Very Like a Whale; Or, Trout Mask Replica (Lay Pimpology II)
[Somewhat accessible, but still reservations must be maintained. See How to Be a Motherfucking Pimp]
As with everything else in this book, this is not to be actually implemented in any way.
A ho is like a mule, requiring goading. A ho is like a soufflé that requires a deft touch. A ho is like…Perhaps, but don’t succumb to the temptation of the general. You need to find the general though the particular. Detail with distance. There are always temptations. There are holes in the wholes, and so the singular becomes a singularity that both acknowledges the general and maintains the particular in its varied relations. These are cata-agories. They catch the tensions and misalignments of these oppositions. This is how you talk about the one and the many. To do this you need to keep your conceptuality stripped bare so that only relations may be present..
This law of parsimony is called the Pimp Razor. It is the pursuit of rigor, simplicity and elegance. Don’t over embellish. In a word, believe in, be in tune with, Cock. Cock will always keep you in good stead. This is basic. And this alone is fine for an unreflective pimp. He is best served unburdened both morally and intellectually. His participation in Cock is enough. Problems arise when he overestimates his ability and makes misattributions, such as that he is playing ‘human chess’ or some other type of strategic or intellectual feat. This is usually nonsense. Your run-of-the-mill pimp should, for lack of a better term, be acephalic. He is a dummy, but that does not mean he has to act like an idiot. In this way he can treat the particular in the general by being the space where the particular is made meaningful. Let’s look a little more closely at this and then consider the other three cata-agories of pimps and the four types of hoes that the Pimp Razor is able to pare down.
Pimp cata-agory one is basal. It is the default position already addressed. This is the pimp that lives in Cock. His appreciation of ho cata-agories is not necessarily essential. His approach is universal. Being the symbols of the Game, he is the Game. Ho-movies are able to be projected against him unhindered.  If he is truly appreciative of Cock, he will not waste people’s time with his idle formulations. Like Socrates, he will say that I know that I know nothing. This is not only humility, but the fountainhead of pimp wu wei. Be a pimp, nothing more. Like a duck is a duck and a goat is a goat, a pimp should be a pimp. When he is not, there are ramifications.
Pimp type two is of a degenerate form. This is the gorilla. He has no notion of ho cata-agories. A gorilla is a fucking idiot. He steps up and wants to be tough. He is the labored image of the pimp. It doesn’t come naturally, so he forces the issue. He wants to be a pimp. Desperately. In name, he often is. But he’s not. There is a lot of loud talk and mismanagement. The gorilla creates a scene because he wants to be seen. But his wires are crossed. He paradoxically both does not have Cock and at the same time sucks on it. The truth is that he is just a Dick. Not much better than a bitch. This realization, when it dawns, stings and often makes him overcompensate with more aggression. The whole thing is a travesty.
Cata-agory number three is the playa. The playa is the international man of mystery. Shaken not stirred. Dapper, suave, choose your synonym. This motherfucker is the motherfucking man. He is Cock, but he knows it. Everything done is done with aplomb. This is significantly different than cata-agory one. The playa is able to manipulate the situation. He knows what he is and how he does. He knows his hoes have different needs, are different people, and need different treatment. He understands the implications of different ho cata-agories. But not with perfection. His understanding is largely intuitive.
Cata-agory four is Dazzle Razzle. Step aside, motherfuckers.
Now for the hoes.
What makes each ho unique is the Hole in her soul. This Hole is the traumatic gap that makes her fucked-up. You can’t put your finger on it, but you can put your fist in it. This is not the vagina of life, but the Hole of exhumation. It is the silent stink of memoryless memory, redolent but silent like a crypt. All Holes are different, but they are all the same. Hoes find satisfaction as this Hole is dilated and the dead are brought back to life. Dig and disinter the sheeted dead that squeak and gibber. It is not a meaningful site, it is the sight of nonsense. But this nonsense brings great and excruciating pleasure to the ho. She probably thinks about suicide, but this Hole sustains her in her failings and her willingness to ho-up. In this she feels ho-frisson. In this she shoulders her mortal coils.
Now, what gives meaning to this Hole is Cock. Cock and Pimp Law. These latter two are not mutually distinct cata-agories. They are woven together like a tissue. The Hole is able to be known only negatively. You can tell where the Hole is by the way Cock and Pimp Law drape over it. You can see a camel toe, you might be able to smell it, but you don’t really know what the fuck is going on under there. You know what’s not though. Let’s look to see how Cock and Pimp Law conform to the Hole and bring the particular of the ho through the general.
