A Wedding in June

A wedding should be a happy time.

People get married for all kinds of reasons—tradition, love, pregnancy, money, or just to move away from their parents—but all of these have in common some kind of happiness wrapped up in them. Even if it's just the happiness of hooking up with someone new, mere novelty is a form of happiness..for a while.

People love to relate. We love to have sex. We love to feel love. And what better way to feel that special love than to throw a big party spend a bunch of money and stuff cake down the throat of the woman you've just married.

Oh and throw in some rings with lots of diamonds.

People believe the advertising hype and therefore become willing to spend six months' pay on a multi-phasic promise/engagement/wedding ring. We practically believe that if we don't spend money on diamonds, then love isn't real.

We wear white dresses even though we're not virgins.

Except I knew a girl who was a virgin on her wedding day. Her name was Morgan and I had known her her whole life. She's my cousin.

Morgan is five years younger than me. We're at that delta where we're sort of in the same generation and sort of not. The truth is I've had a crush on her since she was eight and I was 13. Nothing creepy, I mean I wouldn't have sex with her or anything, but she's got a mind I adore and she recognizes my genius..just like in small things like how I move dirty dishes around the sink or eat food on a crowded restaurant table. Both are like playing Tetris. We appreciate each other's minds.

Morgan was getting married. She found this ex-military dude who I think she just liked because of his haircut. He was a meat head, and unfortunately Morgan had been brainwashed by her parents to think that war is the way to solve all problems and their whole family bought into the whole American imperialism thing—except they didn't know what they were buying into and they would never call it that.

If you threw facts at them like America has more overseas military bases than there are countries in the world their eyes would glass over and they'd begin to drool. It was impossible for them to hear this kind of information because doing that necessitated considering that their way of life—all of our way of life—would have to change.

They had difficulty with simple math and logic problems as well. Like Morgan's father—that's my uncle Geoff—couldn't calculate a 15% tip even though he works as a consultant to the oil industry. He has a degree in chemical engineering and he needs a calculator to buy dinner.

Morgan is smarter. But Morgan hides it. There's that saying someone said about wherever a genius appears he will be assaulted by a confederacy of dunces or whatever? I don't know the exact quote but Morgan hides to avoid the assault of dunces—I watch her do it. I recognize the maneuver 'cause it's one I use myself.

Morgan has an older sister Laura. Laura is a dud. Everyone in my family is a dud except me, Laura, my sister Eliza, and my mom and that's it. The remaining crowd is wrapped up in fear, conformity..knee deep in quicksand. They're impossible to talk to. Only a handful of us, by circumstance, have peeled away from the pack and we are villainized by the family for saying things that make sense. My therapist told me once:

"Oh, did you think coming here was going to make your life easier?" (No, it's going to make your life harder. The more therapy you attend, the fewer people you'll be able to relate intimately toward, not more.)

My therapist says I'm good at a) being intimate and b) living in the moment.

But here's the thing: a lot of people don't want to have intimate relationships. Given my experience and beliefs, I want intimacy in my relationships or what's the point. But most people don't want that. That's hard for me.

So when I meet someone like Morgan I relish the opportunity. I mean we live in different cities and all we really do is text and play Words with Friends. She always beats me. I think she's cheating.

Let me tell you more about my crush on Morgan.

It started out innocent.

Then I wanted to fuck her.

Then it became an intellectual crush.

Now I'm ambivalent. I don't think—given the actual chance—that I would fuck her. But sometimes I imagine her lying on my bed in white panties. I'm tonguing her crotch. Then she gets on top of me and fucks me with her tiny little pussy and when I think about that it gets me off.

But I would never force it on her.

And even if she wanted to, I might say (I've rehearsed this): "Morgan, I would love to have sex with you, and I don't have any problem breaking the social taboo or scandalizing the family, but I'm in a relationship right now and I value simplicity and if we fucked I think it would introduce complexity and I don't want to do that at this time."

Then hopefully we would fuck anyway.

As cousins, we've been in physical proximity many times. In swimming pools. Dressed up at family reunions. Using the same bathroom at the same time to change shirts: I'm brushing my hair and Morgan ducks in in a bra and skirt and puts on deodorant.

We're safe, since we're not allowed to have sex with each other. That breeds a certain familiarity. But it comes back around and you really are a man and a woman in a bathroom half-dressed and men and women like to fuck each other, even cousins.

I slept in the same bed with my sister for a year. I lived in New York and shared her room and her futon and not once did I think: Me and my sister should have sex. That's because there's this process siblings go through—I forget the name, but—some sort of biological process by which children who grow up with each other are precluded from feeling sexual attraction toward each other. So (generally) siblings don't find each other attractive.

But cousins do.

Cousins have enough common DNA that we seem attractive to each other, and we usually don't grow up side by side, so we never go through that process which precludes attraction.

When siblings are raised apart, and meet each other as adults, they can be extremely attracted to each other.

I'm not sure my attraction to Morgan is primarily sexual.

I just like smart people.

They're kind of hard to find.

Mostly, I just like to talk to her and be around her generally.

Like with this military dude she's marrying—Evan—I don't hate him, I'm not jealous, when I think of his cock entering Morgan's pussy I don't get angry. I mean that's her business if she wants to get married to a jug head. It won't last. I give it two years tops. But that doesn't mean I don't support her—both of them. I'll go to their wedding and hug and cheer and clap and throw rice or birdseed or fennel or whatever they want us to throw at them. I hope that asshole treats her well.

And I don't mean asshole in an emotional way. I mean logically, logistically, he is an asshole. It's not a judgment. It's just a fact of life.

If my cousin wants to marry an asshole, more power to her.

Her parents hate him, which works for me because I hate her parents.

I hope he rocks her virgin pussy.

But that's unlikely.

I've met the guy and I can tell from his handshake to his lack of any sort of depth that he'd be horrible at fucking. Typical slab-head military piece of shit. About the only fucking he'd be good at is ass fucking his fellow infantrymen while deployed in whatever country we're invading today.

It would be hard to imagine him licking a clit.

Just like I bet he couldn't start a fire in the rain.

This is more of a 50-caliber machine gun type of guy.

Remember when I said there were different types of weddings? Different reasons for getting married? I bet this one between Morgan and Evan, for Morgan, is the get-away-from-home type of marriage. You know? He's a reason to get out of Dallas, to get out from under parents who question her every day about her decision to drop out of her chemical engineering program which would have put her on the same track as her dad and her sister Laura that results in middle-class money and a job track that would make an enlightened person want to kill themself within the first five years.

So Morgan and Evan get married, move to New York, and Morgan pursues a career on Broadway. Evan re-enlists and spends six months out of the year deployed while Morgan falls in love with her gay co-stars and maybe kisses a girl for the first time.

That's what I can hope for her.

Oh, and one other thing. I'm going to tell the story of her wedding with all the juicy bits included. This isn't the wedding her parents saw. Or the one my mom saw. This is the real story of what happened at Morgan's wedding.


Let me tell you about Morgan.

She was born five pounds 10 ounces with a Bic pen stuck up her vagina.

In Sunday school, she was the one asking the annoying questions like, "Why did Moses have to kill the fatted calf?"

And when she came to church she rode in on a tiny elephant.

She was willing to kiss a girl when her father and our uncle joked about shit-eating faggots.

All the children at school bowed on bended knee as she dismounted the beast.

At night she slipped a finger inside her panties and made herself cum.

She was an avid masturbator and dreamed of getting off older men in a pickup truck parked in the grass on her grandfather's property. She would slide over on top of me and lift up her skirt and rub her panty-covered ass cheeks on my cock until hot sperm shot up her back and she cleaned herself off with plaid.

Silver stockings.

Then she'd slide over into the passenger's seat and pretend to smoke a cigarette—for she was too young to smoke—and she'd exhale her lovely breath in the cab and I would breathe it in like shisha.

If I could have I would have breathed in her vagina smoke like wine.

Morgan was an A-B student who played steel drums.

She played Mozart on them.

This she did in the school marching band.

They had never seen a Mozart-playing shisha-vagina-having Morgan like Morgan before.

She was the star of the school.

Every boy wanted to smoke the crack of her vagina and pump it full of semen but Morgan was only interested in boys who could solve the Rubik's Cube with their eyes closed.

This limited her to one boy.

But Morgan wouldn't spread.

She kept Rubik at bay.

Morgan wanted to fuck Bobby Fischer.

Even though he was dead.

She wanted to necrophile him, play chess at midnight in graveyards Romanian in character and chant anti-American 9/11 slogans on Russian radio while she bounced on his rotting cock.

That sort of thing excited her.

How long could a cock remain hard once its owner was dead?

That sort of thing kept her interest.

The kinds of questions that when you ask them in school you get sent to the principal's office.

The kinds of questions that land you in therapy.

The kinds of actions that land you in jail.

But why should fucking a dead man land you in jail?

Morgan was sure he wouldn't mind.

Wasn't the pleasure of the living more important than the defilement of the dead? The dead don't care—right?

She wanted to make love to Emily Dickinson. Sneak into her room one night and rifle through the dead girl's drawers, rubbing poems on her vulva and soaking them through with her grool.

Emily wouldn't mind.

Emily was dead.

Morgan was alive.

When Morgan was 12, she covered her pussy with local honey and let ants eat her out.

Sitting in the sandbox.

They didn't bite her.

They ate her clean.

Tingling sensation.


She ate a few fingerfuls of honey-covered ants and bought a lottery ticket late that afternoon.

Morgan wasn't mathematically illiterate, though; she never checked the results. It was more of a gesture to the universe that she believed in infinite possibility. She didn't believe in winning the lottery, though; Morgan was not a dim girl.

When she was 12 1/2, Morgan woke Laura with a tongue on her Jurassic Park panties and after that Laura slept in a different room.

Morgan was lonely, not just because her sister slept elsewhere, but because even the boy who could solve the Rubik's Cube with his eyes closed did not understand her. He was a dud, too.

Morgan went deep into her mind and from her mind she has never emerged.

As a teen she smoked cloves.

She ran away to California after stealing her daddy's Range Rover. While in California she shacked up with a pot commune and danced high and naked in the boys' trailer, high on Gorilla Glue but never widening her labia to let boys cocks explore her like a worm. She slept in a tent outside and eventually returned the Range Rover to Dallas, but this was yet another trip Morgan never returned from. She began making plans after that to live on a growers' colony in Aboriginal Aus. She never went but it was the kind of thing she would do.

When she took the SAT, Morgan filled in the circles to spell out, "This test is boring," in a compressed binary format. She got the lowest grade in her class, but (she wagered) got the most satisfaction of anyone who took the test. Ever.

Her parents—my uncle Geoff and his husband Paul—tried to punish her by taking away her iPhone.

Morgan retaliated by activating a new phone at Best Buy with her father's credit card. Then she racked up $1000 worth of app purchases in the App Store.

Dumb stuff, like flight simulators and photo filters and stuff.

She broke into their Fire Stick and did some very tasteful black and white film filters of Geoff and Paul fucking each other up the butt.

She danced around the breakfast table while streaming the photos on their widescreen and she sang a song whose lyrics went, "Poop..on my butt. Poop on my butt!"

Morgan had red hair. Well, strawberry blonde.

She was lanky and her breasts never developed due to an easting disorder.

Her dads tried to teach her about her period and even invited a close female friend to the house to talk to Morgan about it, but Morgan rejected this help and learned what she needed to know off the internet.

She was proud to have a pussy, but she thought it was overzealous for people to say that the female genitals were better designed than the male ones. I mean, a) male genitals create living things that swim up a woman's vag and deliver an informational payload the size of Los Angeles (if unraveled) and b) male genitals don't bleed once a month and even though testicles look like turkey neck there are some nice cocks out there and maybe ideal female genitalia is beautiful there's a lot of ugly cunt out there.

Morgan's cunt was ideal. She knew it. Laura knew it. Everyone who ever saw it knew it. Laura felt lucky to have well-formed genitalia. Being smart was worth a lot, but having well-formed genitalia was worth even more. You have to have something to keep them coming back, and people covet you when you have well-formed genitalia.

Laura had had her pussy licked by several girls and several guys. Parties. Hookups. Upstairs bedrooms. But she never got so drunk that they were able to explore her like a worm with their worm dicks spreading her labia open and open and in in in.

She had been fingered by girls though.

That meant she was still a virgin—right?

Girls has made her cum.

Morgan thought the idea of virginity needed updating.

And she had a thing for me back, just like I had a thing for her.

If I was brushing my teeth, she would come into the bathroom and rise up between me and the sink. Then her butt would press "accidentally" into my crotch while she fished around for her hair brush, and if the door was closed she did a little dance with he butt and she'd rub it up and down like Beyoncé purposely disturbing my dick and then she'd turn on her electric toothbrush and vibrate all those little bits of food and the top layer of plaque off her teeth and as she was fucking her mouth with the bristles she would look at me in the mirror and we would never speak of it again.

I just took it as careless playfulness from a kid as we could never actually fuck due to the chromosomes and shit.

But sometimes I would grab her by the back of her pants and help her rub up and down in just the right way. And she would reach around and grab my dick through my pants and hold it on her just where she wanted it to be.

She turns around.

Grabs my dick through cargo pants.

Presses it into her. Never on the clit. Always on the hole.

Like she didn't want to pretend me stimulating her button, she wanted to put me where I would be if I was just about to fuck her and I made an exception for her in my mind.

I liked her.

So I made an exception.

You should never do that: never make exceptions for people just because you like them. You should follow the rules. Because when you make an exception for someone, it might seem like a favor at first, but ultimately you and they will realize that this means you will not only treat them unfairly when it is to their advantage, but that you'll treat them unfairly when it is their disadvantage as well.

I don't know if Morgan corrupted me or if I corrupted her.

Probably neither.

Probably we were both just corrupt and we happened to be in the same family.

Or..probably..our whole family is corrupt and we were just born into the system.

On family reunions she would ask to get changed in my room. When she was done she would leave behind her dirty panties.

As if by accident.

But it was no accident.

Sometimes when we played I would pick her up by her legs and swing her around with her hair flying out due to centrifugal force. I could smell her puss, and it smelled like salt and I thought it needed cleaning but I wanted to bury my face in it.

When she was born, her father—my uncle Geoff—looked at his husband's vagina with the baby girl Morgan coming out of it and then Geoff looked at Morgan's vagina and he said to his husband (Paul), "How did that get up there."

He removed the Bic pen from my cousin's vagina.

And Paul said, "I have no idea."

That's what I have to tell you about Morgan.


Morgan lived with her dads, at 24, basically 'cause the economy was shit.

