Fuckboy Faust

An iambic fantasy

Ary Scheffer’s Marguerite and Faust in the garden (1846)

MEPHISTO: Good doctor Faust, my master and my friend,
My art hath sculpt’d thy frame in sundry ways
Mystick and bold, as God did not intend,
Through practice of the wisdom of the gays.
Thy youth restored, to twink death give goodbyes:
Split ends retwine, hairline rewind, strands sleek,
Engorgèd chest, thy thickened wit and thighs;
E’en high churl priests affirm thy brows on fleek.
Since twice bloom’d youth still fades, heed me prithee,
Beauty unspent makes wise men groan “da furq?”
So tarry not, forego thy coquetry:
Let slip thy hip in saucy popping twerk.
Thine ass which was giving sadly sagging
Now’s pert and tight — mother’s serving gagging.

FAUST: Nay set aside your honeyed words foul snake,
My beauty thus, my foidlust will not slake.
Astronomer of dust, rude to my spheres,
You shaped my flesh to satisfy the queers.
It profits not for me to men attract;
A pretty woman’s fort I seek to sack.
An undiscovered country free from smutch —
No Hindoos please; just Swedish, German, Dutch.
Since in my dress I am a dapper swain
A sum shall ne’er be Faust and yapper twain.
My manhood aches not for a Roastie Whore,
But pines after a nine of ten or more.
Woman! Only the best shall be undressed,
And be by my whet wit forever blessed.

MEPHISTO: Wow, rude. No need to strike this attitude 
With me, sherpa to thy looksmaxx ascent.
Just tell this crook’d fiend straight, an' don’t be crude,
How may Mephisto act with thy consent?

FAUST: Reform me after (pray no dust nor mold)
The architecture of my study cold.
To wit: a high-vaulted, Gothic Zaddy,
The dream of any young Christ-sick baddie.

MEPHISTO: Ah, this and more I can for thee enspell.
Reagents foul I claw from my fey bag,
Whose innards’ size no mortal hand can tell,
’Tis made from leather guts of wicked hag.
Lamb spleen and tainted ivory, half-hatch’d
Fig wasp egg clutch, vile incest's brood, admixt
With blood of asp, upon my nails thus catch’d,
By way of poisons such is thy corpse fixt.
Sweet vapors out from these sundries I tease;
Inhale, my doctor, don't thou miss a scent,
For even though they do not strain to please,
On surgery thou wilt ne'er spend a cent.
Behold! Thy limbs have grown so long and lean,
Skin pale and smooth, face androgyn and mean.

FAUST: I must review; lift high the mirror, ghoul,
That I may judge if still you play the fool.

[FAUST gazes into the mirror]

FAUST: I am most glad those winds I did inspire,
Thy devil’s art hath craft’d much to admire.
My canthal tilteth up to form fox eyes,
With hunter’s lust I peer, O Lord of Flies.
My pupils span the just length cross my face,
Which gives me outward show of wit and grace.
My philtrum’s short, is measured to my youth,
I seem an honest man who loveth truth.

My alabaster skin glows bright, without a single pore;
I am more beauteous than e’en Gourdan’s best painted whore!

[Enters GRETSCHEN, a goodly foid]

GRETSCHEN: Red lillies and gillies
Make all girls grow sillies —

FAUST: (This maid’s midface is most pleasant to me.)
                                               — Hail, fair foid!

GRETSCHEN: (Be brave, young Gretsch; accost yon sweet Fine Shyt)
As Sol sustains the day, so thy face card
Ignites this girl into high heat, fair moid.
Or art thou more the moon alike, as thy
Celestial beauty pulls my lower tides?
Oh pretty thing, thou greatly mog my heart!
Thy well-sculp’t hips are looking breedable —
That is to say, thou art fast serving snacc —
That is, pray crush my head betwixt thy thighs —
That is, thou hast me hooting, hollering,
Pursèd lips whistling, banging both my fists
Upon the tabletop, eyes popping out
My head to best enjoy the sight of thee;
These eyes possessed by their possession, Sir,
Their new obsession now fixate, bereft
Of standing watch o’er gilded butterflies, 
And fig’ring silky clouds, and counting up
The scales on tails of lizards soaking sun,
To wit, withal to ken of all The Lord’s
Chattering creatures come to bless the world.
Thy bravely jaw; thy witty waist; thy skin
Both fair and just; thy lofty, honest height
Which fain I'd not adjust; all speak to me
As eloquent as that glib Cicero.
Art thou a famous model? Artist? Or,
An orphan turned forlorn, young billionaire,
Who seeks true love to share his wealth and care?
Go on, thy secret heart to me unfurl.
Fear naught; I’m literally just a girl.

