"Ian Watson & Roberto Quaglia - The Mass Extinction of My Beloved" - читать интересную книгу автора (Watson Ian)

nothing. The sacred shouldn't be something visible, for then it is vulgarised and sold as souvenirs.
Consequently what is recognized as sacred isn't sacred any more — it's banal. And banality is
blasphemous, for it denies the ideal beauty that is beyond this world, the domain where the perfect
archetypes of all animals exist, and to which they ought to return — "

How I admired and lusted for her, and wished to burrow under the sheet to explore the mystery of
hidden lips that never speak yet are so expressive.

"Be quiet!" thundered Alberto. "Retro me, Bardot. The churches will pray against extinction, which is
Darwinian and denies the hand of God."

"Oh, the controlling hand. But God doesn't control anything in the cybernetic homeostatic sense, to
maintain life! It is Mankind which tries to control everything, a crazy ambition continually denied by
hurricanes and earthquakes and diseases. God's is the hand of destruction. So now I'm performing God's
work." God, I admired her even more at this moment.

"You are Eve with the poisonous apple!" Alberto brandished his crozier, but then perhaps he thought of
possible paparazzi at the window — paparazzi get everywhere. A photograph of a half-exposed Bardot
and a bishop in full regalia might be misinterpreted.

"Dieu créa la femme," said Brigitte, alluding to one of her films.

And I reflected on how much I, Giuseppe Machiavelli, had transformed my Brigitte — recreating her as
an agent of extinction, so that she would continue to be my Beloved — so that I was also a bit Godlike.
Being in bed with a beautiful woman and causing her to exclaim Yes often has this effect on a full-blooded
man.

"Giuseppe, " my cousin Alberto said, "this madness must stop! Free your life from this bitch, for the sake
of your soul! Be aware that the Holy Father has already undertaken timely action to free the world as
soon as possible from the diabolical activity of this army of clones of evil!" So saying, he departed.

I was worried. If the Catholic Church had taken this matter so badly, the future existence of the Brigitte
Bardots was at risk. Stalin once mocked the Vatican with the famous question, "How many divisions
does the Pope have?" But Stalin and Communism had disappeared from the world and the Catholic
Church was stronger than ever. If the Vatican bigwigs set out to free the world from the Brigitte Bardots,
for sure they would succeed. And I would lose my sweet little blonde toy, the most wonderful female
human creature that nature ever produced, whom my skills were able to magnetize into my bed, and
likewise in the bathroom, on the stairs, in the garden, in the swimming pool, in the sauna and once even in
a church, in a confessional. By now I couldn't exist without her. This mustn't happen! Oh, spirit and DNA
of my great Machiavellian ancestor, come to my aid!

"My dearest, the Church doesn't understand our sacred mission, of charitable acceleration of inevitable
extinction." My face must have exhibited the pain of rectitude.

"The Church isn't about understanding," Brigitte replied, "but about the management of mysteries. So why
be surprised?"

"I'm not, I'm worried. For them you're a demon, and they'll destroy you."

"Not good," she agreed. "Without me and my sisters, who will save endangered species from a slow