This is what they said to her:

"You can't get married in pants."

And this is what Morgan said to them:

"Why not?"

And then these two gay dads gave Morgan a line about tradition.

"But you're not traditional. You raised me. What makes you think I'll be traditional?"

"That's different Morgan."

"No it's not. Why is it different? You think middle America is ok with you guys sucking each other's dicks and sticking your penises up each other's butts and shit?"

"Middle America has even more of a problem with young women escaping the bonds of traditional marriage attire. If you have to be edgy, why don't you wear a dress that isn't white?"

"Have you ever seen me wear a dress?"

"I don't see why you're bringing this up now. We watch Say Yes to the Dress all the time. You never seemed to have a problem with it."

"That's for other people. I don't care what they do."

"I don't see how you can watch Say Yes to the Dress and then have a problem with white dresses when it comes to you."

"Those people are stupid! I watch it because they're stupid. That's why it's entertaining!!"

"Just because you watch it ironically doesn't mean they're stupid."

"I watch it ironically and they're stupid. It's both! This is the problem with having gay republican dads: you're a walking contradiction."

"We're fiscal conservatives, Morgan—that doesn't make a walking contradiction."

"But your party leader doesn't believe in gay rights!!"

"Do we have to have this conversation at breakfast? I thought we were determining whether our über-attractive daughter was going to waste her wedding day wearing cargo pants as we walk her down the aisle."

"Only one of you is walking me down the aisle.

Geoff looked at Paul.

Paul looked at Geoff.

"Which one?"

"I ain't decided yet!"

Morgan threw down her spoon.

Paul and Geoff stopped eating.

Morgan said:

"Dresses..just contribute to female vulnerability and easy access to genitals. When you wear pants, no one can just come over to you and lift up a flap and get at your VJ. That's the whole point of dresses..is so that other people can have easy access to your genitals. With pants you are in control of your genitals. With dresses, someone else is."

"Is that just your theory or is that based on some factual historical truth?"

"It is a fact! You can determine that it is a fact just by examining the logistics of dresses and pants. No historical precedent or research is necessary."

"You can't just make stuff up and call it fact. You need to cite your sources."

"I am a source!! You don't wear dresses! You don't know!"

Morgan's gay dads went back to their breakfast.

"I just don't see what the big problem is with wearing a dress on this one day."

"A white dress."

"A white dress is for virginity, Dad! I'm not wearing a white dress!!"

"Ok, ok, my ears are burning. Do we have to cuss at mealtime?"

"Fuck fuck fuck. How's that. Fuck a white dress. Fuck your fucking ass. Fuck your ass. And fuck your asses together."

"Mmm. Sounds like fun. Is our daughter getting her ass fucked too?"

"Also, a white dress isn't necessarily a symbol of virginity."

"Yes it is."

"It's a symbol of new starts."

"No it's a symbol of virginity."

"No, it's a—"

"Dads, let me ask you something. When you're butt fucking, do you use a condom?"

"I still don't see what's wrong with wearing a white dress just for one day."

"Morgan, wear a regular wedding dress. Please."

"You're not evening listening to me. There's a dictum, you know, that people like to have someone to listen to their life. Have you ever heard that?"

"A white wedding dress will make people comfortable. It tells them that they're at a wedding. If you wear cargo pants or some sort of Asian-looking tube dress people won't know what kind of ceremony they're at. It will confuse them."

"Also, Morgan, what is with this military dude you're marrying—Evan?"

"What is with him?"

"Why don't you find a history professor or a PhD student—someone who can match you intellectually?"

"Evan has a stable income and he fucks good."

"Morgan, please, it's obvious you're still a virgin."

"I'm 24. How could I possibly be a virgin?"

"We know you're a virgin because no one has ever been good enough for you."

"For me to—"

"To give it up."

"So crude. So what. He eats good pussy and he fingers like a champion. I'm not ready to have a guy stick his dick inside me. I think it's gross. Anyway, isn't it traditional to stay a virgin till you get married?"

"If you don't wear a white dress, people will think you're not a virgin. If you wear cargo pants they'll think you're a dyke."

"Or bisexual."

"So what if I am bisexual. Or a dyke. I mean fuck it, I'm not asking for the approval of everyone I invite to the wedding."

"Isn't that exactly what you're asking for?"

"No, I'm asking them to celebrate with me. To share my joy."

"But joy in what? Your open bisexual relationship with military Evan?"

"To share in whatever my joy may be."

"Does Evan share your nontraditional values?"

"Evan is my age. So to you his values are nontraditional, yes. I asked you a second ago if you use condoms when you suck the shit off each other's dicks and I never got an answer."

"See the thing is, Morgan, if you don't wear a white dress, when people look at the wedding pictures—wait, what is Evan wearing? Is it gonna be him in a tux and you in baggy pants? How is that gonna look?"

"Evan's gonna wear his BDUs."

"Desert camo? Forest? Ice?"


"Digital or classic?"

"Digital..Dad!! Shouldn't you be more concerned with whether he's going to make a good husband?"

"I think we all pretty much assume that's not the case."


"He's not worth you, Morgan. You need someone smart."

"Why? It's not a math team, it's a marriage! What the fuck difference does it make if he's smart?"

"When the sex wears off, Morgana, you're going to be stuck with this person year after year and you're going to want someone you can talk to."

"Talking's overrated. If he can laugh at Parks and Rec that's good enough for me."

"Honestly, Mor, that's low-grade humor."

"It's kind of hard to believe you like that show."

"Not everything has to be high-class humor, you know."

"Yeah but Parks and Rec?"

"He's right, Morgan, there's nothing funny about that show."

"Thanks, humor police."

"I don't believe my daughter is getting married and both her and her husband are going to be wearing cargo pants."

"You'll look like a couple of lesbians. Have you at least scoped out Evan's dick?"

"Have I scoped it?"

"You don't want to be with a man with a weak dick."

"Dick strength is very important."

"I'm not having this conversation!" Morgan said, and plugged her ears.

In time, she went back to eating her Cheerios.

Her Dads were eating Fruit Loops.

Eventually one of them said, "Still, if I was a straight man, I wouldn't want my wife wearing cargo pants on our wedding night. Are you at least going to wear cute underwear?"

With her mouth full: "I'm not telling you what kind of underwear I'm wearing on my wedding night."

"Morgan, I'm going to tell you something. The first time you have sex, there has to be an element of rape."

Morgan almost chokes.

"I don't want there to be an element of rape!"

But her other dad piped in: "He's right, Mor. There's an element of control..especially if he's done it and you haven't. Is Evan experienced?"

"The conversation is over."

"How 'bout a Say Yes to the Dress marathon later? We'll open a bottle of wine."

"Watching Say Yes to the Dress with you two is the last thing I want to do right now."

"If you reconsider..we'll be licking chunks of shit off each other's dicks and you can just knock.."

"..Or just come in, Mor, you're more than welcome in our bedroom. No hetero."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that."

"Which part?"

"The whole part!"

"Are you embarrassed about your shit-licking cock-sucking ass-fucking dads?"

They both laugh.

"It's everything else about you that I despise," Morgan says.

"Guess what we're having for dinner?" Geoff says.

"I'm not falling for this."

"Shit brownies!!"

Both her dads laugh.

"Rethink the dress thing, Morgan. No thick-neck corn-fag military motherfucker is going to want to take his wife's virginity in a pair of cargo pants. You've got to dress it up for guys like that."

"Dress what up? My pussy?"

"Your glorious little puss, daughter of mine. Straight men don't actually like pussy."

"What do they like?"

"White wedding dresses, lace, silk, girl panties and stuff like that."

"You don't know Evan."

"And you might want to reconsider your groom!!"

They both laugh.

Morgan stands in the entrance to the kitchen with one hand on each wall. She is considering grabbing a serrated knife and cutting her own head off. She imagines the blade cutting through her veins and the determination it would take to apply that much pressure to your own neck that you could kill yourself right in front of your two gay republican dads.


In fact Morgan thought of suicide a lot.

She wasn't sure if she was genuinely, truly suicidal or just cry for help suicidal. Probably cry for help. But there was always the chance that a cry for help one would turn into a genuine one. It's a slippery slope, you know.

Morgan thought a lot about the auto-erotic asphyxiators. It seemed like the way to go: blasted out of life on a killer orgasm, found hanging from the mini blind strings by your mother or father or brother or sister or something.

But Morgan was fond of chemical activities that can kill you anyway so she figured that in her case actually suiciding was a moot point. She was going to die anyway (we all were) so what was the point of actually killing yourself? For Morgan, being suicidal was less about a plan and more a way of life.

It was an attitude.

And, ironically, it resulted in her embracing life more than most.

She lived in the moment—even if it was a deadly moment.

Morgan didn't have a job.

Morgan wore Chuck Taylors.

That bitch would probably be wearing Chuck Taylors when she died.

She wore them to prom.

I was seven years older than her but she got me to drive her and she snuck me in so I got to dance with her.

Talk about sick pedo opera.

She had a dress of rags, dreadlocks, Chuck Taylors, and we exaggerated the classic one-hand-up hand holding of a couples dance from decades earlier, clomping around the gym, me in combat boots, and it was the most romantic dance of the night, stomping out all those timid band-kid flirtations that would start and end on the dance floor that event.

Morgan and I ate Twizzlers together, and Sour Patch Kids—a relationship built to last. We were the only two people in the theater when The Crow came out—we saw that movie in a special screening where the population of Texas had weeded itself out from seeing one of the greatest movies ever made. As photo freaks, we left bodily fluids on the floor at the cinemo—if you haven't seen The Crow then you have no idea what the fuck I'm talking about.

When I heard that Morgan was getting married I cried. I went to my room and cried. It was a tragedy worse than 9/11 (which hadn't happened yet)—an event of much more magnitude: Morgan marrying some thick-fag corn-dick military motherfucker. It was a blow to our whole philosophy growing up—we hated the ROTC faggots and made fun of them running their "color guard" around the student parking lot. Color guard sounds like a kind of bleach. Really it's just a bunch of overweight freshman with no social skills who have found that carrying nationalist flags on their shoulders was the one way they could have some semblance of a social group. We all looked down on them.

And then Morgan falls in love with one of them.

Morgan—the coolest one of us—just turned the tide completely and decided to get married to the goddamn motherfucking enemy. Fuck her.

No, I mean it. Fuck her. It would have been better if she had gone lesbian and gone out with the prom queen or something. That would have been weird—because we hated the super-popular kids with the passion of a blood feud—but it would be more palatable than her dating—marrying—some guy whose greatest aspiration in life was to go fight an unjust war—pick one—started by the United States in its thinly veiled imperialistic mission. I wanted to question Morgan but I respected her too much.

She had her fucking reasons.

And she was a broader person than me.

So her reasons had to be good. They had to be.

Still, when I saw her on the farm, I was gonna have to pull that fiend aside and ask her—subtly—what the fuck she was thinking.



"What the fuck are you thinking?"

This is where Morgan would lap me with her intellect.

"Look, Matthew, don't get that big head of yours turning. Know what marriage is? Doing laundry. Maintaining a house. Finances. Kids maybe. Sex. Going out to dinner. Going to plays."

"Does Evan go to plays?"

"Just because a motherfucker knows how to shoot an M16 doesn't mean a mother can't appreciate the theatre."

"I got no problem with guns."

"Yes you do. You do. You're completely anti-military."

"I'm not anti-military. I'm anti-war."

Morgan would laugh at me here.

"You ever try just disagreeing with someone? Instead of being diplomatic?"

"I don't know."

"Well try it sometime. It's freeing. When you're younger you try to please everyone. Then you start to know that whether you like lemons or dislike lemons is part of who you are. I know you like cheese. You have to stand for something."

"I do like cheese."

"And that's part of your identity. So be anti-war or anti-military or whatever. It's ok for us to disagree."

"Well is he good at sexing?"

"I haven't fucked him."

"Have you fucked anyone?"

"None of your damn business."

"I'm just trying to think, if you had, who would it be."

Morgan shakes her head.

"Yeah, you would know, you would know. I haven't, ok? And you had your chance and you chickened out."

"I wasn't ready. I was in the tenth grade. Girls mature faster than boys in that department."

"Too bad for you."

"Yeah, too bad for both of us."

"You know," Morgan says, "in the grand scheme of things, it doesn't matter whether you and I fucked at all."

That's how I imagined the talk between me and Morgan going, when I pulled her aside at the wedding, which I was definitely going to do.

I longed for Morgan's red hair.

And it's crazy when your seven-years-younger cousin can run laps around you conversationally. You love it. But you hate it. But mostly you love it.

After prom she slid over in the seat and lodged herself between my cock and the steering wheel and rubbed her pantied ass against me like she did when she was 12 but now she was 17 and I wasn't sure which one was more dangerous.

I precame on her white panties. She had one hand down her front and one hand bracing herself on the steering wheel.

"Thanks for driving me to prom."

"Of course, Morgan."

Then she fucked me with her ass cheeks and kept going and going in the student parking lot of her high school until I was up her panties between her skin and she rubbed her pussy like a guy jerking his dick—just as fast—and we came together, both hunched over the steering wheel and my cum shot up on her all over her panties and her stomach lodging in her belly button and when I pulled my cock back between her butt cheeks I came again, shooting hot up her back and she shivered, touching my cum with her fingers, turning around in my lap, and rubbing it on my lips.

This is the kind of thing you never tell your parents.

Or your cousins, brothers and sisters.

But everyone figures it out anyway.

They don't know the specifics, but they know the gist.

Morgan and I, staying at GranGran's house. Everyone heard Morgan leave her borrowed bedroom—the one my mom used to stay in when she was a kid—and when she came back from the bathroom she didn't go back to her room..she came to the living room where I was sleeping on the couch and spooned me, her reaching back and getting me off and me reaching front and getting her off.

Never fucking, but always getting each other off.

We practiced on each other—that's what we told each other.

Like we weren't having a real relationship, we were just allies practicing jacking and jilling and oral and panty jobs so we would be really good for our real loves. Except we never had any real loves—it was always just us.

I think we knew if we fucked we would be out of control.

And if we didn't actually fuck, we could pretend it was ok.

We convinced ourselves that everything else was innocent—if we didn't fuck, it was all fun and games. We discounted it.

But she rubbed my cum into her stomach and I smelled her cunt on my hands all night after she had left and gone back to my mom's old bedroom, and I jerked off two or three times after she had left, smelling her juices on my hands and making myself cum with thoughts of Morgan sitting on top of my cock, hot little pussy hugging me tight and getting me off in seconds.

