In my cell, I have no sexual desire,
per se.
But I do dream.
One night or day, I dreamt a dream of history and fact,
real and true, but bizarre.
Vienna.
The emperor,
an energetic innovator in many ways,
has chosen not to marry,
still, he has urges,
but proudly Catholic,
he believes masturbation is a self-indulgent sin,
so he satisfies himself by raping his gardener’s daughter, daily,
and visiting a brothel, treating the women roughly,
using and abusing,
sluts and low-lifes that (he believes) they are,
scum,
cum,
scum,
deplorable,
idiotic piety and blasphemy,
blood and bruises,
internal, external,
if only he’d been considerate enough to touch himself.
…
Hail to the emperor,
he is a paragon of shit!
…
At that point, my dream becomes a fantasy:
I dream that the women of Vienna,
The Holy Roman Empire in full,
mobilize on the puny prick
and rip him to shreds.
…
Come the revolution!
…
I wake up.
Everything was as it had been.
…