Ho cata-agory one. This basic ho corresponds somewhat to pimp cata-agory one. This is a ho that is primarily driven by identification with Cock. In fact, she wants to be the Cock for the pimp. She is usually an idiot, but she is more or less stable. Her Hole is mostly just the hole between her legs and in her pockets. She may or may not have been raped and beaten as a child, but the realities of limited opportunities and diminished social mobility have likely played a hand as well. This is the ho that has lived in poverty and has limited education. In Cock she sees opportunity, glamour and style. This is a profound and necessary delusion for her. God bless her.
The second type of ho is coordinated by Cock as well, but Pimp Law is the determining factor. For this type of ho, the more enigmatic Pimp Law is, the more seemingly arbitrary, the better. This type of ho becomes drawn to the pimp and tries to fathom what it is that he wants, what he needs, what’s expected, although she knows it’s impossible. Usually he’s crazy anyways and there isn’t much rhyme or reason to his expectations. Nevertheless, she tries to ingratiate herself and lives in titillating fear. She finds great satisfaction in this certain uncertainty. Energized in this way, she likes to be on the ropes ducking and weaving with every caprice of the pimp and living moment to moment.
The third type of ho prefers consistency in Pimp Law and, in this way, she can get the attention she needs, whichever way she can get it. She’ll take the pimp’s smile as soon as his fist, and she’s sure to provoke either in turn. For her, attention must be demonstrable. She often doesn’t recognize it, but she needs to be in the pimp’s eye. If she feels he’s not paying enough attention to her, she will do something. This could be working extra hard, making him pancakes for breakfast, or cutting up his sharkskin suits. For this kind of ho you need to keep your pimp hand strong.
The final type of ho is the one that fetishizes her pimp. This is the best kind of ho. Pimp Law gives her determinate grounding, but her interest is to complete the set. She is interested in Cock. She wants to get the money together for him. She wants to be his girl, his main ho. She wants to be his mommy and his sister. She wants to wrap it all up and retire with her man in splendor. This kind of ho is often a thoroughbred. But be careful. If she gets to lovey-dovey, you might have to beat her just to keep her straight. She might start thinking about monogamy, stop turning trick or some shit. Because dreaming, she might get to scheming. Her machinations can create discord in the stable. Break her of this.  Keep her eye on the ball and don’t take no shit. Otherwise, run her face off of the curb.
This is the yield of the Pimp Razor. Of course there are other species such as crackheads and full-blown psychotics, but the cata-agories enumerated above are fundamental. Now you know your pimp A, B, Cs and 1, 2, 3s. It’s time to crank it up a notch because you still don’t know shit.
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 As William Carlos Williams said, “to make a start,/ out of particulars/ and make them general, rolling/ up the sum, but defective means—“.
 As Rivers Cuomo said, “Somebody’s Heine is crowding my icebox. Somebody’s cold one is giving me chills. Guess I’ll just close my eyes.” However, as Steve Walsh said, “I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment’s gone. All my dreams pass before my eyes. A curiosity. Dust in the wind.”
All they are is dust in the wind
 Pope was halfway there when he said, “It is therefore in the anatomy of the Mind as in that of the Body; more good will accrue to mankind by attending to the large, open, and perceptible parts, than by studying too much such finer nerves and vessels, the conformations and uses of which will for ever escape our observation.” He was close, but I prefer, as a less fustian analogy, to think of bitches in string or micro bikinis. Relations are established and perspective gained in a revealing/concealing that allows you to get close to the meat of the matter.
 As Tony Curtis said, “Put your faith in your sword and your sword in the Pole.” Though here we switch sword and Pole for razor and hooker’s face, but you get the idea. For now. Pimp Razor is actually an ironically wavering concept.
 As Charlie Sheen said, “You borrow my brain for five seconds, and just be like ‘Dude, can’t handle it. Unplug this bastard because it fires in a way that is, I don’t know, maybe not from this particular terrestrial realm.”
 Not only that, but it makes for bad reading. There would be reams of this shit if illiteracy weren’t a limiting factor.
 But, damn! As Bennett said, “Am I to sit still and see other fellows pocketing two guineas apiece for stories which I can do better myself? Not me. If anyone imagines my sole aim is art for art’s sake, they are cruelly deceived.”
 Viz. both above the collar and below the belt. This is ace-phallic.
 If it’s a game, maybe he is like a dummy in bridge? Maybe just a dummy. But, as you will see, he doesn’t have to be.