I thought about going into her room and mock-taking advantage of her, pushing us over the edge—which I'm sure she wouldn't mind—but I never did (out of some weird shred of dignity that said as long as we held out on the ultimate act that everything else we did was ok).

And maybe it was. We didn't violate the evolutionary taboo of having kids with your family. The real pain of the thing—aside from whatever embarrassment our relatives felt—was that we couldn't be together forever. We weren't about to put our cards on the table and live together or anything. And we had to grow up, and go out with different people, and our play had to stop eventually, and since we weren't officially doing anything, our breakup was silent, under cover, just between us, not something we could share with our families or confide about with our friends. It was just kind of this process by which she developed boyfriends and I had girlfriends all along, and we just stopped doing stuff.


When I think about Morgan I touch myself.

She is rocking above me, pre-dreads, rubbing her gusset on my hard cock in that moment right before you fuck someone when you know it's going to happen but you're still separated by that last layer of fabric.

Morgan lying back on my sheet-less mattress and I pry her legs apart and she finally gives in, knowing we're finally going to fuck, my cock inside her all the way up to her belly button.

Up to her womb.

Little girl, little cousin.

Running her hands between her legs and me following their path until her clothes are damp with girl juice and it's just that right part in her period where she's slippery mucous and impregnable, where I'll be most apt to cum inside her and when we have to be most careful about it.

Morgan is not the kind of girl who would ever use a condom.

And I'm not the kind of guy who ever would.

Too pedestrian.

If I can't feel my little cousin's serrated vag with my barbed cock, that head ridge exactly designed to touch her spot, to rub her to orgasm as soon as I stick it in..then what's the point.

Imagine her sitting on top of me, milking pre-cum out of my cock and then us both pulling down her panties and her raising above me enough to get me inside her and she pushes down and fucks us both to oblivion with hot tight wet la la la la la la pussy of a cousin is the prime kind, genetics close enough that our genitals are super compatible, of a kind, family.

Wet pussy with three fingers inside it—as many as I can get—and Morgan's cheeks blushing as she lies back on my pillows with no pillowcases on them, forcing herself to make eye contact with her older cousin who is finally going all the way with her pink little body.



Fucking a pussy so tight it grips me and its walls slide out a little when I pull out, pussy so tight I have to stop myself from cumming, pause fucking here and there so I don't squirt the little bitch 10 seconds in—and she has a pussy that would make me cum right away—if I wasn't careful.

Gripping her head with my hands, my taller body above her head, smelling her dreads, holding her in place so I can bone fuck her hard as any brute fucks his girl, and every poke makes her wetter and wetter until I can hardly cum but she's like jelly and that's when Morgan really starts to moan.

When I think about Morgan I touch myself.

She gets me off in 30 seconds flat.

Imagining my cousin undressing in front of me, getting me off in the pickup truck, letting me slip inside her panties and boning the fuck out of that little girl.

And me rocking above her, holding her head, and never stopping fucking her until she cums rushing hot around me and fingernails on my back.

Then I blush, when I cum in my cousin, knowing it's something I shouldn't do.

Her pussy is definitely off-limits, and that makes it so fuckingly blushingly hot.

Squeezing off my shot of cum, contracting inside her, and her taking my cum swimming up her vag as she lies back paralyzed by pleasure.

Think of it: all that pleasure we both feel is there to keep us in position doing something we otherwise would never do. Keep me cumming inside her, keep her lying back and letting my semen swim up her vagina to make a baby, which is what biology wants us to do.

And we fall for it every time.

All the icons and aesthetics of femininity and masculinity that excite us so, are just there to trick us into making babies.

And they make it so that people who otherwise don't want to have babies have them anyway.

Even now, the aesthetics of fucking Morgan make it so I could endure the family and societal damnation that would occur if Morgan had my baby. But we know one thing: it would be attractive as hell and a goddamn motherfucking genius. If I had a baby with Morgan, it would take over the world. And just one generation of inbreeding wouldn't have too much of a negative effect. We'd have to teach it not to have sex with its cousins, though. She'd probably be a chess master or the next Eckhart Tolle or something.

I want to jump on top of Morgan and give it to her nice and slow. Fuck her like the rhythm of a train, back and forth, back and forth, and adult rocking another adult not to sleep but to orgasm, just slow and steady her until she begs me with her eyes to keep going, never stop until she cums all over my cock and my mattress and we have the intimacy of fluids. (That came out of you? This goes into you? You taste like this? It is one of the ultimate physical intimacies.)

The smell of Morgan on my cock the next day.

I had already smelled her on my fingers.

I wanted to see her face the moment I pushed it in.

The first time she ever had sex.

The first time she ever had sex with me.

I had made her cum with my fingers and I wanted her to cum the first time she ever had sex. That was my goal with her: to start out her intercourse career with a bang. Licking her nipples tonguing her ear and thumbing her clit with one hand while I grabbed her ass with the other making her feel loved and cradled and safe and hot and warm and ready to let her insides go and feel that height of height on her cousin's cock..fuck that's what I wanted.

I wanted her face flush.

A single tear for her first pussy orgasm with someone else.

And knowing she had that same feeling of wrongness I had.

And that's part of what got her off.

Her dreadlocks pushed the limits with her dads, her tats pushed the limits even further. Her smoking cloves. The drugs they suspected she did. But fucking your cousin..even two gay republican dads weren't having anything to do with that.

Not that they had any choice.

Morgan sent me her panties in the mail.

We'd text about it.

Make them as dirty as possible.

Morgan would pee in them, cum in them, wipe her vulva with them after she masturbated.

By the time they got to me, the smell alone got me hard.

I jerked off with them, added my cum to the mix, imagined Morgan's pussy cupping my dick, it being so small that I found the end of it with the tip of my cock.

When I thought about her wedding, when I thought about Evan, I thought of what a waste her first time would be, what a sad life her pussy had ahead of it with some military dude who didn't know how to fuck, and Morgan's sexual life would plateau, then taper off into pathetic oblivion, she'd have kids, ruin her vagina, ruin her mental health, be trapped in American familydom.

I imagined Evan on top of her, not even making eye contact, thinking of nothing but himself, just jerking off with that smart girl's pussy, basically, she wouldn't even be involved.

She'd have to make herself cum when he was deployed just to get any satisfaction, watching femme-friendly porn on the internet. Other girls masturbating, stuff like that. Maybe hold a secret stash of vibrators somewhere in the house—I hoped she would.

It wasn't just the sexual languishing of Morgan that I minded. It was the mental languishing, the intellectual languishing. I had talked to Evan and he was about as smart as a fireplace log.

I wondered how much our relationship had affected her choice. How much Morgan needed to escape me, as much as she needed to escape her parents.

I mean we couldn't continue on.

And maybe the normalcy of marrying a stable guy, with a stable income, even if he was as dumb as rocks, was just the ticket.

Normal sex, nothing controversial about marrying a soldier. Not in this society. Her whole life would be supporting the troops.

I gave a lot of thought to what to get them for a wedding present. I wandered the mall looking in every store. Sheets: too personal, to much related to the sex life. A blender: too domestic, too much of a statement of: you're going to be spending your life in the kitchen! I almost got them some sex dice at Spencer's. Of course I didn't. But everything I picked out, no matter how bland, related someway to their sex life, or me and Morgan's sex life. To me Morgan was sex sex sex. I was afraid even a Joyce Chen cleaver would give me away somehow, reveal my true feelings—something to kill Evan with, perhaps.

Their registry was impossible for me. I ended up getting them a wine rack and some started bottles—wines I liked, and I knew Morgan liked reds. Evan didn't drink. So I guess I gave myself away even with that gift but the fact was I didn't give a fuck about Evan and ultimately I didn't care who—friends, family, foe—knew about it. Morgan was my cousin. It was my job to make her happy, with a wine rack, starter bottles, a phone call, or three fingers up her pussy—I didn't give a fuck. Everyone knew I didn't like Evan—I let him know when we spoke. To give a gift that only Morgan would enjoy fit right with everyone's expectations anyway—and, sure, I lived right up to them.


The wedding.

Dallas, Texas.

The farm.

Well, really, a ranch.

Horses, cattle, snakes.

We grew everything.

Or Morgan's parents did.

Well, their slaves did.

Morgan's parents had probably never touched a cow.

They just owned cows.

There's a difference.

Oh no wait—first things first. How Morgan met Evan (from Morgan's point of view):

I was in my dorm room in Texas A&M (this is Morgan) and there was a knock at the door.

Some thick-neck corn-fag military motherfucker. Looking hot in his uniform.

He said: I need someplace to sleep, my dorm room is too loud. People playing Mortal Kombat and screaming Fuck!! at the top of their lungs and throwing controllers to the ground.

So I (Morgan) opened my door to this boy and let him in. I set him up with a place on the bed and covered him with quilts.

Then he shape-shifted into a puppy.

Instead of a military boy lying in my bed the occupant was a calico chihuahua, cute as can be, all curled up and absolutely adorable to a girl's heart. If he had borne sushi on his short-haired body I would have been in absolute heaven but I could see the fur-covered penis of this dog and he was harmless, I was in control, and I babied him like I could never baby a military dude.

I rubbed behind his ears. I was 20 times larger than him so he could never rape me. The ideal boy (dog).

And we had many afternoons together, my pup and I, walking the dorm halls and impressing my fellow chemical engineering students with him.

They wanted to sleep with him, for their first times to be with a cute puppy and a small cock, but I kept him on a short leash and let him be not corrupted by the chemical bitches in Lyndon B. Johnson hall.

Then he shape-shifted again and I was left with a large boy on a small leash with lots of 'splainin' to do.

"Why did you turn me into a dog?"

"You turned yourself into a dog! You're the shape-shifter!"

"I loved you as a dog, when you wrapped me in quilts and took care of my shit. It was lovely, lovely, not like anything in the military."

"They don't take care of your shit there?"

"Not hardly."

"Do they even have quilts?"

"No ma'am."

"If you shape-shift back into a dog I will clean your shit forever. You can even shit in my bed."

So he shape-shifted back into a calico chihuahua and shit all over my quilts and I loved him even more for being out of control of his excrement, such a baby, such need, and I filled in his holes.

I developed a love for his puppy excrement.

Even its smell.

It was part of him, and I loved all of him, so I loved that part of him, too.

I am Morgan. This is my point of view.

My point of view is that the shape-shifting dog deserved my love.

And when he shape-shifted back I was able to fuck his cock, less hairy than the dog cock, and make myself cum on his knob.

He felt glorious inside me, and my pussy juices rejoiced.

He pretended he was asleep.

He shit on the bed.

I knelt in his shit, fucked him like an animal.

Came on his fucking knob.

And his hot cock shot cum into my puss at 90 miles per hour.

Then he shape-shifted back into a puppy.

I loved my little puppy—took him everywhere. To class, in my bag, with a small air hole so he could breathe while I did chemistry. I fed him magnesium fumes to get him high so he wouldn't be bored. In puppy form he was harmless.

Then he was my baby and I was pushing him out through my vag, wet and slippery with film covering his eyes, cutest little puppy there I had ever birthed. And when he slipped all the way out I cut the cord with a pair of sewing scissors and held him to my breast where he sucked at my nipple and lapped and kissed and I felt him drinking milk, sensation all the way down to my vag—it tickled. Smart smart nature make me tickle when puppy who is my future husband suckles at my nips. Sexy little baby I want to stick you back up my vagina and rub your head against my serrated parts—make me cum with my puppy baby sleek.

This is my man—just a puppy baby going puppysickle arf! Puppysickle bounding the beach, paws in sand came out of my vag grows up to roam the world shape shift into a human boy military grade who will someday suck my puss when I allow flowage in the opposite direction, puppy going back inside my with his furry pup cock.

Puppysickle bounding the waves.

Take you for a day trip where puppies aren't allowed.

You're the smallest dog I've ever imagined.

Name of Meatball.

Come here little Meatball—let me eat you till you cum.

Meatball precum on doggy dick lick your tip until you drip on my tongue.

Then suck you so hard you gush.

Set me on fire.

You're between my legs—in and out—setting my heart on fire.

I let tiny doggy lick my pussy then fuck me with his tiny Meatball cock.

Love your cock.

Want to marry you, little pup, little military dog, we need a room to ourselves outside of prying eyes so we can do anything we want, as if we were the last two people on Earth, I would fuck you any way we wanted, shove you in and out of me you sexy motherfucker shakin' that ass. Sexy motherfucker shakin' that assshakin' that ass. Nothing like a sweet puppy wettens my pussy lips like a small puppy small paws little wet nose and I let you sniff me and find me out like Tanqueray. Little Amy Meatball, let me call you by your girl name for my dog is both male and female, I love her like a girl fuck her like a boy that is how I do my dog-friend.

Sleep with me at night harmless puppy put your nose in my armpit and smell my girl juices while you sleep nestled between my legs and smell my girl juice while you sleep lick my ears turn my legs into spaghetti when I wake up make me unable to walk sexy puppy sex pup just you and I in a bed that's how I see me losing my virgin to a canine Meatball kitty-dog. Sweet as a kitty with the instinct of a dog let auto-replace write your book! I auto-replace a human military man with a dog named Meatball. Tiny dog. Loves to lick me and mount me and fuck me with doggy cock, dog I gave birth to turning right around and fucking his exact home, the womb he came from now his pleasure and makes my QuiverPussy® cum like a house on fire.

My pussy cums with a heart on fire!

My pussy cums with a heart of flame.

Like a flamethrower when I cum in your licking face.

Lick me until I shoot wet flames in your face.

Puppy knows how to lick his momma better than any man.

Military man. Regular man. Any man.

I will finger myself kneeling above your face at night, military man, cum in your face and show your how it's done I know he will be a bad fucker—deficient fucker—by the way he talks, by the way he kisses, by the way he doesn't finger me when we make out by the way he ignores my breasts and pulls my hand on top of his cock and unzips and tells me when he's about to cum and I'm washing my hands with Ivory—the pump kind—and I wonder if cum floats like Ivory fuck myself fuck myself fuck myself what have I gotten myself into I will wear the dress I will wear the dress I will wear the dress to make my dads happy I will make my dads happy I will make them happy.

We have to deal with the cousin situation—the Matthew situation. He will be at the wedding and we have to give him something like a thumb ring to let him know that we love him and always will even though he sent back all my love notes in a cardboard tube with no explanation. Idiot. They say women are more sexually mature than boys and that is certainly the truth in this case. Do you know how much that hurt me, Matthew? Do you know that you could have had me if you hadn't been off chasing that Walker girl who would never have you? Isn't that the way of it. Two people like each other but never at the same time and I couldn't wait. I had to move with my future, idiot man, so fuck your anti-military prejudices this man will take good care of me and even if he dies I will be taken care of for the rest of my life and that's more I can say for you. Did you ever think you're too psychopathic to take care of me besides I can't marry my cousin.

