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From: "Sean Farragher" <sfarragher@nj.rr.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} TxM6: Writing from the Hip: Sexual Improvisation part 1. Beastiality and Scum
Date: Wed, 23 Apr 2003 07:10:05 -0400
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(c) 2003 Sean Farragher
http://www.seanfarragher.com
http://www.seanfarragher.com/taximurdersbook
http://www.seanfarragher.com/Joss
http://www.seanfarragher.com/hyperfiction
sfarragher@nj.rr.com


Writing from the Hip: Sexual Improvisation

April 22, 2003
2:41 PM
Every step we take we find another step in the back pocket or porch
where we have hidden all the memories that catch at us, make us
shiver, make us hide in the gutter trying to fit down in that space
where we are invisible. I will not be seen, I scream. I watch the
woman fall asleep at the table. She tries too hard to keep awake, and
in the usual fashion her arm collapses under her chin, and she falls
flat, dreaming, she said later of the long island between dark and
night, when the coast of Coney island and the Hamptons are rising up
in a rage burning down the houses, making the sand into charcoal. I
can finger the dust, no she says finger my lips and feel the metal on
my skin, as I will erase you, make you invisible with one puff of my
eyes, one puff of my breath saying nothing but alive alive alive. I am
too much alive for you. That is what she told him, slamming the door,
fucking cursing, she said, breaking the window by the force of her
rage. She rants, he told his friend later. She is diseased. I am holy,
but what he didn't say was how he woke in the middle of the night and
took a lit cigarette to her arm to hear how loud she would scream. He
did things like that for attention, he told her, and one night she
poured scalding water on his feet, and he was bound to the bed for
four months, and she paid the price by having all the work to do, and
nothing she said would change the law, she was the one on probation.
No one believed her about the cigarettes. No one believed that she
understood the torments that pain catches when you leap up to the
highest rung on the monkey cage, and sit there, nursing the chimp, and
you are human, and he sucks, and when you put your hand in the male's
mouth he tries to mount you and just like men he forces you to count
his fleas, and of course you keep losing count, and blame yourself,
and then after awhile, he is bored and asleep so you masturbate
endlessly smelling the rotten fruit at the bottom of the cage. You are
the beast, and you are glad, and you deserve it. A man rising above
the horizon finds you later, bent up, down, wrinkled like a shirt left
to brew in defecation. It is brown stained and blood stained and the
pocket is ripped, but it is all you have to wear, so you put it on
after washing it in the slight pool your keepers provide you, and the
more you wash, the dirtier it becomes, and finally, he shows up. This
human male, and he recognizes you, calls you mother or some other shit
words, and then beating you, torturing your tits, he suddenly prays to
God and God strikes him down out of the fucken blue sky. I remembered
my prayers after this parable. I remembered how to fuck again too. I
felt him up and in heat I strangled him after he gave one last grunt
into my sex and then I simply swooned. Yes, I can answer to God, and I
can make God into my likeness. I have that power dear mankind, but my
nipples are sore from giving too much up for the party. Those bastards
came and took me. All seven men for seven days and seven nights
fornicated me until I could not blink except to express semen from my
pores. God loves the blue skies and cornfields, yes she does. She is
the blue eyes of God and her orgasm, well it started with a tidal wave
in Australia, and now the great waves are breaking down the bridges
cross the Thames. I love English weather, as it is the dull gray sap
of an old oak dried sticky on my cheek. Come lick it off Love. Kiss
and bite where I am bled to me made healthy again. I am such a sexual
tree my health is perfect if I could just clean the ooze from my parts
I would not smell anymore, and God, she would forgive me, as she would
in any case, because I do not fear life, but I fear living.  2:56








END

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Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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