FAUST: (By Satan's cock below, this girl doth yap!)
So young yet wise; thou hast here read me whole,
Thy words ring sweet like holy church bell toll.
I too have learnt the depths of thy design;
Now mark me how I scry thy stellar sign.
Thou art —

MEPHISTO [whispering]:
                 — a Capricorn —

FAUST:                              — a Capricorn.

GRETSCHEN: ‘Tis true! (Soft, Gretsch, thy trembling heart bestill!)
Here's writ the mark of Jesu's gentle hand
Proceeding from his Makrocosmic mind.
Entwined we are by String Invisible —
That theory much discoursed on Girlytok...
I'll have thy name, fair youth; I Gretschen am.

FAUST: My christ'ning priest to God Heinrich declared,
Scholars upon Henricus Faustus stared,
My patients call me Honest Doctor Faust,
But thou mayst come to simple Hal be spoused.

GRETSCHEN [Flushed]: Thy number, pray, enter into my phone.

[Gretschen hands to Faust her iPhone, whose screen is cracked in forty places]

FAUST: These flaws thy flawless beauty contradict;
These glassy crags and leisure's touch conflict.

GRETSCHEN: Unsaid is best on the sad state of this
Girlie's iPhone, though I declaim 'tis good
To be in this rough way from screens obscured:
Discomfitùre deters the night's doomscroll.

FAUST: All true, yet still these shards offense give me.
I long ago to Böhmerwald did flee,
Where wise Johann of Laz taught me a spell,
Some mending words which weave through any shell.

Half a newt, half cup soot, hemlock root, boiling,
All in my cauldron of malum is roiling.
Honour the sacrifice we offer downwards.
Enter the jaws of death; echo on down words.

[From Faust's hands a small cloud of purple smoke billows, and then clears to reveal the iPhone mended]

GRETSCHEN: Oh Mother Mary, what fel magick's this?

[In disbelief she takes her phone in hand, and ambles off to inspect it]

MEPHISTO: Perhaps, dear Hal, thou hast in this play erred,
By playing peacock for the Christian foid.
Thy borrowed charms render yon bop hoe-scared,
And thy pristine facade somewhat destroyed.
She will return to proctor a shit test,
To rap thy knuckles raw with her pink rod,
To prod and nag and scold, and will not rest
Until thou hast declared thou lovest God.
Hear me: vibe check the thottie out of here;
Admit no flaw; and King, confess no sin.
Come, cease thy jestergooning without fear,
We'll find another shrew to tame, my twin.
T'would prove a fight thou couldst not e'er have won,
For femoids hate to see men having fun.

FAUST: Thou prate to spike my cortisol; so calm:
Already sharty's heart is in my palm.
 
[Gretschen returns]

GRETSCHEN: Since Hal thou hast restored that which I've broke,
I shall restore to thee that which thou lost.
I need a goodly man who loveth God,
Who thirsts for blood of Christ, and hungers for
His bod. Dost not thou much respect, nor seek,
The freely given, holy Sacraments?

FAUST: Those things I do respect, but do not seek.
Who treads but one path shall always be weak.
The touch divine is found ev'ry which where;
My church convokes out in the open air.
I say, what's true to thee is true enough,
But Sanguis can be also found i'the... muff.

[Faust laughs]

GRETSCHEN: Hal don't — !

FAUST:   — Forgive my impudent snigger,
Thy steadfast faith hath roused my male vigour.

[Faust brushes Gretschen's cheek]

Fret not. I see the error of my ways;
With God and thee alone I'll spend my days.
Tonight unto thy bed I shall trespass,
And come the morn we shall sit Sunday Mass.

GRETSCHEN [blushing]: I would like that.

FAUST: Go on, get out of here.

[An anxious Gretschen departs]

FAUST: Speak snake, what say you now? I'll have that ass
For the small price of sleeping through one mass.

MEPHISTO: You foolish ape! This is His fav'rite trick.
She'll bring you once to church, then once again.
Such are the witching ways of biddies thicc;
By this method expands the Lord's demesne.
Concede to be henpecked an' soon your life 
Your master mistress' hand within be held;
You'll sing for all to hear "Oh happy wife!",
As she whets sharp her knife for you to geld. 
She's prepping thee for the Long House; so pray
Deny thyself to all these stupid whores,
Improve thy S.M.V., and grind all day,
Semen retain, and run drop-shipping stores.
In time her market price will be zero,
While thou'll ascend to be a based hero.

FAUST: Well, damn. My dogg, you're making sense to me. 
I'll ghost this bitch. Let's home to tweak my face.