In front of me, I see the advertising leaflet of the "reprogenetic Wall-Mart", the "Somatic Germline Engeneering Company".
I look at the "leaflet", without too much attention, that praises the "know-how" of the "Company": "IVF: in vitro fertilization ", "Human cloning", "technologically enabled human genetic handling and selection", "the ICSI method of in vitro fertilization", "the human genomist engeneering", "improvement of the genes by eugenic handling", "PGD: preimplantation genetic diagnosis ", "somatic cell nuclear transfer technical", "embryo fusion"; then this other "leaflet" at the effigy of the Republic, written in a burocratico-juridico-inintelligible jargon, and that tries to describe, with subtleties, the "Jospin law". Thus, this time still, as all the other times that I come here, I am there waiting, for endless hours, to conform myself to the "social requisition" of my body of "adult-healty", intellectually-developped, eugenicly-normal and somaticly-reproducible" male.
Oh! that I would like, beautiful stranger, to sow you, and that you had pleasure to receive as much as I would have pleasure to rape you of my seed; that seed I came here to give, without pleasure, and that you came to receive by "intracytoplasmic sperm injection", and I suspect a little, as much without pleasure, without joy and without tasting the beatitude that orgasm gives!
Oh, beautiful foreigner! Come and let me fertilize you "in vitro", come to thwart with me this tragedy-comedy of the "industrial love", come that I plunge my prick, stiffen by blood and by desire, to the bottom of your womb, and that, this way, I rape your ovula and that we could procreate while making love and orgasming; oh, beautiful foreigner, the only sight of which makes me thirsty as if I was Christ Himself returning from the Sinai desert after a prolonged fasting!
Are you here, beautiful foreigner, to receive some of this incandescent liquid lying at the bottom of the cylindrical stainless steel basins, aligned, like motionless and flexible progenitors, behind the large glazed partition of the vast hall, or which circulates, in these multiple multicoloured ducs, towards, I do not know, which genetic predestination?
Are you here, beautiful foreigner, to carry the fruit of this industrial coitus, while my penis is agitated in your presence, that it inflates with appetite, and that it is all prepare to open you like a dagger, to impale himself in you and to sow you by making you enjoy the deepest of the orgasms?
Or, are you only here, to carry this anonymous liquid who releases such a whitish vapor, handle by anonymous robots dressed in white from toe to scalp, and that are agitated, from one basin to another, in a sinister ballet?
Are you here, beautiful foreigner, to receive without enjoying it and just for you own aim, some "gem-rich sperms"; are you here to reproduce aborted embryos, aiming at the fabrication of the necessary material to produce triogenic spare parts being used for transplantation of tissues or organs; are you here to transport "in vitro" - human clones, chimeras, abortions, "son-soldiers", "superman" - destined to the pontiffs of the social correctness? Say it to me, say it to me quickly, say it to me and let us make love before the Apocalypse...
Marco Polo or the imaginary journey (Tales and legends, translated from french, july 2002) © 2002 Jean-Pierre Lapointe
Musical track borrowed from the Web archives:
