“We seize individuals for intercourse…this story is for ‘Frank’…I prefer to name it Crème De Menthe…color between my legs is pink…I am a snapper…she gave me six on the ass…fist fucked my gap after it had been anointed with orgy butter…be close to me once I fade away…I suppose that’s on the root of the next…there’s me and two different guys and a chick’s head positioned on a waist excessive rostrum…the pinnacle rotates, at its personal bidding, like an armchair within the entrance window of a furnishings retailer…it does not leak and belongs largely to Farrah F and Marilyn C, it has the esteemed feather minimize and the healthful countenance…the untrammelled snow…now the pinnacle is ideal, I do not actually know how you can describe it…it’s a nice head, very good product…see I can not get out of the considering the neck has been cauterised, that it has been saved in a fridge…or a bell jar…with the intention to stave off decomposition…no pink orchids right here…only a hothouse blossom…zilch formation of adipocre…fuck the serological research…topography of a phantom fuck…a dental chart is a verifiable dental chart…this head is delivered excellent, contingent to an inside whim. Farrah hair and ondontology, properly, I am a seventies boy, Marilyn C eyes and face…Betty Blue lips earlier than she obtained junked up…and no it is not synthetic wanting, an artificial facsimile…that is the very sure stuff…the craft of the Japanese gardener. Let’s leap minimize to the set. A shitheel flat on the outskirts of an hellhole housing property…the kinda place Jason Swift’s final tear trickled…canine faeces…throwaway syringes…polystyrene fast-food containers…squashed inexperienced bottles of white cider…all of the accoutrements of contemporary gothic…Hammer horror courtesy of the welfare state and She who stated there was no Society…the animals are exterior…milling…unsocialised and virulent…they’re lower than human (I have been an animal too, I am going to admit to that)…we have to outline a brand new class…or get Al Speer out of retirement…a sojourn spherical right here breeds an curiosity in eugenics…so there’s me and two different guys…buck bare…one quick, fats and hirsute…he may be ‘Ginsberg’…the opposite tall and lanky with a dick you might membership seals with …Mr Holmes, I presume. Me? I am Gillis after all. The baaadest of all of them, who left Sandra Chase’s buttocks wanting like an impromptu assemblage of strips of kebab meat, sheared from a revolving charred torso…dropping The Story of Joanna from my rap sheet…the place Gillis, an unlikely aristocrat, is being massaged ‘bare and supine’ by the male butler, who leans over and blows him…fellatio was not on the menu…properly, I desire to consider it was unscripted…a manly, respectable hand on the shoulder prevents the scene culminating in orgasm. Hammer, anvil. I want, you would like, they want. Possibly we would all be a lot happier as faggots. So me, Ginsberg and Holmes encompass the pinnacle, which makes a silent stock of the variegation in measurement of our respective genitals. We take alternate swigs from a bottle of Stolista; cheapjack vodka that makes absinthe seem like a scrub bucket thrill like cough syrup or codeine…we circle the pinnacle, smoking hash. The top involves relaxation, lies nonetheless. All is freakily unfastened but it smacks of the quotidian…I cradle the pinnacle lovingly, palms cupped beneath that divinely flawed jawline…she addresses me telepathically.
“I act with my eyes. No phrase of dialogue. As soon as one thing is inserted in you. I assumed you can’t return…and I by no means did. Scared to spring my lids, however I did, electrical cost, I beloved it.”
I kiss her eyelids, her lips…I can’t get onerous…why not the fuck…what do I require…the exhortation of a Georgian choir…keep in mind me. Spying a khaki go well with with loathing, lacking the medieval grace of iron clothes. Her lips upon them; and it was her mouth saying: Sluggard! Ginsberg yanks the pinnacle from me. Smashes it on the aspect of the podium…nostril bursts…Marilyn shrieks to me, solely to me, I’m alone in her psychic favours, “I’m not an automaton. I dug it! I offered washing powder. As white as ivory snow.”
“The previous coke whore,” says John H. The enhancing shouldn’t be restricted. Understanding he has overheard, I’m devastated. Ginsberg reveals a pair of pliers, previously secreted up his sweaty arsehole. By me forbidden voices: copulation isn’t any extra rank than loss of life is.
“That low lease cocksucker forgot Ardour Pit so I am no Little Oral Annie however my jawbone do not detach really easy…”
Ginsberg pulls out her tooth one after the other. There isn’t a blood.
“It is nonetheless too actual,” he chimes.
Mild…I get terrible queasy at this level and conceal behind the armchair.
She with ivory fingers, spinning lengthy yarns out of nothing. John.H will get all phallocentric…hosepiping the feather minimize born of the medium, not the message…we’re all screens. So Massive Al’s fucking the toothless mouth, his furry arse pumping away…John H. rabbit punches him…Al falls with a bang not a whimper…on the yellowed pages of The Day by day Sport…laid down like a lot kitty litter. John H. with a tablespoon…scoops out an eyeball…then one other…gobbles them up within the method of an Alzheimer’s affected person gorging on strawberry trifle in a residential house. Threads his wang via one eyesocket after which out the opposite…Massive Al licks the emergent crown…then drills his cock into the left earlobe…pummels the ersatz cunt…I rejoin the fray…We straighten and face Product…It conveys the picture onto our display…”
Cross the wounded perineum; fake an curiosity. Love of black and white stills.
I shall not have, don’t want, a narrative.