But we could have been together. All you had to do was say, Morgan, let's get out of Texas, live on a ranch in Montana and you can have everything you want from me but I don't think you ever really wanted it you were too scared you had the right ideas but maybe your morals are narrower than mine and you could never actually fuck your cousin, take your cousin to be yours, take me.


The wedding party.

Arrives, Mock Turtle leading the procession.



Sweeping rain pelting the coats of all under a clear sky.

Tornados visible on the horizon.

Plano, Texas.

And an infinite ballroom, checkered marble floor squares a meter wide, black and white with swirls in each polished stone.

Eight full bathrooms off the side of the hall, for water is the metaphor of grief and what is a wedding if not grief—grief seeming of all those not getting married but no—grief for the future husband and wife, this their last fantasy before entering a period of crumble and ruin, undoubtable, inevitable, unstoppable decline. So grief for the couple, and grief for all their friends, those who must watch them in one final lie..that everything will be bright and white and filled with hope. When nothing could be farther from true.

The Mock Turtle, followed by the Lizard with a Ladder, followed by the Mad Hatter, followed by Alice herself, dressed in lace so purple it appears black, her own veil so the party will not see her weeping for Morgan and Evan, the saddest people in the room. Alice is a measure of the event, a barometer of blood pressure, a vital sign showing what is healthy, what is healed, and what is dying in this very room.

Her toenails want cutting. Her hair wants cutting. She hasn't washed in years, since she saw into the future that these two were getting married and it was a tragedy all through Narnia.

Bells broke the day it was announced, cracked right though their sides, never to ring in tune again.

And after Alice, a small worm, inching through the mud, shaking off his shoes once he entered the ballroom, dripping on the parquet floor, and so short that the humans didn't even see him.

Inside the hall it rained, too, drips turning mascara into streams down faces and dripping from the roof into the wedding cake, running it into puddles, pouring into the wine glasses, filling them with dusty water, pooling on the floor making obstacles for everyone who wanted to walk.

Women whose hair was made up in buns came out in wisps and fell on their necks, in their faces, and they began to cry in concert with the rain, knowing they had come not to a celebration but a lamentation, that people would die here today, symbolically having life taken from them, not life given to.

And men offered up their newspapers to lay on women's seats, some ancient gesture of chivalry, women situating their butts on the paper which was soaked through with water from the chairs.

And in those tornadoes, lightning threatened to light up the whole place, shocking everyone to death.

Alice, the Mock Turtle, worm, and her crew went straight to the front row and Alice wept for the world.

Morgan's dad Geoff got up and announced that the wedding would begin shortly but encouraged guests to use the towels in side bathrooms to dry themselves, even though..

"..rain is the color of grief. It is the symbol of grieving especially among siblings—the truest kind of love."

And he went on to introduce Morgan's older sister, Laura, and talk about the love they had shared since childhood..

"..from playing mud puddle in the back yard to riding on Little Tykes® to drawing on the underside of the dining room chairs with White-Out® which took me and Paul hours to scrape off and which never came completely clean."

Hahaha. (Laughter from the deadbeat crowd.)

"We scraped and scraped and finally resolved that those chairs were ruined forever. But we kept them for the girls to use while sitting at their easels—which Paul and I built, using our rudimentary carpentry skills."

(More laughter—so funny that two white-collar oil-industry consultants would get their hands dirty with the blue-collar activity of building an easel when they clearly had enough money to just buy them or pay someone else to build them.)

So, so funny that Geoff and Paul would do manual labor. Everyone in the crowd understood this. As dirty as they got their hands was flipping through regulatory documents which they would explain to oil companies so the oil companies could operate in the most destructive way possible that was still technically within the law. Hahaha. What a funny thing to do for work. Hilarious. So so funny to destroy the world without ever getting your hands dirty.

And Geoff continued to laugh, and laugh, and regale the crowd with tales from the regulatory industry from underneath his black umbrella, shoes inch-deep in pooling water.

Morgan was in one of the bathrooms.

Her white dress was gray with the dirty water.

She had lines of cocaine set out on the edge of the sink, trying to cut them off her metal vial (which was meant as a pill holder) before the drips from the ceiling ruined her lines.

She used a third of a straw which she had cut up.

She snorted lines and held her feet heels up, tips of her toes pointed downward into the gathering pools.

She had seen Alice and the worm and everyone in between arrive as a party and especially since they weren't invited, she knew that Alice's presence in black veil was a terrible omen.

If Alice had shown up in her blue and white pinafore, this would be a day for celebration.

But no.

Black Alice was here, and Morgan knew it meant this was the end of her life, grief falling from the ceiling with every drop.

This was the beginning of pain.

She would walk herself down the aisle. She was through with her family. Her family had done things like told her she wasn't to sit on the living room couch—while her sister was—without any explanation except that it irked her dads to see her sitting on the couch. And Morgan had lived with this restriction for years, everyone else in the family—and guests—able to sit on the couch, while Morgan had to find someplace else to sit..which meant when everyone else had taken up the chairs and the couch was empty, Morgan had to sit in the kitchen while they all watched a movie "together"—but there was nothing together about Morgan's family.

One of Morgan's dads' workmates called her an asshole when she changed the cable channel while he was outside smoking. When he came in he looked at Morgan and said, "Asshole," and when Morgan complained, her dads sided with their workmate, who weaseled out of the situation by saying he was calling Geoff an asshole and that it was just the way they played but that wasn't how it happened at all.

Her dads gave her money but wouldn't pick up her phone calls.

Morgan did another line.

Her dads paid for school but wouldn't come to see her plays.

Morgan did another line.

Her dads bought her a car but would never come with her to play soccer in the park.

Morgan did another line.

She wanted to kill herself by accidental overdose, if you can grasp that contradiction. Make it look like a drug problem, not a suicide problem, have a heart attack in bathroom number eight, the ceiling raining like a shower. Find her lying on the floor with her face in a puddle, brown wedding dress stained with dirt and grit and grout, lines of coke washing away on the counter, unusable.

And Alice would find her, lift her own black veil and bend to kiss the never-married girl, dip her finger in the damp coke piles and rub the substance on her gums, then check Morgan's pulse at her wrist and declare her dead, acting as priest and doctor.

And that would be the end of the wedding. Evan and Morgan's dads would go out for beer and sit in a bar in north Texas and reminisce. How great Morgan was. Troubled but brilliant. Beautiful physically. A shame that she died a virgin. Evan would have his eye on the waitress, thinking that any woman who made a Reuben like the one she brought him would make a good mate.

And an ambulance would park outside of the hall.

And bring in a stretcher.

And water from the ceiling would drip black on the white sheets of the moveable bed.

And techs would lift Morgan's body from the tile floor and un-crumple her and lay her on the stretcher and carry the girl through the remnants of the wedding party scattered through the hall.

And they would take her away and guests would stay until all the champagne was drunk, wedding turned funeral, Morgan forgotten, put in a frozen box in the morgue—that's how Morgan saw it anyway, as she did line after line after line of coke in bathroom number eight. That's how she saw her own wedding, dripped on with black rain, a moment of grief instead of joy. A moment of death instead of life.

She saw her pussy going to waste, unused, never given the pleasure which potential it contained. She would never be loved—not in that way—and she saw it as part of the colossal waste of her life. An education gone to waste. A mind unused. A body unenjoyed. That's how Morgan saw herself.

Or that's how I saw that Morgan saw herself, for this whole vision of Morgan's wedding as grief was not Morgan's at all—not the vision she had of herself—but the vision I had of her having a vision of herself.

The grief was mine—black rain.

The death was mine—a girl who would never be with me in the way we both wanted.

The impressions—Alice, the parquet floor, the eight bathrooms, Morgan suicidal on coke—were all mine.


Geoff and Paul in the main hall.

Crowd of people around them.

Circle of listeners.

Regalia of stories.

War tales from the oil fields.

Consultant masters. Of the universe.

Tales of killing the planet from behind a desk.

Traveling the globe with an old-fashioned briefcase.

Click. Click. Open the case.

Out comes the contract.

Stroke of a pen. Planet destroyed.

Ha ha ha ha ha. Geoff and Paul laughing.

Their daughters will have cars for their college graduation.

The best schools.

Morgan is one of these. Laura is the other.

They will never lack. Only the best.

"We got Morgan a G6 for her graduation but she refuses to drive it!"

"What an idealist!"

Geoff nudges his daughter in her wedding dress and whispers in her ear: "Aren't you glad you didn't go with the cargo!" :while he smiles to the crowd.

Morgan frees herself from his grip.

"A G6!" Paul's sister—my mother—whispers.

A G6—the flyest dohpest machination of an automobile since Ford made Model Ts. Who wouldn't want one??!!

"Our little idealist," Paul said.

"People would kill for a G6," Geoff said.

And Morgan said, "That's exactly the point. We drive cars that 90% of the world kill to have when we should be building trains to connect pedestrian centers."

"What do trains have to do with anything?"

"That you don't understand..is why I will never drop as foot on the accelerator of that fucker."

"Morgan, please."

Morgan lifts up her dress to scratch her leg. It reveals a giant tat of the Chili's pepper riding a unicycle.

"Uh, that's nice," Paul says.

Geoff says, "We couldn't stop her."

My mom says, "That's going to look horrible when you're old."

"What makes you think any of us are gonna be old? You think a tattoo is an irresponsible decision. Having kids is far less responsible, but no one chides you for them. Or aiding BP. You all are so happy that my dads bought me a G6. You know that's blood money, right?"


"What, dad? Every drop of money we have comes from planetary destruction. Convince me that it's not."

"We paid for your wedding. We paid for that dress."

"I would rather get married in the woods and wear seaweed, no caterer, no drinks, and none of you fucking people."

Geoff explodes in nervous laughter.

"What's your tattoo of?" I ask, knowing full well what it's of.

"Well," says Morgan, "since you ask, it's a picture of the Chili's pepper riding a unicycle."

She smiles at me.

"And what is the significance?"

"There is none."

The eyes of everyone else in the crowd go glassy—this type of direct conversation is out of their reach. Unless they're talking about money or politics (or football) they have no way to understand the speech being thrown.

"Morgan, I'd love to see you get married in seaweed."

This makes everyone uncomfortable.

"I will rearrange my entire wedding just for you."

This makes everyone very uncomfortable. They know of me and Morgan's sub-fucking bedroom adventures and naturally the family is mortified.

"Where is Evan?" Paul says.

"You can't say it like that," Morgan says.

"What can't I say?"

"You put the emphasis on is. That indicates that we were talking about Evan. Which we weren't."

"So what?"

"So it's a lie."

"It's a question, how can it be a lie?"

"It insinuates a lie," Morgan says.

"Why do I feel like I'm in a courtroom every time I talk to you?"

"Maybe because you've committed conversational crimes."

"Conversational crimes?"

"Conversational motherfucking crimes," Morgan says, scratching her crotch through the wedding dress.

Geoff laughs.

"The criticality of youth!"

Everyone laughs.

"It's the hyperbole of youth," the bride says. "Criticality of youth doesn't make any sense."

"Who wants a drink?!"

And the crowd dissipates, leaving me and Morgan and her Chili's tattoo. Even my mom leaves.

"We sure know how to clear a room."

"You know how to clear one. Are you going through with this?"

"My marriage? Of course. Let's find a private place."

"For what?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

She raises her arms above her head. Hair in her armpits. Shakes her dreads. Yawns.

"This facility," I say, "is equipped with eight bathrooms, four on each side, each dripping from he roof with symbolic grief in the form of dirty water simulating rain."

Morgan looks me over.

"Uh-huh. Are you sure we're not in one of your books? Like we're in your dream and I'm just an NPC."

"I'm never sure," I say.

"Are you aware that you're applying a symbolic model to the leaks in the bathroom and they're just leaks, from everyone's point of view but yours?"

"Morgan, why do you want a private place?"

"I'm gonna coke you out," she says, and takes my hand and we run in slow motion through the wedding hall weaving through people stalely conversing and her dress flies out behind her like that one scene in Titanic where Rose and Jack run through the engine room of the ship to seek refuge from everyone who says they shouldn't be together, shouldn't be here, shouldn't be.

When the camera re-clocks itself to normal speed, we're in one of the eight thematically designed grief-stricken bathrooms off the main hall.

Morgan pulls the door closed, locks it, and dances down on the door with her legs speed like she's mock-fucking a person but it's just a door.

She sways her hips and opens her lips like she's turned on by the knob, breathing on it and kissing it.

"Morgan, you're gonna get that thing pregnant."

She turns around and with her back against the door slides down onto the floor, wedding dress ballooning around her.

"There are some basic things about impregnation I'm going to have to teach you."

"Don't tease me."

"I've been teasing you since before I ever knew it," she says.

I watch her as she lifts up her dress and takes a baggie from between her garter and her leg.

It's flush with coke.

"Chop this up for me?" she says.

I kneel and take the bag.

The rain returns. And I'm dodging bullets falling on the sink while I try to cut off a couple of lines. But I can't.

"This grief is too thick," I say.

"It's not grief—it's just a leak."

"Morgan, how do eight bathrooms and an entire wedding hall have the same leak?"

"We got it on discount."

I look at her; my face is covered with tears: black water running from my eyes and collecting in the corners of my lips.

I open my mouth.

Black water pours into my mouth, fills it, and runs out over my chin.

My eyes are red-veined, pupils dark orange and I am a god.

I close my mouth and the grief stops.

The entire leak from floor to ceiling.

"If that's just a leak, then why does it obey my facial movements?"

I hold out one hand—upturned—and grief flows from the ceiling into my hand.

"Tell me that's a leak."

I close my hand and the grief stops flowing.

"Tell me that's a leak."

Morgan shrugs.

"Maybe," she says.

"Well come do a line before these lines get soaked."

She gets up.

"There's no water."

She does a line, knocking back her head and her dreads fly up then settle on her back.

"It's just you.."

She sniffs.

"..feeling sad because I'm getting married."

I look at her young face and—no shit—I start to salivate. Like I don't just wants to fuck her, I want to eat her.

"I know you do," she says.

"You know I do what?"

"You want to eat me. And not just my pussy. Like you want to cannibalize me."

"Is that a crime?" I say.

"No. Not to me," she says.

A long uncomfortable stare.

