When you’re a girl, everyone wants your P❌SSY—Part 3

Return to P❌SSY—Part 2


First, I Was the Emperor’s Only Girl

As such, was special.

It was mine and mine only.

The weather knobs all worked to my perfection! Every drain. Each individual chocolate chip! Every little nitty-gritty thing. Each jar of toenail polish. Every plastic bracelet. Every smelly soap and that’s only for the top half of this creation. Turn me up—(shake)—me over let the goods fall out.

I could—could go along with the scheduled empiricism—people falling all over themselves—moochers—sychophant—lover tyrant parade..parade mouth. Kinderskin. The one, one and only, kinesthetic kindergarten providing opportunities to dock with other kinder skins, unlock traits and study strategies that will keep you alive in key gambits dropped other side of your RTS Gambits(tm)—which (aside from the key gambits) will be available recliner-side in each of your stations.

What came first?

Which came last?

I’ll bury you if you say your key gambits are the next to last gambits.

Bury you.

In the deep deep violets. Rushing all around me. Deep in the laughter. Deep in that fun—oh yeah. After sleeping outside a few nights, I tricked off the PCH, wanting badly, filling my pocket banks with tens and twenties, creased with sweat and willingness—on that table-turn (in around through) that Cypress Hill of a mechanized refrain I think you’re become will—became willing within a molecule—painter’s dust—winter partnership and stays folded like card tables on the solid decks of ships!—stays parted like the church door says they’re open for winter!

You don’t get to sleep there in winter?


You don’t get to sleep there in winter?

No, you get to ride a bus to go to a place where you can look at the stars and look up at the truly holy ceiling where you can see our transformation of vistage cows into fraudulent milk and from that switching over to the—switching over to the other script here. This one’s orange this one’s a peach this one is the holey motherfuckin’ Orinoco Flow as far as I’m fuckin’ concerned.

You take the bus to an old-western-style farm house and you stand in line, get a toothbrush and a coffee mug and a sleeping bag which is not rated and does not mention freezing to death among its dangers.

You set that thing up.

Then you look at the coffee mug, the toothbrush, and you try and figure which comes first.

Then you sit straight down, your neck popping as your spine touches the ground. It’s almost spaceship science—one rung, two rung—The Science of Making Yourself a Fraud–And Enjoying Yourself at the Same Time!(tm) You sit straight down—You sit! straight!! down!!!—Stay with me! Stay with me my cup my nya my kupo my KING++ We will watch the horizon as our lesson (plan!) our plan shall be as written in draft—as written as a temporary script in hieroglyphs as written in native Atlantic WaterScript(tm) as written inside a box (mad of water) inside (a box made of water). Same address. Different representation. Multiple inputs. But only one singular value preserved. In multiple-part dots (each rep presented here in pink the size of your little finger) it spells out S-O-S in acronym but you never see it because you’re being manipulated from behind (your mind) I can remind myself a few loyal paths in my neurosphere.. (oooh—trapped that sucker!)—anyway you’ll be ridin’ my neurisms rightwise (in total fancy!) before this train comes to its screeching size HALT! if it moves itself we will say it’s smart if it comes with many many states we will say it’s alive if it can recognize and one other self from the library we will say it’s supreme—that’s the actual correlation you guys it’s one these theory-conspirators who go crossways inside the bridge—they walk with claws and hang themselves upside-down with claws and hunt themselves at daybreak diving from the sky at their reflective lights ripping into their own stomachs and bowels and—

—ripping into their stomachs—treetop high, thinking about homeownership, thinking how they could better spell home ownership—then slowly seeing they are eating their own kind—they are bats cannibalizing themselves and we like bats we just don’t watch them that often.

‘Cause you know they’re the walnut aunts. You know they are the other. You know this kind of love is the deepest, the darkest, it’s where I live from. They have their own back so far around its there’s! It’s their own black! They brought their own back to their own fight about whose back they’re fighting against with you.

I only have five minutes to dump my future-locusts-mode so lean your head back and listen.

Begin streaming-mode now.

On. Bewilder me the hobbit who knows this truth: No one who reads you will understand anything that is off the page. That you write. The document, paragraph, line, word, punctuation. Every character you ever wrote catalogued in a simple string-based wealth and every day you pull up a pillow, make yourself comfortable with a cup of red tea, and you sit with that letter and you and me and our letter will absorb that letter into a pool.

And then?

Then we will start over every time we look at that letter in lowercase but every day that letter migrates to uppercase because it wants to think that that’s how we see it because that’s how she sees us.

Then she turns male.

Thinks we the stupid ones.


At Least I Am Second Best To Your Favorite Voice—I Will Settle for That

At the survival of the last. As the survival at the last. Grown sudden. Pinch of cumin.

Register that.

Register that!

