...Something or other. A little piece of writing. Older thing. I try to just let them fall out, you know. The ugly censor raises it's spectral head often enough, any of you who've tried it, know. Read this. Go and bring something you love into existence. Let the exploration to become wetter, nastier, more full of joy. And good luck.  |
| Further Manifestations of EyeAlone |
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| The temple guardian, inverted and angry |
Prayer, Evocation, Arising
And that gently cold-hearted, enormous
manifestation of the Suchness eases
in, plump lip barely moving, "this is it, this is
what we get, naked and indechiperable
still, hot-headed children of the sun
such as we are, you, with your tongue
fresh off my clit, juices still in your beard,
a face that smells rich of pussy and
me, now certain. The performance anxiety and
whatever else trailing behind us like the sweet
peace of history that it is."
"Maybe things will become that much
more magnificent still. I can see it because
at this point life still contains this strange waiting.
This strange untimely nakedness.
This uncomfortable exposure, but
that is the nature of language and the
nature of trying. If you can't leave things behind then
you can't find the future and you realize now, way too late, that your head
isn't on straight and never was and that it is only that foolish notion,
that such a thing is possible,
that sent you tumbling into this wet mess in the first place.
But, but you are getting out of it. You see it for
what it is, simply a spiral who's direction you get to control, who's
sensitivity you are the master of, and you can embrace whatever you
need to. You can leave all those useless whispers of morality that
have ruled you behind. You can shake your sweet ass in the face of
the law because all they can do is punish you now, You've stepped beyond
humiliation and left behind every part of that tired symphony. You have
turned into gold. All it took was this. All it took
was the complete crushing of everything you held
dear. The total annihilation of your own sense of meaning. All it took was a
language so barbaric and open
you had to stagger silently and empty-eyed between the useless
void and the cosmic chatter. For a really long time. You
have mastered the empty ambiguity
and are now cutting the cords. I want your cock.
I freed you in a distant whisper, in a voice that promised you
the fucking mother of all line breaks. I got you past every device
you understood and now you are finally palpable. You're lucky I like
it rough because you have what some would call
a rape aura but, context considered, I think it's beautiful. I call it the perfect
level of restraint, a contained violence in a culture
at war with itself. I call it a sweet view of the moist hereafter, that doesn't
exist. I'm quite sure there is an applicable Missy Elliot quote but I
have no idea what it is and furthermore, I don't really care."
Then she cupped my balls in her
smooth left hand and tickled them
with her fingernails. Amen.
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| The temple guardian (Eyeless Manifestation) |
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| Truck Stop Erotica, coming soon to The Deep Sick Wonderful store |