"Do you think I make a good bride?" spinning around.

"No. I don't."

"Don't be jealous. It's unbecoming."

"I don't care. I'd rather kill us both in a murder/suicide than let you marry that piece of shit."

"What makes you think he's a piece of shit?"

"He's a thick-neck corn-fag motherfucker."

"What does that even mean?"

"Has he read The Catcher in the Rye?"

"Ha! You think that's a requirement for marriage. You're less mature than me."

"I'm glad you're so mature that you give up love to marry a dumb-fuck military motherfucker."

"Is that what we have..love? All we have is lust because we're from roughly the same gene pool. Anyway if you wanted to get in my panties you had more than enough chances..and you..didn't..for whatever reason."

"Because you're my cousin."

"I love how you can placate yourself with the technicality that we never actually fucked. You're ok doing everything but but if we actually fucked then at that point—and at that point only—would you feel bad about what we did."

"I wouldn't feel bad—I would feel like we crossed the line."

"We already crossed the line! We crossed it ten years ago when I was like 12."

"You were 14."

"I was 12."


She pats her crotch.

"If you wanted this you should have taken it when you had the chance."

I step to her lift up her dress and love her little chat over the panties. She closes her eyes and holds onto my forearm while I pet her. They're thick laced panties but I put a finger between her lips and rub forward and back, up to her clit and down to her hole and soon I feel them moist and the moisture seeping through to my fingers.

"I just don't want him to fuck you poorly especially for your first time and it's not about me, I'd be happy if you were with someone who had a little bit of sensitivity..sensibility..you know? It's not about me."

Morgan opens her eyes.

"It's not about you? Bullshit. It's all about you."


Morgan pulls up her dress and pushes down her panties showing me her vulva. At the top of her vaginal hole is a zipper—YKK—which she operates, unzipping through her pee spot and that beautiful clitoris, all the way through her belly button and up to her head, leaving the skin aside and showing me inside her body, every pumping organ, every network of veins, every web of fasciae, every bone.

I see her ribs and her vertebrae.

I reach out to touch someone.

"Don't," she says, deflecting my hand. "Delicate system. I'll tell you about it."

She moves her hand over the major pumping organ.

"This is my heart. It provides circulation via a grid work of arteries and veins, incorporating oxygen from the lungs to aerate the blood and carry essential gasses and ingredients to the cells throughout my body. Its analogue in emotional life is the feeding of one's fire, as I believe we have discussed in our former lives..you feed your fire and your fire feeds you. The head, heart, and lungs form a relentless triad in which each part needs each other and each part feeds each other. Kill one, the others die too. Electricity from the brain (and actually all throughout the body) cause the heart to pump. Without the heart, the lungs' oxygen would go nowhere, and the brain and other cells—but the brain most critically—would be unable to operate due to lack of oxygen.

"In your life this amounts to the social/emotional networks built by people for psychological survival—without your fire, the people who feed you, you would be unable to feed them with your fire, and the system would collapse as a whole. In this way, we are not most essentially individuals, but a system of collected whole—we are, as corny as it sounds, one. One would not live without the other, and the other would not live without the one. In artificial intelligence research, researchers are trying to make one artificially intelligent or artificially living being but they will always fail, because intelligence and life are born of culture, so the first successful AI or ALife project will necessarily include at least two beings."

"I told you that."

"And I'm telling it back to you, in case you have forgotten."

"I haven't forgotten. Please continue."

"Do you understand the heart?"


"Do you understand the metaphor for the heart?"

"I think so."

"Good. We continue. The lungs filter oxygen from air and expel gasses useful for plants, while plants breath in the gasses we expel and breathe out oxygen which mixes with our air so here we have a similar situation. We grew up with plants. In a macro sense, we form one organism with the plants."

She holds my hands above her lungs, and I feel them breathing in and out, see the black stains from where Morgan has been smoking.

"Do you understand the metaphor for the lungs?" she says, breathing in and out and showing their literal operation to the room. "I'll tell you. Do you know what the word inspire means?"

We've been through all this when we were children but I tell her no, I don't.

"Inspire means to breathe life into. So the metaphor of the lungs is that breath is the source of life. And breath starts *without..*and moves within. That is the metaphor of the lungs."

"Seems simple enough," I say, surveying her insides. I can see her uterus and her cervix and her fallopian tubes and her ovaries and her vagina from the outside..from the inside..and I'm impressed by what a muscle it is.

"The liver cleanses. It is how you process your emotion. You know when someone says something hateful to you, and your most simple response is to say it verbatim to someone else? A fuck you for a fuck you. But your most processed response produces an I love you from a *fuck you..*you know? It's how you become a Buddhist. How you love everyone even though they hate you. Or a Christian or whatever. You don't reflect back what is shot into you. You're like a magic mirror, but instead of reflecting back LSD-like images of the hate that is pumped into you from the world, you are like a chef, and you mix together bile and gunk and you make a cake—one the Mad Hatter would be proud of..teacakes—and you throw a party for those who have shit all over you. That is the ultimate liver function."

"Doesn't the liver get tired?"

"It does get tired, but the liver rebuilds itself quickly—if you give it a break—that's part of what the liver does."

"What do kidneys do?"

"I don't know, I'm not a geologist."

Still, I look at them, Morgan's kidneys, and I wonder what they're doing—making juices needed for digestion maybe?—and I think they're perfect opalescent pearls and I get a finger on one before Morgan brushes me away from her insides.


"What if I get surgical gloves?"

"We don't have surgical gloves in this hall. I checked."

"How did you get that zipper installed?"

"A skin tailor, of course."

"Of course. Is that related to a skin inker?"

"A tattoo artist? Of course. They're first cousins. Like us."


"Don't tease me when I have my insides exposed. I don't do this for everyone."

"Do you do it for Evan?"

She looks away. Then looks back at me.

"No," she says. "Are you attracted to my insides?"

"Yes," I say.

I'm looking at her like she's a pinball machine, and I can see all the ramps and bells and lights and her vag is where the cum goes in and it flies up through her corpse and bounces around all the organs, racking up millions of points in a single shot.

"Zip me up, I'm getting cold."

I take the YKK from the bottom lip of her pretty mouth and zip her down between her breasts, pulling the skin together gently and zipping through her abdomen, putting her belly button back together, and zipping up her vulva right down to the origin of the YKK right above her vagina hole. She's all back together now.

"You know what I hate?" she says.


"How people don't talk to each other..they sit and watch movies, play video games without talking, turn the music up in a car so loud that no one could possibly hear each other talk, and ride down the street like it's them and Eddie Vedder. Like four people in a car but really it's just this person and Eddie Vedder and that person with Eddie Vedder, etcetera etcetera et-fucking-cetera."

"You got a problem with Eddie Vedder?"

"Don't be an idiot. I got a problem with a so-called family riding down the road as though none of them existed to each other."

"This your family?"

"Of course, what are we talking about..my family. My dads Laura and me on the way up here. It's my fucking wedding day. And do you think anyone said anything to each other? No. Because Geoff had the music turned up so far that no one could say anything. You can tell how angry some people are by how they listen to their music."

"How do you listen to music? How do you observe that?"

"I don't know. But Laura listens to the same music as Geoff does. And even Paul listens to the same music sometimes. But when Geoff listens to it, I can tell he's mad. Listening to music is part of how he expresses his anger. The volume at which he plays it is one thing, but it's the dynamics between people talking and the volume at which he plays it which is part of how I feel his anger. He starts at one volume—which is loud, but you can talk over it. And each time someone says something, he turns it up louder—he ratchets it up like a winch..you know, it only goes one way: tighter and tighter..or louder and louder in this case..until conversation is impossible and all that's left is hate metal so loud I want to cover my ears."

"I thought you said it was Eddie Vedder."

"Eddie Vedder was just an example. Usually it's hate metal."

"Sounds like an act of aggression."

"It's totally an act of aggression. But it's the kind you can never pin on him because all he's doing is play music. How can that be an act of aggression."

"But it is."

"It totally is. Like Rusty. When he says 'nigger pussy' around you, it's an act of aggression."

"I think that's just the way he is. He would say that to anyone."

"No he would not say that to anyone. Would he say it to GranGran?"

"I don't know."

"Yes you do. Come on. He would never say that to his mom. He knows you don't like it and that's why he does it to you. It's an act of aggression. Does he ever say it when anyone else is present?"

"No, it's always just me and him."


"He's been doing stuff like that to me since I was a little kid. Get me to go on walks with him and then say all this paternalistic stuff that's bothered me for decades."

"Yeah, that's no accident, cous'."

"I agree that people don't listen to each other. You and maybe one of my sisters are the only people in this family who even know me. Like even scratched the surface of knowing me. And it's not one of my sisters but not the other: it's one sometimes and the other sometimes and together it adds up to about one other person in this family who gets me. Every other talk I've ever had with anyone we're related to was so much smoke and mirrors that a healthy person, if they heard it—like a therapist—would think we were absolutely batshit crazy."

Morgan, sitting back against the bathroom door, her front exposed and the zipper to her insides still visible, puts her hand on my knee. She says:

"Everything is so absurd that rational discussion is impossible."


Have you ever heard the march of the sugar plumb fairies? Did you know they're as heavy as a mole? One pinch of sugar plumb weighs as much as one pinch of fire powder, only the second has half as much THWACK! contained within.

Then there is a slow movement gathered by bees on trees and wisps of spider web dew. A deer makes up for the rest. Softly ballet, then crushed like a hip, broken, formidably. Who says the rest has to be like the rest? Resistivo. Double back. Kill the dragon. Make me the bow in your frill, your lace, make me the nose on your face. Come in for the thrill.

In the canyon of giants, written on walls 11,000 years later. Led by a tour guide. =

Etched forever, syntax growing = brass and woodwinds

Press return

= .leftover from axioms


Like a star

Sewn in your garment

To find later

Fingers only

Touch =

= Looking down from your gin


You will find what I left you

Thumb it beside the bar stool

Know that I planned to be in your honey moment

Wrapped up in Bobby Fischer meaning

Sacrificing a Queen

then . planning . years . ahead

. of . time .

Killer Bees WE'RE *//????*On A SWARM

This is the bass section LOVELY HEAD

wanted nothing but a nightroom

clasped on a cat

whose necklace


the entire


kittyn drownyng

pawing UPWARD

bubbles FLOATING

and a cascade of mice


who died small deaths

(not as small as ants)

You have heard that the tortoise wins the race*.*

Well I have heard that too.

And I found reason to doubt the common wisdom.

I use just as much as I need not a penny more.

People say that —profanity— is the spice of writing.


—Punctuation— is the spice of writing.

And I use it like cloves. And dill. And red pepper.

A little bit of Himalayan sea salt )pink( wouldn't hurt ya

from time to time. Do you like my )reverse parenthetical( << ??

Shift left <<

>> Shift right

Now you're a programmer )of the mind(

)you can skip everything inside these marks(

BUT YOU WON'T @##$%^&(&^%$##@##$%^*&^%$

And when I felt your pussy like a timpani.

Broken hips.

Elephant claw.

When you unzip me—Morgan—all you will see is your name written over every organ. Like graffiti. Like the humble Hanuman. Who refused to say the name of god. But when they cut him open the name of god was written over his heart and every possible surface.

His love was not boastful.

It did not need to claim to its entire family his love.

That is how I am with you.

I worship you on the inside.

I even knew when you were a baby that we would be together.

That you would grow up to be special.

Although I would never fuck a baby I'm just saying.

You come at me in dreams

like a freight train

all my ideas of you

they're not even you

they're just what I imagine you as

bubbling up from the deeps

attacking me with images of the triangles you wear over your three or four private areas


white triangles with spaghetti ties

you undress them for me

pretending I'm not there

that is our whole relationship

pretends it isn't happening

rubs the lotion on its skin


darling .. dear

)Read it in one sentence(

Darling dear.

Standard ))broadcast(( english.

No I mean %%english%% as an improper noun.

Highly improper.

You have entered a pumpkin of bottomless thoughts.

A gourd of bottomless darts/

Press return ≥

Control-alt-del ≥

Morgan might I program you

my dear/

Introduce you to my syntax

And my syntax is taboo and cumming


Subject yourself to my code/

Let me compile you with my fingers

and escape every expectation

—you know—

create form = break form = create form = break form

establish — destroy — establish — destroy

You are subject to my language

__because you are listening

Do you know of tremolo?

Do you know of precari?

That thing which is about to fall.

But never does.

That is how I express us to us.

I an' I go to the market

only expressible

in African forms.

You've entered a ••tunnel•• of language

from which there is no escape



there is no light at the end

it ends darkly

for us

with hides against the world

everything in double

every operator overloaded

programmers only know the half


You possess one of the world's only fully programmable clits

And I use a special language

of fingertips and tongues

mouths dicks and cocks earlobes toes and belly buttons

daisy petals

and the sliver of a tongue

all accessible from my console

you tricky little bitch

I have instrumented your entire body

your entire consciousness

with dastard microbots

I can encourage you like a robot with no synergy


Can you feel me as the little mole

burrowed underneath your skin

Morgan have you ever seen those science fiction movies

where stuff burrows under the skin

That's me.

I'm inside you like The Matrix.

Kiss me at the end and bring me back to life.

Sparks falling from the ceiling like a Michael Bay.

Electricity and water do mix.

I know you've thought about it a little bit.

You don't =ever= have to leave this bathroom.

Just slip into the tub and I'll help you.

Avoid the fate of Evanit's not too late.

Y/ou can leave h/ere in a body baghonorableglorious


Well, that's what your wedding hall reminds me.

Creepy motherfuquers calling themselves your parents.

Spindly little aunts worth as much as Cruella de Vil.

Prob'ly tanning dogs in their basement.

And even my mom, avoiding conflict like a thief, some bank robber who thinks she can get away with the jewels without doing time, not knowing that doing time is the only way to get the jewels. And so a house built on stilts, waiting for the tides to change and knock it all down like a house of motherfucking cards.

And you and I may be the wind that blows, my dear friend, that blows and blows and blows the house down.

In fact I feel it in every meeting, even this sexless tryst in bathroom ##2, for when we emerge it will be like a crime has been committed even if baring your soul is a crime, which I know Paul thinks is tantamount to sexual intimacy..wouldn't want to share your soul with someone lest you risk having sex with them..that old confusion with sex and intimacy..hardly anyone knows the definition of both.

These people wouldn't know intimacy if it was a rattlesnake that bit them in the face.

Savages, every one.

And Morgan

I would like to hear

your thoughts

on intimacy and the present moment.

How they're related.