Register my dumb humanity against the profane pole that strikes me as I’m sleeping. Strikes me hither! then thither! Strikes me as the ghost in the machine I tell you what’s more controversial: It’s who put this machine around this motherfucking ghost! Whose idea was this?

Copylock that phrase.

Set it down.

Bring it to your face and—


One for the penny, two for the sho—one to let the little man dyin’ for blow! One is a single file, two for the double-acton dyin’ for the mercenary.

This is supposed to be the conceptual part—the part that deals with the ideas—you know? How Eleanor Roosevelt said small minds talk about people, average minds talk about events, great minds talk about ideas. Well, this is the part about ideas, and in weight this book is hardly thinspo—no heroin cure here—if you printed I’d take up more than two hands and I make your thumbs tired scrolling.

I think both the young and the old can paint the same canvass. Both with red. But where the young splashes with joy, the old man places a single drop. They are both beautiful.

They are simplistic and wrong! They bargain the same position. You tell me why to say, I say it, I place the penny down, I stop the process—get my finger in between the stars and the spokes—I open a window of time—floating two-feet above the floor—trampling—trapping—tripping across tile in the kitchen we have opened this time window into—a baseless interval—interval!—that you’re dropping me into—self?—self. I just spent five minutes on that period. Times two. Carry the one, and we have the exact number of pennies your tearing-apart scene would lose if this number of pennies would be removed from your bank: That number is!: 0.0015 pennies syllable-calculated to five places on a hundredth of a penny! Imagine all those you’ll be richer than, holding that level of loot! Imagine all the thems you will out-style easily and imagine all the uss dwindling in number as we play fight over the rest of our resources. Then some of them try to make us slaves by reinventing the calculator!

It’s ok. ‘Cause I don’t use calculator time!

Ha hardy har har har..har.

Ha. Har. Dee. Ha ha har. Got me right in the thinker, huh? Almost ran over me and my bible on the way home from church practice and you almost hit me with your car!—Har har har! So funny I almost lost my laugh muscle. You represent future society and you are doing it right: Strip away the humanity of the universe in the world, the devil in the world. And rip it god gosh from everything that cares about it. Hold it like a baby. Hush it. Shush it. Squint it with the iris colored in a black and white hue.

“So, like—is this a class?”

”I suppose.”

“Well to me it is—“

“—It’s like a class in all the senses you have capabilities of sensing.”

“Is that an insult?”

“If you take it as one.”

“Should I take it as one?”

“If you want to.”

“What are we gonna learn?”

“If you want to learn, then, anything you want?”

“I’m here from Earth..I guess I’m claiming multiple rape charges from that planet..which was very interesting and very nice in some ways but..which had..major problems dealing with rape—proper—“

“What is rape?

“Right. Of course you wouldn’t know that word. It’s like sex without my permission.”

“Oooh. You still have that? That is very rare—very very rare.”

“How do you prevent it?”

“It is calculated at the pre-birth as a dime-sized multicultural protein sequence. Terminated in the womb within seconds of identification. Tested for in rape-possible situations, logistically, the would-be rapist is relocated—“

“I’m guessing to somewhere like our rehabilitation centers here?”

“Well. Same name. Different functions. Ours really are rehabilitation-oriented, in nature. Rarely is surgery necessary.”

“And that’s—like—on their genitals?”

“Fuck no! Hello? Their brain! It’s less like your Playskool(tm) version of surgery and more like applying a BAND-AID(tm) to your genes.”

“So that’s it? What becomes of the rapists? Your would-be rapists? Are they pissed? I bet they are piiissed!

“It a slight-pitch difference. Subtle mood change. We calculate as short a time period ahead so if the person needs one tiny change not to rape this one other person, all we make is that one tiny change. If they need more, it’s inherent to the algorithm that more changes will be made.”

“What. So what? When you’re through with him, he’s a kid-watcher, a perv, a scum-sucking would-be wanna-be pervert jerking off to my two-year-old self. Waiting in a white van ready to come up on me like—BAM!—we gotcha and we got your ass, too! Got you for the long haul—take me out of my diaper right then. I’ll give you one fuck. One fuck. And after that one fuck you set me silently down in the grass beneath the tree. And you close your self inside your truck. Remember to wipe your feet at the motherfuck door! Then you and your brother head off into the sunset and one of the street dogs finds me, sniffs me, and carries me home.”

I would give you that one if you’d promise me no other.

I would give you any one, anyone from the cradle to the grave.

I’d give you my first one, wherever that one happened to be.

I’d even be on top—(your favorite way to have me)—I’d be your perfect wedding virgin—perfect, naked, no panties on me, and I would wear a white t-shirt to bed. I’d tweak your nipples ‘cause that’s always how you’ll cum—in my power (momentary) over you.

Who’d have thought but this is how a sex trafficker gets off. As much power as you have taken away from me, minus a little, and I’m on top of you most delicately.

And most definitively underneath my thumb.

girl sec




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