I was born in 1955 year
I am journalist
I edit 2 book (in polish languege)
This is information about my new book
BOOK’S NAME: „33 HOOKERS AND POET”
It’s authentic story about middle age men, who is subordinates to hookers - generally the most cheap hookers and wayside ones. Authentic-because owing to conversations-seances with hookers, any names were no imaginary. Partial changed only place-names, what is seem less meaning for eastern reader.
Action starts at the Mariacka Street in the bigest city of Upper Silesia, which is like Pigalle Square or Sainte Denise Street for Paris. An author has desired to start that action in the city, where paid-love was born - in the Greece Korynt. But he couldn’t do that, because he hasn’t essential knowledge to recognize it and to introduce famouse daughters of this Greece port. One thing should be added.
John Poet, because this is a name of the hero in the novel (alter ego of author), presents unterminated the learned proffesion. In any case he used to be a poet.
Ownershiping of hoocers is for him like playing with life. Sometimes he is coexisting with representatives of the most older job in the world, without condom. He exposes oneself to pimps displasure. Poet lays the blame on the monster -who sometimes wake up inside him.
But maybe the hookers are grounds for his existence.
As longer we’ll be to play a procreation function, as Mother Natura will be tolerated as in this world.
Could this story really finish of happy end?
About an author
He’ s 48 years old, from Poland, Katowice City (Upper Silesia). He’s married. He has 2 sons. Since 1980 - journalist. He wrote and published book „My alphabet. I was counting 70 editorials”. He wrote volume of european poetry „A little sick poems”.
Text for cover
Who is John Poet, which in that novel counted 33 hookers-not only hookers for man from trucks but middletown ones too?
Why the man has never enough counting paid-women, although he is 50 years old? Is that true, that every 5 minutes can have it, what the other want to have over many years?
What should you do in the moment when the rubber broke down at the man planing?
You can find answers for that and another questions in the Alex Linga’s book. This is a novel about artist and strumpets unstitch, John Poet’s life.
To much clothes. To strong for reades.(Leszek Bugajski- critic, Playboy Magazine. Warsaw).
Strong, sharp, authentic. Hemingway prose. An author should to work at it.
(Lech Majewski, director, script-writer, producent).
Sensitive and falling on knees, text. Also banal, repeated sexual elementes, with poor parts of pseudo-jokes, pornography disgusting.
Interesting small fragments. But reader can see poor journalist and a can not belive to hero of the novel-loocked for house, cruel solitude to force him to put his head on women womb.
How many times can have houses like that?
I wish deep breath, deeper and deeper...
Later to look attentively at paid-women and see yourself.
(writer Jan Paweł Krasnodębski, Katowice, author of „Beri beri”and „Hazard”).
I.The motto of the novel is quotation of st. John’s Gospel-where Jesus don’t damn the sinner.”He who is without a sin among you,let him throw a stone at her first ...”
I. Introduction. Narrator characterizes hero of the novel-John Poet. He suggests tragic the end.
Continuation: personal notes of John Poet, register of 33 counted hookers-which are „like crabs on the gun, what is mean quanity shooted people”.He does these singns only in the metaphor. No for gun, but on his penis.
II. The first of counted
hookers name is Kinga. She looks like bag of rotten winter potatoes, without teeth in the front what help her doing french love.
III. In that part register of hookers different charm and nationality (Polish, Bulgarian, Romanian, Ukrainian, and even black French). For example number 5- Bulgarian, her name is Ila, she’s mother of 3 kids from Warna; she is fan of Roxette.
IV. Numbers 7and 8 - Eve and her friend counted in the John Poet’s car. The police catch them and to take him on 10 dolars ticket.
Was OK, because he finished his work.
Eliza number 11. She is Bulgarian, 18 years old. Eliza has taken in the truck.
The condom break down. Every side was frightening.
At this time Poet was thinking, that he had young, runing after Bulgarian beaches, little boy.
VI. Number 12-Lidia. She stands at the center of Katowice. She is good wife and mother. Her husband take cares about her and everytime before go to the car, he wraps her in little scarf.
