and one day she’ll just leave you for someone better, more economically viable. Either you have the hunger and determination to make it in the cruel world of business, or you become a more sedentary man, a pacifist, a lover, immersed in practices of the soul: meditation, exercise, literature, music, the arts, introspective disciplines that make space in life for what really matters: peace, health/longevity, intimacy/women, and the pursuit of higher states of consciousness.

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