Friday, September 9, 2011

Purple Egypt

Alain Delon in Tutankhamun drag

Purple Egypt

“Forever, Tom thought.
Maybe he’d never go back
to the States. It was not
so much Europe itself as
the evenings he had spent
alone, here and in Rome,
that made him feel that
way.”—Patricia Highsmith,
The Talented Mr. Ripley

Evenings by himself simply looking at Giza maps, or lying around on sofas thumbing thru Nile guidebooks.

Evenings looking at Tut’s clothes—his clothes and Tut’s—feeling Tut’s rings between his fingers.

Running his hands over the antelope suitcase that Gucci’s had given him. He’d polished the suitcase with a special Egyptian dressing, not that it needed polishing...

But he liked the feel of the leather, the svelte smoothness reminding him for some reason of his youth back in the imperial precincts of the royal palace.

The talented Mr. Tut loved possessions, not lots of them, but a select few that he kept around him. They gave an ex-king self respect. Not déjà vu ostentation but quality, and the love that cherished such quality.

Art deco possessions, especially jewelry, reminded him that he once existed, and made him enjoy his new existence even more.

It was as simple as that. It really wasn’t even worth saying it. He simply existed. Not many people in the world could say they were once young pharaohs.

Resurrected thru the miracles of modern science and advanced esoteric stem-cell research. It was after all promised to him. Predicted by the temple priests and expected of him.

Sealed away in his royal coffin with all the necessary Egyptian imperial equipage to make the transition possible… Then Viola!!!

First Carter and the art deco revolution. Up went the magnificent Empire State and Chrysler Building skyscrapers, as ancient Egyptian style slowly began bleeding into the Thirties.

He existed. Not many people in New York City knew how to, even if they were wealthy and famous. It took style, and a certain amount of poise. To be Tut.

But then the talented Mr. Tut was used to it, after all pharaohs are trained in the art of being prima donnas. They attract like others that way too, the born-again elite cognoscenti.

That’s why he haunted Miami Beach. It wasn’t just all the pastel pinks and mauves—or the hunky boyz of Miami Vice. It was something else…

Even tho art deco looked ultra-modern, it dated back to the days of Egyptian tombs. The discovery of King Tut's tomb in the 1920's had opened the door to this enticing art deco style.

The stark lines, bold colors and zig-zag architectural features were added to objects placed in the tomb to entertain and enlighten me during my long sleep. Even young sleeping kings get bored dontchaknow.

Art deco appealed to Americans, who were going thru the "roaring 20's" and loved the eclectic look. They saw it as a symbol of decadence and extravagance, qualities their generation embraced.

Art, architecture, jewelry and fashion were all heavily influenced by art deco bold colors and the sharp lines of the movement. Miami Beach was like being back home.

Art deco was the gift of the pharaohs to the Enfants Terrible of the Future. So that in 1910 John Collins and Carl Fisher undertook the daunting task of transforming the island now known as Miami Beach from a mangrove swamp to a tourist destination.

By the time the coastal hotspot Ocean Drive was born, the art deco movement was in full swing. Anyone who was anyone wanted to spend their vacation in the high life of art deco surroundings.

Voila!! Miami Beach was not only born, but was born to be the place to see and be seen! It has enjoyed this popularity since its inception, and is proving to stand the test of time as year after year people come from all over to enjoy this gift of the pharaohs, art deco.

The new MiMo Miami Moderne art deco style with its sleek, streamlined forms conveyed a new elegance and sophistication. It went far beyond the age of the original art deco Flapper, Jazz and Machine Age style.

MiMo went beyond the usual rubies, gold, and pearls as well as plastic, chrome, platinum and steel. Titanium was the new luxury metal used with opaque stones like coral, jade, onyx and lapis lazuli.

Costume jewelry became even more popular with new outrageous e-diamond nose-rings and trend-setting i-cock-phone-rings.

MiMo couturiers went beyond Coco Chanel and Elsa Schiaparelli. Influences were nouveau Pharaonic Egypt, Fukushima Mutant Orient, Leopard Woman Africa rather than the same old usual Cubism, Futurism, ho-hum Euro-graphic design.

Zigzagging into all styles and architectures, oozing into the Purple Noon of the twentieth century—like some secret young stealthy Patricia Highsmith imposter sliding into the new identity of a young American playboy waiting to be reborn a new King Tut kid…

The talented Mr. Tut enjoyed such MiMo moments, having been on the underground highway beneath the pyramids for so long.

His Cairo Bank inheritances gave him a certain amount of security, giving him the leisure to see Greece, collect Etruscan pottery, live in Rome a la Tennessee Williams’ quaint play and novel, The Roman Spring of Mrs. Stone.

He was reading Malraux’s Pschyologie de l’Art or rather it was reading itself to him, thanks to his Nook, Kipple, i-Pad E-book clone there in bed with him. It also gave excellent massages and blowjobs.

He sat back against some pillows, smoking a joint. His e-book had done him rather nicely once again, another fascinating chapter in how to be a chic cosmopolitan MiMo moderné fag.

It was strange to read about the people he knew in Thebes and Luxor, the kings and queens, the newt-brained eunuch priests who tried to stow themselves away the day he sailed from Egypt into the future.

It was strange and not at all attractive. What a dismal life most Egyptians had lived, creeping around Cairo. In and out of tombs, standing in some dingy temple by the Nile, watching slaves get whipped for entertainment or even worse.

At least the slave masses had Madison Avenue bars, maybe a decent restaurant now and then. Friendly, cheesy waiters bringing them the best wines in the world. Gondola rides, girls. All the usual str8t perks and Delilah delights.

Occasionally, he’d get letters and fan male from dopes who sounded more like criminal types. But so far his bodyguards kept away the outsiders, with him not anticipating any freedom in that direction very much.

He looked up at the bright Miami moon, he felt suddenly queasy. He’d get these phantom flashbacks of the vats, floating in the stinking embalming fluids of ancient Luxor labs.

Not much different from the stem-cell clone-vat labs of today’s genetic scientists, growing the latest Sea Bee droids and Predator Nexus drones of the Robot Army Future.

No comments:

Post a Comment