VII. Number 15. Her names is Michalina. That’s social hooker. She calls upon to imitating of Pilsudski’s legions form World War I and conquests of Ukrainian.. But she stole Poet’s gold watch. Everything happend inside a den in the World Day of Fight With AIDS,
VIII. Number 22, beautiful Ukrainian-Wictoria. Poet’ve met her in the local where she dances at the top of aquariums with phyranies. It can ectising the girl so much, or she is good layer. Discution about belles-lettres literature.
IX. Number 24, another Eve. A Poet is the first klient for her. He learned her french love. The girl was afraid
Opinion of people leave the church. Action is makeing at Big Friday.
X. Number 28. Her name is Mese-black girl from Paris.
That love is fullfily somewhere in the suspected hovel in neighbourhood St. Denise Street. The hero of the novel have been drinking in the pubs and watched Tour de France.
XI. Number 29. His own wife is a hooker. Her name is Franciszka. She is pissed off about spending money for the hookers. She decided to maintain her husband in the house and to save money and rescue their relationship.
XII. Number 32 and 33. With last hookers-Krista and Agata, John Poet didn’t have happienes. He was stolen and bitten.Gipsy bring him to clinical death. From prosectorium he was resquing by nun-nurse (she tried to make necrophilia).
XII. Number 32 and 33.
Their to leaved for a Seshele. Each of them found what want.
Remark! Description of each conquests is completed quotations from belles-lettres literature(for example: Llosa, Joyce) and professionally (Dufour). As notes are fragments of John Poets’s production.
Fragments of the book (annex)
Immisio in vagina
Last time a saw John Poet in that time. He was thin, tall, always in crooked glasess, more then 40 years old. He has never colud quiet seat.Suddenly he standed in front of me. Looked with shrewdness at my teeth and started fast talk without sence.
It looked like he tried throw out from himself, four Fatima secret.Like he didn’t turn off iron in the house, like he would finish now.
-Anyones come to me in the night. You know? To sace out their legs, expose dark tunnels full of night love and invite there my penis. And I ofcourse have erection but I couldn’t come inside them.
What is mean anyones?
Don’t act the fool. You know. HOOKERS! I know will be 33 of them. This same like age of Christ. Later they’ll reach for me, because is the sin. And haven’t sin without punishment.
The telephone rang. When I turned off, John Poet was gone and the door was opened.Only at the staircase I’ve hearded his meet with a response fast steps inpatience, seethed inside him, incessant speeds him ahaed and ahaed. Target was not important. MOVE was everything. He said me someday that day without sexual intercourse is lost and sex is good for beeing eternal.
I have never seen John Poet alive.
During last visit at my home he left on the chair his bag. Inside were notes, poems, novels and a lot of press cutting, brown spot from blood outside. I cleaned everything and wrote the end, practically it was written unaided.
This is a record of dark life John Poet from Big Grate.
Alex Linga, Katowice, Spring 2002.
Number 1-Kinga colled Needle.
The first hooker- maggoty.
It is in Big Grate, by Apperhention River-where sweems everything exept water- it is strange, a little saint, a little fucking street. The name of this street is Crazy.
On the mouth of Crazy Street there is a church with walls darken by low issue. Present bishop was parishing here. That November’s evening was cold.
I have came back drunk and unquenchable from Lisa-dark eyes girl with fatal strength. Her husband was recovered earlier.
I stayed alone with my erection.
-Are you looking for me? - There was dark. Big person in wool cap separated from the wall.
It was close Hungarian restaurant( later -French restaurant and now emty building).
Let’s go. We will be loving.
Fat woman, red on teh face like a fire, was seeing in my eyes. If I’ll be sober, propably I’ll run fast.
-How many you have? - 150 thousands and Russian watch.
- I have full drow of watches like that. Collector of man materialized dreams was founded. But this inside a throusers was already knocking to bliss door.
Dr Jekyll weakend, Mr Hide kneeled him on the chest and choked his thin little throat.
-Ok. We are going-she said.
-But where are we going?
- Don’t you know?!Into the gate.
There was dark. Only shrewdness warm was smelling from stink of tin cans.
Add old woman for cheap wine. Will be local.
Only one bulb was ligting in the second floor flat. It had maybe 25 watt.
Dark patch like in the Bucarest.
But that was enough to see the most fantastic festival of the clouths, whitch I’ve seen in my life. Clothes were on the floor, on the wordrobe and on the bed.
Suddenly, on the bed, from among of clothes showed a head of lying old woman.