 As Ed Kowalczyk said, “It’s easier not to be wise. And measure these things by your brains.”
 Perhaps without meaning anything, which itself can be meaningful. Like Chris Cornell said, “On a cobweb afternoon. In a room full of emptiness. By a freeway I confess. I was lost in the pages.”
 With this type of pimp, we can say with Feynman, “Pimpology is as useful for pimps as ornithology is to birds.” Who cares? It’s apocryphal anyway.
 It is for this reason that many pimps believe that the Game is sold, not told. Actually, it is closer to the contrary. It is told, without being sold. Really, it is just a failed expression. Although pimp knowledge is thought to be experiential, the understanding is that its lineage is a product of oral transmission. This is the truth of Cock. There isn’t truth, as such, in this understanding of pimpology, but there are rituals and stylized activities to be observed. This is the truth of the ace-phallic.
 Like Ray Keith said, “My style is all that and a big bag of chips with the dip. So fuck all that sensuous shit.” Indeed, he is the Cock without having to use his cock. It is all style.
 Or like Inspectah Deck, “I bomb atomically. Socrates philosophies and hypotheses can’t define how I be dropping these mockeries.” That speaks for itself. It is better to put on a brave face and admit one’s ignorance.
 But as we will see with identity relations, this is actually idiotic. In Duck Soup, Groucho Marx said, “Gentlemen, Chicolini here may talk like an idiot, and look like an idiot, but don’t let that fool you. He really is an idiot.”
 Lothario shouldn’t get too sneaky.
 As Auden said, “The Ogre stalks with hands on hips, While drivel gushes from his lips.”
 As Billy Corgan said, “Time is never time at all”. Seems like a long time for sucking dick, no matter how professional you are. But then again, Mark Knopfler said, “A band is blowing Dixie double four time.”
 As Bootie Brown said, “They have no key, or no clue to the game at all. Now they washed up. Hung out to dry. Standing looking stupid, wondering why.”
 As Stevie Nicks said, “Players only love you when they’re playing.”
 Like a baby.
 He is the gambler, 007 at baccarat. He doesn’t lose. Like Kenny Rogers said, “You’ve got to know when to hold ’em. Know when to fold ’em. Know when to walk away. Know when to run.” Usually you run when irate brothers and/or fathers of hoes are coming after you. Pimps of cata-agory three know this. As Terry Hall said, “What you gonna do, when morons come for you?” Of course, you can just plug them. I usually burn down their houses.
 But with what Castiglione called sprezzatura.
 As CL Smooth said, “You know the Iceberg Slim, dig it, Daddy. Let the click grow. Exotic to my foes, how I pimp these hoes. Don’t be surprised, you get Tysonized”.
 As a wise man once said about women and Chinamen, they all look the same if you turn them upside-down.
 The eructation of unhealthy souls into the faded air. As Courtney Love said, “one above and one below.”
 The consummate non-consummation. The breach in meaning of orgasm, the flaccidity of Cock in the yawning expanse of Hole. Such is the absolute of the Game where meaning fails exactly where it would approach itself. Like Cortázar’s glíglico. “Apenas se entreplumaban, algo como un ulucordio los encrestoriaba, los extrayuxtaba y paramovía, de pronto era el clinón, la esterfurosa convulcante de las mátricas, la jadehollante embocapluvia del orgumio, los esproemios del merpasmo en una sobrehumítica agopausa. ¡Evohé! ¡Evohé!”
 This is called ho-conatus, or rather ho cunt-ass-tits.
 The love and fear of COCK/HOLE as Cresas maintained. This is also somewhat consonant with his doctrine on the will.
 In some ways, this is similar to the COCK as Maimonides and Aquinas knew.
 Kafka’s Parable of Law illustrates ho-interpellation.
