Engage and enrage.
Foreign laughter sounds like an argument of rolling roiling Rs.
A chuckle, the knuckle he’ll buckle under. Thundersome drums of beaten hands, bruised
bodies begetting Bambi dreams and screams—Oh
No! Don’t glow—irradiation sweeps
the nation in a fallout of signification.
Gendering the probable pronoun of the unblinking from
forming the inversion of the smile seen around the world—And yes that is a
sexual term without and within hetro normative discussion/digressions on the
homosexual experience.
Sodomy is a such a quaint term—hard to believe its mention
could cause a lady or the impacted lad to faint—a feint of no consequence for
the sense of a crushed nipple—a sticky ripple the small of stipple—an adulation
sweeping the nation.
Go on then…tell me some more magic tricks or better yet of
magical tricks—horny hicks, raging pricks and pretty dicks—Detectives one and
all.
Boarding/hoarding.
The flush handle matches catches the decorator’s eye. Emboldens the designers desperation, sweeps
the nation like a broom—open up the tomb—bury it like a womb man—cross the span
as another Iran—so far away only a seagull can say hey hey we’re the flunky—a
they of delicate identity and an impermanence
of binary.
Cobal is a t short of colour—sing the true blues of
bludgeoning, then bring the right red to bare the knuckles under which he
buckles.
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Skylines of clouds—the louds of ice dreams in silky fluffs
of snowy down. An imagining of inter
dimensionality—the collapse of the narrative into a single story
structure. A Flat running through with
possibilities—an impossible assertion of one dimensionality—if only a line
could be as fine as wine—age gracefully—unapologetically with wonder—dreams of
thunder—cracks in the façade—hard as a placard.
Drive a vintage Packard. Pretend
to a characteristic heuristics—the math is difficult to parse with the promise
of a/the missing integer.
Her digits designed to beguile all the while—something
pretty to defile—a characteristic blemish—A story told in Flemish. A Dutch treat. The little Dutch Boy—Taller than all the
rest.
The Colonized Indonesians, kept for their pleasure after the
loss of their treasure. The locus of
the pleasure, the focus of the pleasure all in terms of the colonial Cock—a
doodle doodle do—An al dente noodle pent up the rent—over he goes stopping as
no one knows how or when or when.
Any incidental pleasure the Indonesian experiences is
considered accidental and unforeseen.
The accommodation of the Colonial Cock is not easy for the
Indonesian. The Colonial Cock is
insistent/persistent in its penetrating way.
The Indonesian must give over to
the Colonial Cock all it asks and more. Give over the power and pleasure as it
were nothing and every thing.
The Indonesian’s pleasure is profound. Unexpected, the pleasure reclaims and tames
the Colonial Cock. The pleasure is a
power, a potion, a notion of magic making—no faking—the Indonesian’s orgasm
rocks the Colonial Cock to its roots, shoots its evidence everywhere sticky and
stuck the Indonesian holds the Colonial Cock hostage to its desire, a captive cock begging for release. Just a little more grease.
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Mineral and metal resources extracted as part of the
occupation paid for the costs of the occupation. One nation under godless corporation, the
peninsula prevaricates over its own fate.
Asks of itself existential questions.
Wonders of its wonders slipping from its soils. Coils in repulsion over the occupiers
compulsion to comport themselves in Colonial costumes while buggering all the
boys.
Surely native attire
is more appropriate for local fornication—regardless of the nation state or
fate of the buggers and the buggered.
Assumption is a kind of consumption of beliefs belying the
boy bottoms turned top notch buggers, butts bouncing happily in the air as
their Colonized Cocks claim the frame of the Colonizer’s ass as their own.
My how big you’ve
grown. If only I’d known. I couldn’t possibly…
Oh. Oh.
Yes. Yes. I…I… am.
Oh god. Yes take me …Oh… Oh,
yes. I’m yours.
Those white men are just whores whose snores disturb the
sleep of the keep. A reckless lot
they’re not got a lot to offer save the proffer of a position perhaps far from
home.
The relations between Colony and Colonizer is complex. As relations shift and evolve the
interdependency blurs the lines of power and prestige. The raw materials are transformed. Values added.
Ideals attached to entanglements.
House boys become house holders.
Property turned to property holder, of property. With property. As though with child. Without expectation. Against and for expiation. An explication—explicitly implicit in the
arrangements for sleeping and keeping.
Affectionately called bed warmers by their keepers, the
local boys expectations are greater than their keepers imagined possibilities
for them.