If you don't mind sharing your wisdom with an aging cousin.

Thrill me.

Thrill me with your acumen.

I am all ears, lovely one.

All ears and eyes and feeling for you, special one.

I am a one-member cult of Morgan.

Too bad, you deserve to be worshipped. Godlike.

No one sees it but me, in my sickness.

For love is a sickness.

At least my love for you is.

It goes to far. It is imprudent. It is lust.

And most of all I hold you like a god.

Fetish object. Everything about you means more than it should.

All those little triangles.

Covering every bump and hole that we're not supposed to see.

That you show me delightfully.

Remember when I held your hand over my cock

and rubbed it

using your hand

so that you had no responsibility

I was moving you

using you

to make me cum

and it turned you on

so much

that you made yourself cum right after

using my hand

and I was bold enough

to suck your tiny nipples

until your legs clenched


and you rushed hot between your legs

that, cousin, I approve

move my hand like you like it

use me as your masturbation rag doll

Let's make a diorama play.

Let's open the door

to this bathroom



scene after scene after scene

of lascivious play

Will you play with me

with the consciousnesses of your guests

most of all your fathers

Scene 1: 69ing cousins in a wedding dress and penguin tie

Scene 2: cousins standing on their heads getting themselves off

Scene 3: tickling a pussy with a peacock feather

Scene 4: lathering a cock with cum

Scene 5: grief, the falling of dirty water from the nowhere

Let's make a play this wedding party will never forget.

Something they will write about in their history books.

Let's lube you up with tongue

and cry into your pussy as it cums.

Do you think that might be possible?

My little fetishistic dear.

I want to take off all your triangles

and let the blood


between us.

White on red

as your bloody pussy


and cum mixes with period blood

so safe

no babies

this time of month.

But there's nothing like a bloody pussy

for intimacy

if you'll let me make a mess of you

stir your juices

and make a cake

a strawberry short cake

with blood and cum

in that special pie spot.


That's what I said to Morgan.


"Well, we should probably leave this bathroom," Morgan said, looking at me rather skeptically.

"Did I say too much?"

"No," Morgan says. "Just right."

"Because sometimes I don't know when a direct response is more appropriate vis-à-vis a poetic one vis-à-vis no response at all."

"When would you use no response at all?"

"Like if someone left your Foreman Grill on after they made some pork and they didn't scrape the grill or unplug it and you came downstairs after sleep to hear your Foreman Grill crackling and popping under stress of the heat, and the person who did this was sitting in the next room playing Wii U with his girlfriend, within earshot of the crackling and popping that signifies the early death of your appliance (which was a gift)..in that case you might use no response at all because it would be fruitless because the person who did this is so unaware that requesting that they treat your shit nicely will have absolutely no effect at all."

"Ok. As long as you never use no response with me."

"I won't, Morgan."

"Lets go create ourselves a dance floor, if none exists."

Morgan offers me her hand.

She lifts me up.

I turn the lock on the bathroom door and Morgan and I are cutting up the parquet like Swing Kids, dread locks, ties whipping back and forth, shoes coming off our feet, knocking stray silverware off the round tables, Morgan grabbing drinks double fisted and offloading one to me—wacky punch—and we're spilling red with every turn, channeling House of Pain and Lord of the Dance all at once, tripping up a kick switch, flicking cigarettes in centrifugal physics lighting curtains on fire inviting as fire department of aunts and uncles and hangers on to bucket brigade with wine glasses to put it out before the hall burned down.

Cats came out of the attic, sliding down handrails and landing on all fours after impossible jumps—forming a chorus line of felines joined at the shoulders doing some Michael Bublé shit the likes of which you've never seen cats do.

Then MC Hammer popped up from the grave and—


Then MC Hammer does a solo in purple Hammer Pants®

Then Icona Pop jumps simultaneously into Morgan's head and mine and we're EuroPopping or StatesPopping or whatever kind of popping slamming each other into walls breaking off chunks of marble like the lobby scene in Matrix our spines and structures withstanding thousands of pounds of pressure to destroy the columns of Morgan's wedding hall and Morgan produces a Marlboro Light which she's now old enough to smoke not like our truck days which really peeves her dads.

They're standing on the sidelines with one arm crossed over their chest and the other angled up, mouth covered by hand as if to censor what it's obvious they're saying.

Evan is off playing Wii U in an anteroom so he doesn't see the bitch's dress until the moment of the wedding. Thank god. Exactly what a groom should be doing on wedding day—for the groom is the least essential personnel on such a day. The punch bowl salesman is more important.

Morgan popped that dress up like a wheelie. Everyone saw everything. She was popping it like a flamenco dancer, ruffling it like a hawk stretching its feathers. White hawk. Screaming like a hawk screams in the woods—have you ever heard it? If not, give it a try sometime. Hawk screaming in the woods sounds like a human being tortured to death by a real-life Hannibal Lecter, face peeled off stretch by stretch, until nothing is left of the person but their bones, muscles, barely functioning organs.

But it's not Hannibal Lecter.

It's a hawk, just trying to contact its mate.

And if you scream back at them they'll come to you.

Light on top of the tree where your hammock lays.

That's when you'll hear them ruffle their feathers.

And the bird realizes you're not a bird.

Just a reasonable facsimile of.

That's how Morgan rubbed the feathers of her wedding dress.

Like a hawk who had been trying to find her mate.

But instead found some much more complex creature that she didn't understand.

And she stood over it and loved it anyway.

And terrified it by her very nature.

Can you imagine being fucked by a bird, or a dragon?

She kneels over you raising white wings.

It is essential that she be terrifying.

Else you will find no excitement in her.

Have you had sex with the terrifying?

Are you aware that all beauty is terror?

Have you figured that out?

No terrorno beauty.

Stay with your comfort wives, your comfort husbands.

Binge watch The West Wing for weeks in a row.

And never ask How are you?

Never become anything more than an audience member.

Never make your own luck.

Keep to your cheap-ass closed-mouth lip kiss.

Never kiss like you did as a teenager.

Hungry like a Snoop Lion.

Mother cat licking her young.

Taking Morgan's hand and wrapping it around my dick, using her fingers to touch me while she goes limp as if she wasn't involved, and use her hand to get me off, cumming in her palm do you think that turns her on do you think that gets her off?

It will.

It will make her wet.

She will need to get off the same way afterwards, using your hand to touch her, guided by her own, each of you conceivably irresponsible for the other's Oyou're not doing anything, you're being used, the fact that your hand is on her clit is secondary to the truth that she's getting herself off.

Using you.

Have you ever done it?

'Cause I'd recommend getting off the sidelines of the dance hall and busting a rhyme with Morgan and me.

But no one does.

You stand on the edge.

You are shocked that two cousins with an unnatural love

can flaunt it so freely.

That's because we know this is the end.

Not of the world.

Of every moment, dying.

That is what dying is.

It's the coming to of every moment

moment after moment.

That is death.

It is the same thing as life

but viewed in the other direction.

But they are one vector, double ended, seed to stump.

Most people don't even know if they leave a Foreman Grill plugged in. When they plug something in, they're not cognizant of the symmetry of unplugging. If they want to sit down, they throw your coat off the back of a chair. It's not disrespect—it's just that they don't understand the finer points of life wherein it might make people uncomfortable if you describe a murder-suicide that you would like to execute with respect to Morgan and I—and then go about discussing it in detail.

That's Tanner, my bad uncle's son. He and his dad Russel think it's cool to disrespect people and their things, to talk down to women—they don't understand they are cripple for life. Russel is so proud of his son for being an asshole. When, really, Tanner won't be able to function in what I call the adult world. And Russel doesn't function there, either. Is it any wonder that Morgan and I found an unnatural connection among this crazy family? It's almost impossible to be normal and to survive this family.

If you conform to them, you're conforming to their sickness.

The only solution is absolute eccentricity.

Icona Pop in the wedding hall.

Head slamming.

Shoe throwing.

Private imaginary headphones pumping it into our ears.

Morgan saved me from the evil of this family.

Just by being honest.

Even if it was taboo.

And if we could talk to each other, why not touch each other, too.

I went to sleep so many nights with the feeling of Morgan's labia between my fingers, never feeling like it was real—having convinced myself it didn't count—knowing all along that increasingly everyone knew and we just endured those crosswise looks from GranGran when we were all staying at her house. The later Morgan was in my room, the louder GranGran read the news at breakfast.

Oh yeah, my advice: If you want to really piss off your intellectually low-rent uncles, fall in love with their daughter. Extra points if she loves you back.

Extra points if she rubs it in their face.

Extra points if she hangs out with you in the bathroom at her own wedding.

Extra points if she unzips herself from the top of her vagina hole to the bottom lip of her mouth and gives you a tour of her organs.

Extra points if the zipper is YKK.

Extra points if she listens to you talk.

Extra points if you're both connected by an invisible cosmic link to Icona Pop.

And if you cut up the motherfucking dance floor.

Scandalizing the entire room.

Whipping your hair back and forth.

Wedding dress covered with grief.

Raindrops only you can see.

Morgan's vagina hole pulsing, lip opening flexing, tiny drips of mother's milk seeping out between her legs.

Imagining her with an electric toothbrush, holding it on her clit with her vulva breathing like an alien sea creature, dripping those drips again and busting that clitoral orgasm like a cock, pumping cum from her vag.

I'll lick it up for you, Mor, lick your pussy and your asshole clean where your vag juice has dripped down to that puckered butt lick you clean and I'm your mother now, sucking your nipples fingering your puss pushing all the way inside you with two fingers rubbing your spot holding you with my hand behind your neck rocking you to cum.

You told me how much you love to be fingered and I always remember it.

All this thinking while I'm looking in your eyes and the room is spinning behind you and they're blurry but the whole world watches.


Then it s l o w s down.

Morgan thumbs the knob.

The time knob.

No less.

Introduces me to a crowd of college friends.

"How about that G6 G6 G6," they echo.

"Veer me away from this," I say. "I can't stand to hear about the G6."

"Veer you to what?"

I flick my nose.

"Cousin party. Bathroom..number..seven."

Morgan's working her phone.

Soon we're leaving the adults to bullshit each other about the significance of their professional lives (very significant) an cousins ##18 21 36 85 and 17 are pouring into the bathroom off the main hall.

\##18 says, "So where's the blow."

"Don't worry, your blow fantasies will soon be fulfilled by my man here," tapping my back.

\##18 is Laura's on-again lesbian lover from Texas A&M. Only the three of us know this.

\##21 is my younger sister always ready for drug excursions in private. Always ready for anything as long as it's private—she like many of us don't like to have our family business on the family street. She and ##36 (who is not a cousin but the first girl I ever had sex with—##36) and I used to have an annual psilocybin hookup until I got tired of the rabbit hole and cancelled out on them like a bitch.

\##85 is technically an uncle to some of us..brother to all..he tells stories like I was at a house party and I wandered upstairs and there was this girl on the bed and we hooked up while she was half-asleep and I never saw her again and we're like Stephen, are you a rapist? But he likes to do drugs and who are we to deny? That's cousin 85.

\##17 is a waif===] imported from a delicate side of the family—someone's family, we were never quite sure, but she was like a young Soleil Moon Frye crossed with Juno Temple (who is not a relative). You know you always wanted to go maniac on Punky Brewster. You know it. Don't deny.

Life is incomplete without a Punky Brewster rape fantasy.

Especially if you're cousin ##85.

This girl was so drunk I couldn't even wake her up with my dick. —Dude, that's rape.

Our cousin parties aren't like smoke 'em if you got 'em. They're like shoot 'em, snort 'em, pop 'em, parachute those motherfuckers if you've got motherfuckers to parachute.

Fuck it. I love this family.

You have to do a little pruning.

Like Geoff and Paul and my mom. They can enjoy the ancient art of being nice to gay people while existing on only the most pathetic level of professional stratitude. Tell me, what good is it to be cool and gay or cool and gay friendly when you work for ExxonMobil. That's not a question. That's an answer.

But when you cut them out you have the younger generation—us—who already make more a year out of college than the richest of our parents. But we don't drive a Prius—wouldn't be caught dead in one. Ducatis—I bought Morgan and I a matching pair on her 16th birthday. We drove cross country to Fightertown, USA—north of San Diego. Stayed in the same hotel room, same bed, it was like Lolita without the sex. Do I look like someone who would fuck my cousin—yes.

Watching F-16s do zero-altitude stunts over a runway scooping sideways doing corkscrews with less than 50 feet from wing to concrete. Holding my cousin's hand watching those planes blood and cum seeped out from between locked fingers and we consummated with a simultaneous non-touching orgasm over classic Top Gun shit.

Find a girl who can cum watching a fighter jet.

The rest will follow.

If your girl doesn't cum to low-altitude F-16 shit she's a dud.

Get yourself a different girl.

But stay away from my Morgan.

"What was it like in Fightertown?" asks \##18.

"Big creampuff on my vagina."

Try that around a Geoff or a Paul.

"I scraped the cream off my vag with a Mach3."

"Then what did you do?"

Morgan spreads her legs in the wedding dress.

"I let my shit air out."

"You're cray cray Morgan," says \##85—the rapist.

"And the moment you become truly cray cray, you will be truly alive," Morgan informs him.

This comes as a shock to cousin 85 because he had formerly thought that raping one girl a year at a house party was mack daddy status. Never had a real relationship. You have to pity him, really. He's on par to be another one of our family's deadbeat uncles, and that's a fate worse than death. You might as well kill yourself, if you find yourself in this position.

And some of our uncles have.

Everyone thinks this is cool.

The aunts and mothers and grandmothers and nieces and nephews who let these uncles know they're shit—they feel fine. But they're the opposite end of a resonating piece whose fine point is a familial suicide.

You have to understand something about this family and this culture: if you're the father who refuses to speak to his son, you're ok, your therapist backs you up—who could possibly have a relationship with that son?!—but if you're the son who goes crazy in a vacuum of family support, then you're the problem. The key is to never express emotion or any discernible point of view—then you're in the right. If you demand emotion, connection—then you're in the wrong.

"So tell us about the planes."

"In Fightertown? They're planes designed to get you right in the pussy."

"And the dick?"

"Oh yeah, did they get you in the dick?"

"You know they did. Standing on the side of that chainlink fence, the vibration is enough to get you hard. And your pussy?"

"Wet as a sponge. Slick as one of those Swiffer WetJets."

"And smelling just as good."

Morgan pinches me.

We're the storytellers for everyone.

Even my ex-girlfriend is jealous of the sex Morgan and I aren't having. She's told me Morgan and I have a better relationship than she and I ever had.