Before the law sits a gatekeeper. To this gatekeeper comes a man from the country who asks to gain entry into the law. But the gatekeeper says that he cannot grant him entry at the moment. The man thinks about it and then asks if he will be allowed to come in later on. “It is possible,” says the gatekeeper, “but not now.” At the moment the gate to the law stands open, as always, and the gatekeeper walks to the side, so the man bends over in order to see through the gate into the inside. When the gatekeeper notices that, he laughs and says: “If it tempts you so much, try it in spite of my prohibition. But take note: I am powerful. And I am only the most lowly gatekeeper. But from room to room stand gatekeepers, each more powerful than the other. I can’t endure even one glimpse of the third.” The man from the country has not expected such difficulties: the law should always be accessible for everyone, he thinks, but as he now looks more closely at the gatekeeper in his fur coat, at his large pointed nose and his long, thin, black Tartar’s beard, he decides that it would be better to wait until he gets permission to go inside. The gatekeeper gives him a stool and allows him to sit down at the side in front of the gate. There he sits for days and years. He makes many attempts to be let in, and he wears the gatekeeper out with his requests. The gatekeeper often interrogates him briefly, questioning him about his homeland and many other things, but they are indifferent questions, the kind great men put, and at the end he always tells him once more that he cannot let him inside yet. The man, who has equipped himself with many things for his journey, spends everything, no matter how valuable, to win over the gatekeeper. The latter takes it all but, as he does so, says, “I am taking this only so that you do not think you have failed to do anything.” During the many years the man observes the gatekeeper almost continuously. He forgets the other gatekeepers, and this one seems to him the only obstacle for entry into the law. He curses the unlucky circumstance, in the first years thoughtlessly and out loud, later, as he grows old, he still mumbles to himself. He becomes childish and, since in the long years studying the gatekeeper he has come to know the fleas in his fur collar, he even asks the fleas to help him persuade the gatekeeper. Finally, his eyesight grows weak, and he does not know whether things are really darker around him or whether his eyes are merely deceiving him. But he recognizes now in the darkness an illumination which breaks inextinguishably out of the gateway to the law. Now he no longer has much time to live. Before his death he gathers in his head all his experiences of the entire time up into one question which he has not yet put to the gatekeeper. He waves to him, since he can no longer lift up his stiffening body.
The gatekeeper has to bend way down to him, for the great difference has changed things to the disadvantage of the man. “What do you still want to know, then?” asks the gatekeeper. “You are insatiable.” “Everyone strives after the law,” says the man, “so how is that in these many years no one except me has requested entry?” The gatekeeper sees that the man is already dying and, in order to reach his diminishing sense of hearing, he shouts at him, “Here no one else can gain entry, since this entrance was assigned only to you. I’m going now to close it.
 This is an essential aspect of the pimp-ho relation. We have seen this.
 As Ice-T said, “This goes out to all you ladies out there. A lot of you won’t grow up to be lawyers or doctors, but you have a dream. And I think you should follow your dream.” And she said, “I always wanted to be a ho. I always wanted to be a ho.”
 Again, we have already seen the ambiguity of the Cock. It serves as a relay.
 Multiform to say the least, it is always something bigger than her. As Tom Petty Said, “She loves Jesus, and America too.”
 Some hoes love this. As Billy Joel said, “You may be right. I may be crazy. But it just might be the lunatic you’re looking for.”
 As Alicia Keys said, “Sometimes I love ya. Sometimes you make me blue. Sometimes I feel good. At times I feel used. Lovin’ you darlin’ makes me so confused.”
 As Earl the Black Pearl said, “[Y]ou know how the thing goes. Any man would like to always rule by right, but sometimes you’re forced to rule by might.”
 As Ann Wilson said, “There’s nothing left to do tonight but go crazy on you.”
 As Yogi Berra said about baseball, that “it’s ninety percent mental and the other half is physical.”
 As Chris Cester said, “Now you don’t need that money with a face like this, do ya?”
 Not gonna happen. As An old ho should be able to say with Liam Neeson, “I can tell you I don’t have money, but what I do have are [sic, but then again, both are illiterate] a very particular set of skills. Skills I have acquired over a very long career.” There the comparison ends.
 These bitches can be nuts. Consider Little Peggy March. “I love him, I love him, I love him. And where he goes I’ll follow, I’ll follow, I’ll follow.” You’ve got to keep your eye on a bitch like this.
 Often it’s a ho playing brinksmanship. In Pimp, Iceberg Slim depicts a situation like this. Kim the new ho looks to stir the pot, but he tells her to pack-up her shit, and then takes her to the station. This is the right strategy. Either she will break and come back broken, or she will go. The Former is the desirable option, but, no matter what, the right hand was played.
 Psychotics you can assess on an individual basis, but fuck the crackheads. The pimp always has to be number one. The pusher is number one to the crackhead. Even if the pimp is selling it to her, this isn’t good business. A good pimp doesn’t need to be double-breasted. Just make your pimp game tighter. You never need a plan B, make your plan A better. I think Dani Alves said something to the same effect about tiki-taka. In fact, drugs and pimpin’ are to very different games. As Super Sport said to Earl the Black Peal as he began dabbling outside of his field, “What you better get hip to, Earl, that this is the dope game and not the pimp game, baby.”
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