Her speach was short:
- Fuck him, fuck him!
Kinga(because that hooker was called Kinga)-big and obscene hooker with round and without distinct face, didn’t see for old woman (probably Kinga get used to her behaviours). Before I’ve perceived, she was standing in the white (one day in the past) panties-big like a tent.
- What are you waiting for?
She looked like bag of potatoes, in the places -dark blue.
I knew I should run away but there was pretty-big dissonance between dawn limbs and middle limb-which tried stay,nesseseryly!
-How can we do it here?!- I tried to hang back.
- Come to the kitchen - has proposed Kinga, when she saw I become to be sober (because good client is drunk client).
Kitchen was just painted. Draws, took off from walls, were on the floor. I’ve sat down on the one of them.
My penis was close to her mouth.
I’ve imagined in the devil shrewed-that I thought- flash of genious and survival instinct, if I will not introduce penis to unclean in this term hairy tunnel of love, will be safe.
Maybe beetwen brests to mouth?
It was quite a nice, the more so as Kinga hadn’t all of teeth
And she didn’t hurt.
I’ve been learned this tric from one tall representative of kinematography. We’ve supported the door by ficus. Nobody couldn’t come in.
During work, Kinga was saying that she does everything for her daughter.I went out on the saint Crazy Street. I pulled air in my nostrils. High- on the sky, beetwen roofs of houses saw full moon - similar to round Kinga’s face. I looked him into this insolent mouth.
That’s your fault that my penis decided howl!
Broken down rubber
Sexual intercourse with the hooker is like a fly of „kamikadze” airplane with the gas only for one way. I was banging Eliza on the back sit of truck.
- How old are you? - she asked.
- I’m 43.
- That is like my father.
I’ve never supposed to write in history of Polish-Hungarian Friendship Company in this way. She was really angry, when she saw my ”cucumber”. - What? Haven’t you one like that in the Bulgaria? - Big, very big - she curled like a candidate for witch (for which is waiting sharp pale), in front of the Saint Incvisistion . She bented her feet. Dyed blonde, did embrional position.
I entered inside her to the base of dick. It was possible by the raising of back sit in the truck.
Young Burgarian stareted to screem. For pain or delight. Two moves before the gush ruber broke down. Heart attack! Heart attack!
My heart jumped up to my throw - because syphilis rageds not only in Naprawa. Her- because she thought she is pragnant at this moment, or- what worse....
-Are you healthy? What can I do?
She could speak good in Polish, like for Bulgarian blonde. I have no time for checking in French.
- Call him Bolo - I said.
She didn’t understand, but I-eyes of my soul, saw little boy-runing by shallow foamed water on the beach.
We parted quicly, really quicly. I did about hundred of tickets for about thousand PLN, on the way to the capitol. But nobody let me pay me them.
Scarf from caring husband
Black, thin, inconspicously. Without wigs and pins. Those, from Mariacka Street, don’t do it. Lidka, hooker with shame. She could work on the weave machine or clean somebody else’s panties. Rather obligatory craft then artism. To be with her is like giving alms for her and her family.
- You know - she said me one day. - Today I’ll finish earlier. My daugher’s 6 years old. I’ll do birthday party for her.
She always stands at the corner of Italian Street and Crazy Street.
I liked „Franch” because was cheaper. Sex I choose when I had 10 PLN more and willingness of domination.
We’ve driven on the end of Italian Street, in the place where was a sky-scraper. She said me like one day clinet pulled out crowbar and tried to bit her.
- I kill you like another hookers! - he screemed and rolled foam from his mouth. He wasn’t been this category of clients, who are always in right.
She hardly run from him. Lidka hadn’t any guard. Sometimes her husband companied her. She called him -husband. But he waited at Crazy Street. He could only remember car’s registration.
One day he affected me. I had already moved with Lidka at the aboard of my big dick (I’m sorry- my big Fiat), when her „husband” run up an gave hooker ample black- woole scarf.
It was late autumn and was a little cold wind.
Lidka doesn’t stand about two years. I heard she forged so she haven’t.
Surely the man with crobar came back...
Number 15 - Michasia
Michasia - social hooker, age 48. For good morning she screamed (and she has voice like a retired announcer without amplifier from the railway station):
I need drink! Give fucker „jet”. Fuel was finished. Privater was like a more then angry sponsor. Because Jendrus clear added to his wife (it is rumouret that he used to go to schools with her, and for sure was playing in doctor in the bush).
