පාපොච්චාරණය කිරීම දාහත

 

lyteemə calls me up one afternoon and almost screams at me im not that kind of person for saying she was going to give me her mophie then retracting  you can take your mophies and shove them up all your filthy rectums except theres not enough room in them because theyre so full of shit i scream  youre attacking my character  gestate 666 morphie foeti in your warty anus and birth a termiteheap of dirty morphie babies in the morgue and let them loose on my person and destroy it and there shall be no backup  my phones wet with spit  youre being excessive  your morphiesre your decadence and the whore of babylon shall devour you alive and technology is your doom and the patch cables of existence shall pass you by  my eyesre gyrating like strippers and my tung lolls like jeremyhyatts sleepingpenis and my meats scarlet and horripilated and   but shes hung up and we giggle in the steamed spa of alienation   

were all looking for holes in communication arent we  apertures that take us through language to that sensation of being alone in the boreal forest after inescapable years in central delhi   that make langwich look like an idiot and we can sit back and gasp with pleasure at our inane complicity in this task that has seemed till now so critical  graspable  unavoidable  but has  for the moment anyway  become as ridiculous as marshmallows   isnt this why we seek and succumb to sex  it deceives but for that moment anyway comforts us that weve found the place below  the pit that circumscribes language and births it  rearing it into words that dissolve as quickly as rainbows   i see it now  what the mystics have flayed themselves for in their tiny hard cells of impossible silence   the silly french deconstructionists pomp about it in cisterns of wine but they know nothing but tenure and flagellation   the well that dances and the well that sings

seen from the cold window of the kitchen reflecting lights of the ministry of defense on the water as if theyre oracles of some quiet monster that breathes beneath the mud      my plasmatic throat vomits all langwiches      repentance  the last out you visit

le pénultième est mort

we havent had any sex for a few pages so lets fuck like the hippocritters we are   weve gone into one of those republican jesus white rumpydumpy churches in yokelahoma or sexas or disasraska or allahbama with sign slogans like this church is prayer conditioned  many who seek god at the eleventh hour die at 10:30  life without god is like an unsharpened pencil no point  give satan an inch and hell be a ruler   we break in at 333 sunday morning and find the immersion tank and sink into it clawing at each other like salacious mvumbi   we each have nine penises and nine vaginas and they ooze around our meat like maggots   stick allofem in us we both say in lustspeak and go at it like hinduism at the conception of consciousness

   at the peak of a ziggurat next time you gasp

                nipson anomēmata mē monan opsin i shout

                                eighteen simultaneous orgasms you scream

holy virgin jesus and

celibacy and cilices

and the papal smear and

many slutty marys

humppumping each other in chaotic unison in the baptistery of god in the heart of the porno republic at the end of the world we build our release like khafre grimacecontort religiosexually speak ritual fragments like priests of the fulfillment of degeneracy leave our textile shreds around the pulpit smear our cum on the pews fuck u amerika and christou we spraypaint on the walls giggling like corpses and gyrate from the front doors naked and saved

sex in a novels like wanking  you gotta do it then you forget about it and move on