I said, "Ashley, Morgan and I don't even have a relationship."

She said, "I know. And you still have a relationship that's better than you and I's."

Morgans's fiancé might have said the same thing but he wasn't invited to cousin parties. He was relegated to the land of Geoff and Paul, their only function being to talk about how they'll transfer support of Morgan from one generation to another. Pathetic, loser, faggot shit.

Anyway, Morgan can run a fiery circle around them all in a Ducati drenched in airplane fuel. Rearwwwwawwwwr. See to it.

Take a tour around the room, \##s 18 21 36 85 and 17 all perched on the double-sink fixture with the widescreen mirror, everyone with their coke-snort areas on a dry counter, pocket mirror, palm of hand, one-dollar bills—that's how we do it.

Like a den of bears.

Grief giving us a reprieve.

No drops now.

No rain.

Someone brings out their phone and pushes it to full max, playing the song of the day, and Morgan holds out her hand. I grab it. Soon the bathroom is a dance party, bass on our phones better than our parents' ancient component systems.

And elbow is touching elbow, back of head touching back of head, heel touching toe.

Then the dark side of Morgan.

Keeping track of the shots she's taken with chicken scratch notation on the side of her hand—not to limit her intake but just as a journal of shots. Five. Fifteen. Seventeen. We have the same conversation three times, her never remembering its previous incarnation. And then that last wasteful period of the afternoon, when Morgan drank shots out of habit, even being at the period where one more shot won't make a different to her enjoyment of the day, but will just contribute to her hungover pain of hours later. Maybe it's the OCD in me, but I just hated to see alcohol go to waste when it could have caused us more enjoyment later—later that day, in the morning on the following day, whatever—it just seemed a waste.

But what can you do—stop Morgan?

Better luck of stopping a tsunami.

If she and her dreads are gonna get stupid..she and her dreads are gonna get stupid.

Being around her made me want to drink less.

She scared me. When we went on trips, she would drink so much she'd be standing over the ice machine, arm covering her face, and I'd be scared to approach her but I would anyway.

"Morgan. Come to bed with me. Do you want to?"

(Crying.) "Yes." (In bed, snuggling.) "I was so alone, and you came and got me."

"Yes, I thought you were following me and when I realized you weren't there I came to get you."

"You found me! You didn't leave me alone!"

"I would never leave you alone."

"I was all by myself!!"

"But you're here with me, now, where you're supposed to be."

And she'd mumble unintelligibly and I'd hold her head in my arms while she went to talking crazy drunk to talking crazy in her sleep, usually just single words like, "Yeah!" and in the morning she'd tell me dreams of visiting with our family and I was making out with some other cousin—one older than me—and everyone was laughing at her and she was all alone and I was ignoring her for the company of our older cousin K and when I heard these dreams I wondered if they were the kind where you feel better when you wake up from them—or the kind where you feel worse.


You kind of have to understand the family pressures. Systems, dynamics—you know what I'm saying?

Aunt Louise is bordering on a polymath: she invented a cure for some cattle disease and she plays the organ. Like: is an organist with recordings out.

When she was younger, she adopted two children from fucked-up families and when she brought them into her home she treated them entirely different than her own kids. Treated them like shit. Berated them in front of the other kids. They grew up to have shit lives just like if they had grown up in their shit families. This was a shit family, too (just a new one).

My dad, when I wanted to go back to college, wouldn't provide his financial information so I could fill out the forms. In fact he wouldn't even return my calls. When I put pressure on Louise to have him call me, telling her how many messages I had left, she accused me of lying ("Be careful. We can look up the phone records"). I said bring out the phone records! My dad lied to his sister and she believed him over me. My dad lies about a lot of things.

Or Morgan's dads. I guess the thing you need to understand about Morgan's dads (and some of the rest of my family) is that they grew up in Texas, they're republicans, and they're oil engineers. Chemical engineers. I know I've mentioned this. Some of the other cousins are oil engineers, too. Their parents don't believe in following your dreams. They believe in making lots of money. To them, death would be financial insecurity. To Morgan, me, and about one other person in this family, death would be not following your dreams.

Heaven is part of the problem. These people believe in the afterlife. They believe their reward is in heaven. So they're willing to waste this life. One thing I happen to know about Morgan is she doesn't believe in heaven.

Morgan's dads may go to church, but their real religion is football. Like if there's a home game that Sunday, they'll wear Cowboy jerseys to service and leave early to watch the game. And they watch it at home. They would never want to mix with actual hoi polloi—they watch it on a flatscreen with bean dip. Their older daughter Laura watches with them when she's home from A&M. She has no problem with making money and believes in heaven too.

And to understand our family you have to understand that the patriarch, Russel (father of my bad uncle Russel the alcoholic) was an alcoholic and Susan ("Fun Aunt Susan") is an alcoholic and Morgan and I are alcoholics and drug addicts and bad uncle Rusty's son Tanner is an alcoholic and there are many more alcoholics on my dad's side even though they deny the presence of suicide, mental illness, and substance abuse. My dad even denies that divorce happens in his family, when he himself and his sister Louise the semi-polymath are both divorced. But if you ask him if anyone in his family is divorced he will say no. That's how kind of disconnected from reality he is. And in this sense, if you look at me, I am my father's son.

When I ask my father if he remembers taking showers with me and my sister far after the age when children normally take showers with their parents, he doesn't say yes or no. He says, "That didn't happen."

But I know it did.

My sister and I remember the same events which—to my dad—magically didn't happen.

When you grow up with those kinds of lies, yes, your reality tends to get kind of skewed.

In my family it's selective memory—my dad only remembers the good things he did, while remembering of me mostly the bad things and painting me that way.

In Morgan's family, it's selective treatment—like Morgan being the only one in the family allowed to sit on the corduroy couch. Or the time her family went to Chili's and Laura was allowed to order anything on the menu but when Morgan's turn came, her dads said, "Pick again," to everything she chose (this is in front of the server) until she picked a chicken caesar salad, and then they said, "You're close," and then she said, "A vegetarian caesar salad?!" and they accepted her order.

Morgan has told me this story at least five times.

She describes the look on the server's face and says she felt like "Sharon" was the only one on her side.

Then her dads and Laura laughed it up all eating meat and Morgan wondered what she did wrong but in everyone else's laughter she found a space within herself where she knew she wasn't crazy, and she listened to that voice..and that is how Morgan began to survive.

I'm glad she did because if she hadn't, there would be no one in this family to talk to.

So yeah, those are the things you have understand about this family to understand how fucked up say..I..or Morgan..are.

I don't want to kill you with examples.

But I try to think..what if when my older sister went to college, my dads gave her an Acura, and when I graduated, they gave me an Acura, too, but mine had different—fewer—options. Like it would be better if they gave Laura an Acura and Morgan a Honda. That would be making a clear statement. But they gave her the same car except chintzed out on the options. Stuff like no satellite radio. Stupid stuff. Different tires—the ones without rain gutters so they're less safe tires. No steering wheel cover. Nothing they couldn't afford..just enough to let you know that they had made a decision to spend a little less money.

Have you read M. Scott Peck's People of the Lie? It's a book about evil..like about parents who give a shotgun to their younger son for Christmas—oh and it's the same shotgun his older brother used to kill himself. I'm not saying our family is evil to that level, but there's a reason that book resonates with me. We're in the same fucking ballpark.

Very few have actually survived.

There's Morgan.

There's me.

There's one of my sisters.

On my dad's side, there's just Kristi.

Those are the only four who are not defined by their careers, actually listen when you talk to them, and maintain their spark.

You know?

That spark of life?

You either know what I'm saying or you don't.

If you know what a spark is, chances are you still have yours.

If you think what I'm saying is nonsense, you probably gave yours up at five years old.

Anyway those are the only four people in my family who have theirs.

My mom is an interesting case. She's had to defend against so much—and, as an oldest child, had to deflect so much and carry so much—that she is like a mountain with a fire buried deep within it. That fire is there..but you'll never see it. She can't afford to show it. Imagine life with an alcoholic father. Now try to survive that.

She's good at holding things together.

Smoothing things out.

Avoiding confrontation.

Someone like Morgan—or someone like me—is good at burning things down.

We're fireproof. We withstand heat by becoming the hottest thing in the room. If you're jet fuel, we're thermite. If you're willing to lose an arm, we're willing to lose our life. You don't want to play with someone who plays like that.

(With someone who has nothing to lose.)

Morgan—or I—will up the ante. Increase the odds. Turn the heat all the way to the top. We're like flamethrowers. And I'm not saying that's a good way to be..I'm just telling it like it is. People fuck with us and we use the only survival mechanism we know that works: we make sure it isn't worth your while to fuck with us ever again.

Morgan and I believe in non-proportional response.

Like one time, she told her band teacher he hadn't given her the sheet music for the solo she was supposed to perform at halftime. The band teacher disputed her, saying he had given it to her a week ago. This made Morgan mad, because it wasn't the truth. He told her to play it anyway. She told him to direct the band not to stop for her solo—she wouldn't play it. He called her bluff.

Only she wasn't bluffing.

The band stopped and for three and a half minutes, Morgan stood there, sticks in hand, and waited his ass out. She waited out the band teacher. She waited out the band. She waited out a stadium full of high school football fans. She waited out her dads.

You can't move Morgan if she doesn't want to be moved.

She has a higher pain threshold than you.

And the ironic thing is, you taught her that threshold.

If you're stubborn with Morgan, Morgan is stubborn + 1.

She's like Nicky from Casino: No matter how big a guy might be, Nicky would take him on. You beat Nicky with fists, he comes back with a bat. You beat him with a knife, he comes back with a gun. And if you beat him with a gun, you better kill him, because he'll keep coming back and back until one of you is dead.

That's my Morgan. I love that about her. I don't think I could truly love someone who didn't have such a spine.

When you're totally unreasonable with someone—or with someone who grows up in an unreasonable family—you teach them to develop a tactic which defends against unreason. And unfortunately for Morgan's dad, and my dad—and our entire fucking family—the technique it teaches you to develop is to become completely immune to whatever anyone says.


A lot of famous people fucked their cousins.

Bach, Darwin, Einstein, Buddha, Rudy Giuliani, Grieg, Saddam Hussein, Jesse James, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Maslow, Samuel Morse (inventor of Morse code), the prophet Muhammad, Edgar Allan Poe, Sergei Rachmaninoff, Franklin D. Roosevelt, most of the Rothschilds, actress Greta Scacchi, composer Igor Stravinsky, President Martin Van Buren, author H. G. Wells, and a bunch of other people.

So pardon me if I want to fuck my cousin.

I mean it's not exactly rare.

It's not without precedent.

As long as you don't keep doing it over and over like the Rothschilds, and especially as long as you don't have children, who the fuck cares.

Only Americans and our stupid ideas of sexuality.

Hide it.

Don't do it with your siblings, your children, your parents, your teachers, people of the same sex, farm animals. Those aren't that rare either—want me to make a list?

Is the problem that she's my younger cousin?

Is the problem that there's this expectation that Morgan will go out and get someone special, someone new?

That kissing cousins will lead to kissing parents, kissing brothers and sisters?

Is it just some innate feeling that Morgan and I could have been in the same playpen—as babies—and now my hands are in her panties, all over her clitoris, dragging a trail of mucous out of her vagina with my fingers?

Tasting her lemon smell?

Licking her tiny anus?

Kissing her eyeballs?

Sucking her eyes out of their fucking sockets and jerking off with her eye juice—ripping her ovaries out of that thin red-headed body and munching on her stones?

Smelling her pussy on my hands for days after she sneaks into the living room?

Punching my thumb into her butthole?

Pulling her down over my cock and holding her to me, making her move around me until she cums?

Would it surprise you that there are more cousins than one that I would like to fuck?

Oh yes. One named Kristi. One named Key. There's one named McKenzie on my mom's side.

And cousins I would never fuck?

One named Camille. Morgan's older sister Laura—now why is that? How can I be attracted to one sister and not the other? Why is Camille of such little interest to me when I would rather fuck her mother? How can Morgan be so exciting when I hate her dads? For that matter, why was the first girl I had sex with so attractive to me then and so unattractive now? There was a point prior to which Morgan was not sexually interesting to me—interesting from a personality point of view, but it wasn't until she was 14 or so that I felt for her sexually. Will there be a point when that subsides? What makes me crave her, steal her hair ties and smell them when she goes away?

"I think you have this idea of me..that is not..entirely..accurate, Matthew."

"How's that, cous'?"

"You think of me as female."

"You're not female?"

"Well, yes. Technically."

"You identify as male?"

"No. I identify as female. I love my cunt. I love my period. I dread the day when it stops. It's such a part of my identity."

"Your period? Being female? What?"

"All of it. But you conceptualize me as female, when it's really just a bunch of moving parts. I'm not actually female..as an object."

"You know I don't see you as an object."

"I know. You see me as a person, not as a sex object, but sexually, you see me as something more than the sum of its parts, and it does something to your mind and your emotions that doesn't quite make sense."

"I don't see what this has to do with you being my cousin."

"It doesn't. Don't you feel the same about other girls?"

"Yeah, basically the same."

"Do you want to possess me?"

"Morgan I just like you."

"Am I more magical because I'm your cousin?"

"Maybe because you're similar to me."

"But you're not attracted to your sisters."

"No. There's this process—"

"You told me. By which brothers and sisters learn not to be attracted, right? Did it work perfectly in your case?"

"Pretty well. Maybe not perfectly with one sister..but perfectly with the other."

"Why don't you want to fuck her, though—really. Is it because of that process or because you just don't like her?"

"Well I don't like her. I don't even really want to talk to her."

"Would you fuck the other one? I know which one is which by the way."

"I figured you did. Yeah, I guess I would fuck the other one. But I wouldn't want to fuck my mom, for instance."

"You've thought about it?"

"Yes. I've given all of this a lot of thought."

"You've never thought about fucking your mother?"

"Ok, I've thought about it."

"Have you ever jerked off to fucking your mom?"

"No, but a pussy is a pussy, you know? If we were on a desert island—"

"Who? You and your mom?"

"Yes, me and my mom."

"I guess that's the question, isn't it? If we—whoever—were on a desert island..what would we do?"

"Why, would you fuck your dads?"

"Sure. A cock is a cock, right?"

"Would you fuck Tanner?"

"You have to draw the line somewhere. Just like you wouldn't fuck Camille. Why is that?"

"I don't like her personality."

"That's why?"

"I don't like her body. Ok? Everyone in the family says Camille is so pretty but I hate the way she looks."

"What do you think she looks like?"

"She looks like a horse."

