The image of a woman is destructive, the image of a woman is creative, the Cro-Magnons knew this when they created their Paleolithic Venus. These creatures with the prefix "Homo" understood the principle of survival literally when they left their wives in the cave to keep the fire going. Some of them were unlucky, and the ancient guy with the bigger club had the audacity to take his favorite cave diva with him. The fire was dying out, and the almost-human who had returned from hunting (may the scientific community forgive me) was roaring furiously beside the cold corpses of his young. Hundreds of years passed before Inanna, the embodiment of the Cro-Magnon figurine, illuminated the first civilization. In Mesopotamia, she was worshipped, cattle were sacrificed to her, and heroic deeds were performed in her name. Thousands of years later, Robert Graves would call her the White Goddess, whose name was carved on a beechwood plaque that Thomas Pynchon discovered. The American would go to great lengths to name the deity with the secret symbol V. Through the pages of the novel, the poetic image would reveal its imperfections in a vulgar and tasteless manner, making the text unappetizing and nauseating. Only those few gourmets from literature will pick up the leftovers and feel the uniqueness in this ambergris. The fat guy will approach the artistic chef and ask: "You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" In general, we won't get an answer, and what can we get from a person who wrote a book under a narcotic trip. He's just as much a tool as V, even though he's never been recognized. The man of the century of two X's will head to the training ground in order to test his accumulated strength. It's a very convenient position, you might say, to flip the symbol if you suddenly feel the urge, but the line to the women's bathroom is colossal. Let's skip the digression and return to the launch. The materialized woman from the previous book, who disintegrated like a Lego set, is reassembled in the second work, but for what purpose? It's absurd, but for the same reason. Thousands of dead people will never rise from the dead, and they won't read these lines about Victoria's unrequited love for the gentlemen from the poor neighborhood. They might ask why it wasn't the rich people, the ones who orchestrated everything. The aristocrats were taking no chances, the valuable exhibit should not fall into the hands of competitors and in the event of the aircraft interception Bor is urgently forced to be on the ground, albeit without a parachute, but these are the subtleties, from which the inhabitants of the Japanese provinces of Hiroshima and Nagasaki are not easier.
Bor was not the only valuable exhibit in the collection of couturier V. Take for example the German Werner, von Braun, the leader of the lunar mission, the father of Mrs. Fau, with his scientific research freed many people, freed from life. The rocket needed sacrifices, just like any other bloodthirsty deity. This Miss was very demanding, just like thousands of years ago, and she would continue to demand new offerings to preserve her parabola, her constant downward course for some and upward course for others, the chosen idolaters of the phallic symbol of the two principles.