This is host rule. In this time eks-politruk’s nice flat, doesn’t dye since 30 years, couch on the bricks and thirsty faces of the company were lighting up by cresset stolen from Jewish cementary.
Darkness in our heads was faster then cresset went out.
Some of us were fighting since few days. So on the couch was Laokan’s Group - Privater wth Michalina and me. Men snakes-still soft were in the burrows of throusers.
Michasia emited a hoarse sound already.
-Fuck, where is my radio? -She came with the radio under the armpit from another party.
And everything were silenced. It could only hear snore and rythmly grinding of bed, where host was fucking Privater’s wife
There was since middle of the night.
I was dreaming that I was at the beach. At the beggining I was wadinging in the foam wave and looking like that water perpetum mobile is doing itself.
Later I lied in the shallow water and was looking at the frayed clouds rambled by the sky. And suddenly clouds were dissapeared, but wet stayed. It Michalina’s bladder didn’t keep.
- Where is my radio? - she purred already only in the dream.
With the first dawn, Privater jumped like burned. Touched his hands by the head and speaking abusive words, droped with her wife on the threshold.
Propably they had to go to the Dark Moutain.
You drench, you hooker! - host said to Michalina, social hooker, age 48. - now we’ll be fucking - decided Jendrus, what as high prize for doing urinal from his bad.
I’ll undress you when will be the music. Fuck, where is my radio?! - Michasia didn’t prostest only made conditions like any porno star.
With the music appeared problems - radio was found but how to turn it on to the current? Host, who ocassionally goes to the liquor shop and diminishes Privater’s fortune, has a bottle for battery. He turned off his transistor radio. Orgy was rescued. Smiling and a little leaped by the music Michasia fast put off her dress. She has face like an Indian mummy, but body like a 30years old woman. First time I pull out my poetic lyre. I’ve fucked Michasia in field-bed, because on the wet couch was not to good.
And when this habitual guest of bars, railway stations and habitable-rooms (where were often persons without solid adress), was nearer to orgasm, screamed in horrible way her recorder voise:
- To Kowno! Commander, to Kowno!
- What’s wrong with her?! - I said a little breathless, because I fucked her already 20 minutes, stopped for a moment.
And in this time, ill-tratly by the life and itself sexual mattress screamed again:
To Kowno! To Kowno!
And what’s with Wilno and Lwow? - asked resolutly a host, who man interes just started to recover a look.
There’s no help for it, must do a censure - we decided.
Jendrus pulled out his little red bird and approached to Michalina’s mouth. She said:
- Leave me. He is fucking and I’m happy. To Kow...!
By this ingenious Franch way host was exlinguising jingoism sex-urge of Michalina - social hooker from B. City, age 48. But she didn’t quite a social, because this beautiful morning, when I was sleeping after fucking, Michalina disappeared like a ghost (with my Swiss gold watch, which I received from one fan od my poems).
To Kowno!This is link to password of campaign Polish Legions of Pilsudski, which after World War I were figting on the East frontier.
I decided to visite no Eiffla’s Tower but local Crazy Street - rue Saint Denise.
It’s running close to Pompidou Arts Center, sheer to Sekwana River and the end is at the Big Ludwig’s Bow .
There are more big brests blondes and tall especially on front, daughters of Black Africa.
It was no easy to go quiet, because they solicited - breast in your chest and how can you go?!
Full of hookers are small, byway streets.
Long time I couldn’t decide. I drunk one Hineken beer held in the hand, later the second one in the bistro at the counter.
I had to go for good turns. For closer talk about „ars amandi" I chose pitch - black Mese from Ghana. Short red hair, back stuffed pens that was cracked. Mese said that for 200 francs will be full service. Back of Mese I was seeing by few hundred of meters, because I went behind her to good room on the floor.
By the way fallen off dye, walls of tenement were supported by the colorfull teenegers with hands inside the pockets.
Apparently they filled dayily norm of killing white-man, because they didn’t react. There were two, separated mattresses to fuck and huge vent, in the room on the floor.
Was really warm this day. Black woman pulled down her panties and I saw almost shave Africa’s Womb.
