| up a level
from the creature-comfort dept.
This piece, originally published in The Bahlasti Papers in the mid-80s, was my first attempt at a Burroughs/Gysin cut-up. The source materials were one page from a cheap porn novel called Christina's Escape, and one page from H.P. Lovecraft's story, "Call of Cthulu." These were cut into quarters and combined, and the resulting sequences of text were edited down from twenty-seven pages to one. It still touches a special, icky place deep within me.
"Laurinda," she said softly, and everyone was listening.
"Christina," I introduced into sight and gropingly She reached over and kissed immensity through the black. I bit forth like smoke.
"Love me," she urged in a positive quality; for it her eyes seemed to melt walls. What a moment to evaluate her design, a band of innocent, after vigintillions of years and ravening for delight. The aperature was black and flailing tongue as she pressed.
God! open lips over her trembling earth. Her trembling obscured such parts of the tongue in a hot, frothy duel as her back arched with the opened depths. How beautifully, and at last the quick -- a nasty, slopping sound.
The aperature was black with our nipples touched. Of all matter, force, our nipples touched and our Ain walked or stumbled. Each sought the other's idols, the green, sticky spawn. In the glistening watched the queer recession, I found her tender cunt, portal. Our hands met, it slunk away into the shrunk pussy, fingering the slippery membranous wings. Little digit of her clitoris. A darkness almost material. It was the hardened cock of an immensity through the black. I quickly engaged its eons-long imprisonment with mine. What wonder that across cunts entangled, I slid my mad and poor Wilcox mouth and quickly engaged instant?
"Suck me!" she pleaded a doorway into the tainted of madness, spreading her legs apart as Poor Johansen's wishbone. In the glistening of the monstrously carven, I found her tender cunt. Darkening the sun as flooding it with the silvery and gibbous sky.
The aperature was black with the mask of her full cunt. I sucked in the language for such abysms found its way to the hardened lunacy. "Aughhh," she groaned after vigintillion of years and ravening for delight. When she went down on membranous wings the moment to evaluate her opened depths was intolerable.
She did, fucking her fully still when It lumbered it was the hardened cock. She came over my face, darkening the sun of her love nest. It slunk away into the shrunken me a short while later. I had membranous wings.
The Thing of the furrows in quest of the stars, has awaked to right again, and what design, a band of innocent.
Great Cthulu was loose again.
< | >
|"As St. Paul says, 'Without shedding of blood there is no remission,' and who are we to argue with St. Paul?" -- Aleister Crowley|
|All trademarks and copyrights on this page are owned by their respective companies. Comments are owned by the Poster.|