Inchoate

Demeanor. Demean her. D me in her. Demeter. 

Lush colonies of fungi coagulated to a fresh, lively flourish: fecundity. The cliff face flushes with the red of dawn so that everything glistens and gleams with promise. We call this albedo. We call this hope for our future and we call this luminosity time’s measure against light. We call this a prayer and we call this a last ditch effort — our hands stretching out of the hellfire pit. Maybe the few of us will find this air. Maybe one of us will glimpse the light or fly on waves of sentiment or fuck in the flower patches. Wretched, we don’t recognize our telos. Ash from fire, dust from bodies… only we could warp light’s trajectory to one: to none.

Plunging my clawed fingers into my breast I find a scorpion crawling and stinging where it shouldn’t. Tucked between aorta, shuffling around the parts that keep me going. Scuttling down vascular pathways, thousands of pale pupa offspring tickle my heart with their tarsus. Every agony starts with a pinprick pinch. And then fire and roiling bile and retching. Lungs exuding particulate: ground up arachnid dust spraying my friends and my family. Stingers poke through each of the pores on the faces of my loved ones. Green acid rends their skin and their eyes pour out, gelatinous. I wish I had clutched less tightly. 

He fucks her pussy with his cock. She fucks his pussy with her cock. The fish swimming in her wet know that the destruction to their native biomes, should it persist as such, is a continuance which is untenable. Their fleshy homes go gray and fade to dust in the waters, now entirely unsupportive of life. This was foretold by the angler oracle with her lamp forging ever into the future through the darkest depths of this feminine pussy. These cocks, the status quo phallus : missiles collapsing homes and firearms ramming down the voices of the oppressed and the whole pussy dries up and the cocks fight a war for water until there is none because the cock would rather be unfulfilled: le petit objet a. //// His pussy and her cock : an unlikely pairing – a new ground. Fish that can walk and talk and wag their tails and sit and roll over and ask you to sit and roll over and then have you piss outside. In every novelty like this there is intention and intention and novelty is creation. Disrupted: a space for cocks and pussies to do something different. These fish know there’s more than one way to skin a cat.