Her pink- inside hands she put „a little”, wore a rubber (SIDA-in Franch it is mean: AIDS rage!) and she started be querulous.
It appeared that if I’ll add next 200 francs,I will see her black breast and mintea extra.
Mese showed her black nipples outside. The 20 years old girl was big and velvety breast, but cold -what was amazing for hot day.
Nipples the best for hot!
It was pleasure to finished her when my hands were a rest on her beauties. Mese stayed to pay check for room and I moved on my way.
Number 32 and 33-Krista and Agata
Last fals hookers
(chapter re-created by A. Linga)
Once upone day, on the end of the summer, when roads were blocked, Poet was in the Wasaw. When he came back to his family Big Grate and went from railway to Hookers Trail for Walkers. He wandered by the town and cilrcled himself.
No this, there he was, there any drunkers sits.
It was close to midnight. His heart, and dick lose hope for something. But two hookers, which were passed by him, solicited him when he was on Saint Street, close to Railway Street’s outlet .
They were between 30 to 40 years old.One of them was black like a Gipsy. She was wearing in red clothes. The second one was a little red hair, red on the face and without tooth on the front.
- Come, enjoy us. For 80. You can have two of us.
Poet supposed that business was no good at this night. He was almost sober- what were two little beers, drunk four hours ago. He was not quite convincet, but tidy his tie and went with them by the saint Crazy Street. They went to gate by the Zaglebiowski Hotel. Stopeed. - You need 10 PLN more for flat - Agata didn’t repel. - Come, everything will be ok, everything for you - in thist moment the touched her big brest. She looked for him a little dark and absent eyesight of man from south. Eyesight - like Poet’s mother said - charmy.
After that is headache and perleche on the tongue. At this time you should three times spit left hand pull by the forehead.
Poet who doesn’t used to carring valet, during that time reached to his reserve in the shirt’s pocked.
They went to the second floor. He knew this room, like another ones at the Saint Street. Hookers started to stroke him. Poet put of his clouthes to the middle of the body add sat on the couch with Krista-who unbutton her shirt from shop „Clouthes for penny”. She was like a curtain. During that time Krista very deftly pulled 400 PLN from Poet’s pocked in dark green colour.
Do you have any condoms?
What condoms? We can do it without....
If you want we can go everybody to buy your condoms - they said and didn’t wait for him started to go. They have already what they want.
At the street hookers approached to few gloomy men sitting on the little wall. And hookers didn’t think about going by any condoms. Poet wandered here i there but nobody looked at him. He instincive felt to be doing in horse.
He was sure, when he didn’t find any money in his pocked.
- What condoms? What do you want. Go alone and buy it! - said fired cigatert Agata. Poet was trembling like asp and went to the gate.
He was not sure, what was doing, but pull hand to cell phone. He would call to Police, or suddendly to his love wife Franciszka-always forgiven.
All this same what he’ll say to Police. That attempt on Undeniable Rule to Paymant Sex must be punishment.
He was awaken when he heard batter steel doors of the gate. There were three friens of Agata and Krista. They closed this door and standed in front of him astride.
- So what? Did you want fuck?-said quiet smallest of them. His eyes showed cold of fresh grave. - And condoms? If you want so much we can that bag put on your head!
Two of them was quiet, gloomy men, didn’t say antything, but sad saw at him. Thin Poet hasn’t any chance with each of them, and the more so as all of them.
I have to beat you, at face - said this smallest, broad - shouldered like another of them, looks like Gipsy.
What is stolen, who is stolen my girls? - At face is not enough. - Gipsy holded jacket of tear out Poet and push him to the gate. They found him very fast.
At face is not enough! Hubert, give me a pan.
They pull three gipsy metal pans (which have for for sale) from oilcloth bag and started to beat Poet. Last thing in his brain was: I have a title. Fabulous title for my book! WARSAW PAN! So two hookers are from Warsaw....”
When breathless three men from Crazy Street saw that wrecht look like be death, they wiped kitchen equipment poetic hat and went speaking that so good pans were inflected.
On the first anniversary of hooker death and trial of revange, I burned candle on the grave of our hero. The inscription announced:
„John Poet, writer, editor of „Morning Erection”. 1956-2001. Qui hic minxerit aut cacaverit..."
There are 192 thousand of marks in that novel.
Interests: novels short stories
Published writer: No