Joelle “Snow” White [pt.III]


Observant Charlie K. bursts back into speech before unjolly Joelle

–      This is not a judgement, I’m just stating my theory here: You were running around the neighborhood, Gaia Hills in case you are indeed wondering, circling this block trying to score. Isn’t that  a better approximation of what happened Joelle?

And onto the face of not-so-tall Charlie leaps this, what J.S.W. perceives as, demonic grin of which she is certain that the corners of the mouth any moment will touch all the way in back of his head and the upper three quarters of his slightly distended noggin ghastly come tumbling down.

Joelle makes one violent nod resembling closely the beginning of a seizure, which she does to shake the vivid image of Charlie Kreyzey’ head falling apart out of hers. When in full craving the most ghastly imagery begins invading Joelle’s head so that nasally ingesting serious blow is not just about feeding the need but also, to a considerable extent, keeping at bay utter, horrific lunacy, e.g. perceiving the whole world as this beautiful, perfectly symmetrical[!] artifice in which she is the only horridly unsymmetrical object, as well as filled with an unspeakable terror of spending the remainder of her infinite days bereft of an axis of symmetry. Not just virago H. Trefoil’s doing, this bad combo of Joelle and snow, Fey Konman, bastard supermodel agent can be assigned blame too.

Normally, C.K.’s perceptive unveiling of J.S.W’s deepest self would stun the beauty but in this case the consequence is a different one as she follows correctly that if Charlie has the kind of eye that is discerning enough to id a dope fiend in a few passing seconds then surely this same character, especially when residing in a “crack house”, must by all logical means have connectivity with traffickers, possibly kingpins or even, in a lair of his own down the glittering hallway stash a few ounces. This associative chain just lights up as one involved glyph of insight before her cranked mind, then translates onto her features as a grin to end all grins.


A little backtrack is in order.

Joelle’s mother Angelina, while she is still cardiovascularly viable, is the most beautifulest dope cutress of a veritable troupe of dope cutters who are under the sway of Altra Luna’s highest-ranking drug trafficker Nicholas “King” White who reigns the cocaine dominion with a brutality that is unmatched in all the lands, including head severings, feet roasting, penile electrification, Piranha feeding, Vlad Ţepeş-inspired impaling, etc.

One day, Angelina has been working particularly long hours after a giant boat load of cocaine processed into clothing and chocolate has shipped in from Columbia. She is at this time out to impress Nicholas White with her work ethic, chopping up rocks like nobody’s business in her ebonywood working nook under bright fluorescent light, preparing dime bags and eight balls and such with great celerity.

However, given that this is her second straight night of chopping up the bright white her concentration level is beginning to severly lag and her handle on the cutting implements is exponentially decreasing. Eventually Angelina, working furiously to a booming beat from Lady BlahBlah’s latest single, suppliers coming in and out of the damn place like it is Ellis Island back in the early 20th, now and then vacuuming a line to keep up the pace, with all this shit going down she accidentally deeply lacerates her left palm from which immediately blood springs forth onto the sizable white mound upon the very black tabletop. ‘Tis a lovely sight: the ruby red blood, the snow white yayo, the ebony desk. Thus Angelina speaks:

–       Would that I had a child as white as blow, as red as blood, and as black as Ceylon ebony.

And so yes, soon after this doped out conjuration, sure enough, King White lies down with the drop-dead junkie. However, before making it through a laborious parturiency Angela White has an unlucky fall in one of the local crack palaces cracking her very own vertebrae. This doesn’t kill her on the spot but puts her into a permanent vegetative state in which King White only keeps her so she can give birth to their little baby boy, that he may take over the city’s syndicate whenever either the heat or one of the King’s pathetic rivals per chance lays him out cold. 



About tmabona

writer, reader [bolano, DW, bellow, deLillo], runner, badmintoneer
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