"Hah. I think she looks like a horse, too. Do you like my dreads?"

"Of course I do. You know I do."

"Do you think I look better with or without them?"

"With, I guess—I don't know."

"Just wondering. I know it doesn't have anything to do with your cousin fetish."

"Do you have a cousin fetish?"

"I was always turned on by you. I can't remember ever not having a crush on you."

"From what age?"

"From as early as my mind goes back. When I was little and you were 12 or 13."

"So when you were..like..seven?"

"From when I was five. Five or four."

"Did you masturbate to me? Like think about me and imagine what it would be like..us doing stuff?"

"Yes. All of that. I snuck into your room and watched you sleep."

"You did?"

Morgan nods.

"I stood at your door at the Embassy Suites and looked through the crack while you were changing clothes."

"Did you see..what did you see?"

"You standing in your underwear."

"What kind were they?"

"Boxer briefs. With a bulge in the middle. And I liked your butt. Did you ever sneak in and watch me?"


"From what age?"


"Did you want to fuck me at five?"

"No, but I was fascinated."

"Did you look at my diaper?"

"You weren't wearing a diaper at five."

"You know panties are basically my diaper now," Morgan says.

I look at her. I wonder how we could have avoided this—if we could. I mean I would have liked Morgan whoever she was. I just never would have met her if we weren't related.

"Do you think," I say, "that you'll be married long?"

Morgan snorts.

"What kind of question is that?"

"An honest one."

She snorts again.

"You mean..are you and I going to get married?"

"I don't ever want to get married, M."

"So you mean are you and I ever going to fuck?"

"I mean..are we still going to spend time together?"

My cousin looks away. And in the time she looks away I think about everything I've told you so far in this book. I wonder if I've gotten it all right, if I've explained myself well enough that you'll forgive me being in the company of Bach and Einstein and Rudy Giuliani in this way.

Morgan looks back at me, throwing her long auburn dreadlocks behind her.

"You and I..will never stop being in each other's minds. And that..is maybe more than any married couple can expect."

"Morgan I'm obsessed with you."

"I know."

"You're supposed to say, 'I'm obsessed with you, too.' "

"I'm obsessed with you too."

"But you're supposed to say it on your own."

"I'm obsessed with you too. You want me to suck your dick?"

"No I don't! I don't want to do anything like that! I want you to come over here and sit on my lap and hug me and talk with me seriously about how we're never going to be apart and you're still going to communicate with me by text message or secret phone call or something and yes, while you're over here, I want you to rub against me with your white panties—your diaper—like you used to do in the truck so yes I guess I do!"

Morgan lifts herself up surrounded by her wedding dress and takes two steps over to me.

"Ok," she says. "I will calm you down."

And she plops her ass down on top of me and rubs the gusset of her diaper through my suit onto my cock and she goes back and forth, back and forth, and she sings a song from our youth that goes:

"Orna tha rincus / Tinkus / Anna Anna Anna Anna."

She repeats that quietly and I feel the friction between us increase as her panties get wet and my dick gets hard and I'm looking at the crisscross pattern of the straps across her back and thinking about her virgin pussy and feeling the details of its outside through her bridal lacy underwear—her diaper as she calls it—and she closes her eyes, rocking above me, and says:

"Pretend you're Mozart!"


"And I'm your cousin!"


"And let me make you cum."

I have her hips and I hold her on me and force her to squirm only on my cock as we have done so many times.

And she puts her hands on the floor, bends over rubbing like crazy—

—to which I say, "Yes. Yes. Yes!"


You're the goddess of my dreams.

Cherry lipstick.

Blueberry pussy lips.

Tri-tip steak inside your pussy hole.

Apple-flavored pussy juice.

And a nice blue sky.

Come pick fruit with me.

Pick words=

=with two parts of speech.

We play double Dutch on concrete.


Won't you come and hide with me!

The sun comes up and

you see

what you do to me =)

Close your eyes


cum with me??




and checkers!

Little diaper girl!!

You dissed me with make-believe*!*

Rainbows —and— mystery

Blueberry nights


blueberry girl——

Bumble bee!

Pick a guitar with your strings

Wait for me

before you cum the first time

Picking my fingers

on your tiny clit!

You are a girl in every definition.

That period is hyphenated.

You and I are a hyphenate.

Learn to drink me like Alice!

Wonder in my underland

Run and fly into the pyramids!

They found a statue there


as the wind

under the stars..

We have redefined

our girlish notions of love——

Plagued Rome

introduce a conference of dovez——

Dancing with fireflies >>

Dancing >> fire >> skies

E l e v a t i o n

e l a t i o n

Latino << fellatio

Extra ) soace (

)) — ((

)) — - — ((






Who fascinated me

















net of butterflies

my stomach turning as I cum! in yourhands

and you have to wash your dress

white flowers on yellow

in the three-sisters treehouse

three trees three sisters two

dynasties of cousi8ns

"Don't wash it out."

"Kid brother, I have to wash it out. You broke me."

"Kid sister..you were already broken."

"You broke me in."

"That too!"

"You put me in all the wrong places"

"Cared for you too"

"My brother, do you really tell yourself that??"

I tell me tales of you as I go to night, one hand on my cockJockey™ two kids in mystreal floating on Vapor

shift << left

YourCunt! ⚧ ⚮ ⚤









My dear, "cum" to the loving room and I'll

——rub you off

with my finger——s




formula for love

12 << purpleRain && doveS << 6 +x

(( Complexities of love ))

Don't be self-conscious when I wrap you up*!*


Motherfuck! << kidpower ]]>>——xup!!]

MOTHER -— --]— --FUCK!!- - >>

] << comes creeping

] << on a flowery

] << bed

T-akeOffYourTape && LickY*ouClea-*n™

YourABaby're && LemonSmell

mis - composed -- — - <

There is a ceiling of pleasure

which we break

Do you feel it in your head?

A headache cumming??

It's when your dopamine signal is boosted

and you hit the ceiling

kid gloves at [[ around five [


at night

warning warning here comes aunt Louise

playing a TwoPart-Invention— x-- i

Pick your panties off the floor

and hide --inthiz pocket

of warmth





c o m p o s™ i t e

synt*a]*c--Xookie ..trademarkBytchez


Ill ' TwangYourPussy


]]] ButOnlyIfYouPlayMorgans '




) o (

"Interacting with a schema."

—Morgan's lips are so comfortable—

b e c a u s e

of all the girls

I've --ever-- kissed.

My relationship to the schema changes over time

from being ( afraid ) to kiss

Lori T.[ aliafero ]

( in the basement )

to kissing Morgan


lips and teeth..





my sister



self-absorbed, I might think: people with children are so self-absorbed dealing with them as a schema. If you remind me of the ( asshole housemate ) then I will deal with you as the asshole housemate. You are not just you but all the people I have ever met. Morgan is my cousin. Morgan is every cousin. Morgan is a girl. Morgan is every girl I ever met. Fucked. Kissed. Made out with. Fingered. Came ins2ide/. _Chased__ _Took to bed__ _Took on a date__ _Fucked in the ass__ _Came in the mouth__ _Tasted her cum__ _Pressed her button__ _Peeled out of clothes__ _Took her in mouth__ _Nips__ _Tugged on bit licked__ _Wispies of hair









I had a finger in a butterfly.

I had cancer in a dreamFly.

Kill Her Sunday Girl.

Make the memes and the schemes meet UnderTheAppleTree.



Kill Her On the PissMattress)tm(.

Kill my appleTreeWhiteRabbitObject.









She sites outside the sun burning her face.

Kill her—in the meme.

"I think I've got something you might like."


I chopped cherry trees in the land of Abraham.

Killing me of plains/

The guitar

Took my pants off



Intuition girls—-

Exacto precision

In a monkey position

crates of dogfuud

Killer --screened in-- porch———


Ooooh oooo oooo!!

She was cherry popping goodness





What is poetry but a pussy?


I fell in love with a dash————

————Killing your puss with punctuation

————Kissing pussy with em dashes

And underwear matching all a color..

Selected by a conscientious production designer

Someone who had his eyes on every Hitchcock——

Someone who became—-

Intence with passwords--

Killed me with spring breakers



and the --Ignorance of such--


As You Have Never Seen

When did Kristopher Robyn becyme a commodity(tm)?

Squirrels tryna get a nut

to move yo butt

That little NiggerCousin(t,)m

Felt me outside her diaper

And I had a niceLittleLunch(tm) planned




















I am a composer

of _HAPTIC_ poetry

_HAPTICS_ of your cunt

_HAPTICS_ of a pretty redhead girl

_HAPTICS_ of your labia__

_HAPTICS__ of vagina lips___

T?here w?as a D?anielSt?ripedTig??er(underscore*)*

And a babied song



When __I__ Pinned __Your__ Labia __ToTheWall__

It was a great conquest

In my mind

Which I have hitherto made my place

In this darkling world

Intuition led me to violate the ways of this world.

Intuition led me to smell your salty puss.

Cubic pussy bone.

From a time before you could speak.

We were meant to kiss in make-believe. Little Morgan.

Plop your dreads on my back

Ride my cock

This is the anti-verse

No inflection is needed




dirty sexy love

I was born to gnaw on your labia

little one

lick you clean

in circles and circles

and circles of sex

meant to tell you the word

over and over and over

my kid cousin

even the

length of you

is meant for me

poke your little girl hole

splash! cum in your

mouth and hand

kid vicious

kid kind

of the orca tha rinkus! anna tinkus

singing bells insideyou




let me sing

songs of your


holy shitdicks



kid you're like a pot pipe

ridged for his pleasure

you;'d g;et of;f my fi;ngers

if I rubbed them long enough

kid sister

looking in a mirror

of blood

we're past all pretense

my one

throw away all the group therapy you never had


your dads

would never submit

to their own


measure me in millimeters

I am serrated too



neither of us will

--we will--


to let me out of the box

until we

get it off

it's like an



imbued by nature

put you in a trance

so you will let me

that's what it does

hold you down and make you love to live

love to love

and live

and love

you delight in me delighting in you


maybe squeeze your legs together like a schoolgirl

and teach me the a.phabet

of your knees

killer beez

baby fuzz turned to pigs turned to dreads


I whip my cock and play __fuck the mouth_

you have just the right amount of in and out

of your beautiful mouth

wet*/dry* water buffalo


like some African animal salty

sex is salt

salt is sex67y

there is a placation

on every desert island

in kidKind(tm)

do you realize how little time

we have

to be controversial—

—soon all this will be womankind

of your marginal taboo

you had trouble even making it stick

back then

but we had to tell it

had to tell your dads

and the whole "fam"

that their mentality was über-cat-like-a-monkey


of you loving my


of pearls



in a spaceCow growing

I would hold you down like a rape

lick you






when they say

does anyone have any reason why my cousin

and this military douchebag

should not be joined

at the hip

I'll be like

"doucher! doucher! douche!"

and everyone will understand

that I love you


love you more than your doucher dads

more than military dirtbags

could ever love

my cous


I will lick you

stick you

prick you

lie you down and rub our genitals together

till we both shall cum

every m8inute fo ever.y day


and it will never feel so right

as it has felt so wrong

for I know the trick

to get her kicks

she needs

a man

who can

make her feel so bad

such a bad lyttle kyd

in bed with me

on Sunday

my co


on Saturday

everything feminine and wrong about this world



When I started this book I intended to tell you everything about the wedding of Morgan Temple but I realize that to tell you everything about Morgan really it is a story about me a story that breaks all the rulez and chides you intu a creep understanding along the linez of a scherzo song have you ever heard Williams go scherzo for some Indiana Jonze kidplay? and Morgan dropping little shyts from the cuffs of her pants when five killing the antz with fuud on a rollercoaster ?? killer kyd pumping out farts like a tentcamp in her pillowz did this once3 before me came the entire hystory of everything that never was to be between the fated Morgan le Fay whoze hand took down an army in catlike purrfection And Morgan says:

"I wanted this to be perfect I wanted my pussy like a cat tingling between my legs and you never had any right to say otherwise Geoff and Paul and Whatever His Name Iz we will kill him in our sleep between our legs strangling. Jesus Fucking Christ on a Popsicle Stick. Jesus Fucking Christ on a Crutch. What is your Jesus on?"

"My Jesus is on everything," I tell her. "He's a negro catkiller of specious proportions. He takes your Jesus and wads him up like a piece of toilet paper—"

"Ewwwww," Morgan says. "You wad yours?"

"What do you do?"

"I'm a girl. We roll ours nicely."

"Right. 'Cause you're wiping a puss—"

"And you're wiping a nasty asshole."

"My asshole isn't nasty, I'll have you know."

"Show," she says.

"I'm not showing yu my asshole."

"This is my wedding and a wedding is like a party and it's my party and I expect you to do anything I say now show. me. your. asshole."

"Luuk kyyd eye candy vertebrae wonderland, I don't have to show you shit."

Morgan grins.

"Let me leave the room," she says. "Then when I come back in you can shit on command like a trained monkey."

"No deal."

"Why not!" stamping like a kyd.


"Morgan, that's just a myth..created by a writer..for the popularization of pvblic enjoyment."

"You sound like one of those authors who use big words for no purpose whatever and I expect more from you, Ke-mo sah-bee."

"Don't call me KMOSAAB. It's racist."

"No it's not."

"The whole show's racist."

"If I say I want you to ride me like a horse does the show cease to become racist?"

"Yes if you want that it does cease to become so."

"Then I instruct you to ride me like a horse and play a flute as you do so."

"Will you still be my cousin?"

"I am your cousin—we don't have to pretend it as it is so."

"Kid Vicious, I'll drive a spike up your ass."

"God. Make a girl feel wanted."

"Let me finger your corpse."

"I think," she says, "that the original ideas of virginity are passé continuum and such technicality if I cum you make me more about intimacy using a dildo technicality ##2+! brought to school with a muffyn pyys in my mouf I am no longer a virgin understand?"

"You skipped a few steps in your logic but yes I follow."

"If I don't skip steps you'll get bored and find another cousin to follow."

"I've considered all the cousins and I only have dick for you."

"You're not supposed to say, 'I've considered all the cousins.' You're supposed to know it's me without ever considering all the cousins."

"I'm just trying to be realistic."

"Camille? You consider her?"

"She looks like a horse."

"Did you masturbate to her?"


"And when you say she looks like a horse it makes a girl wonder—naturally—if you think she looks like something..like a horse..or a crab..or a turtle. You should get this without me having to tell you."

"Morgan. The bitch looks like a horse."


When I see a chipmunk I call the chipmunk. When I see a horse I call the horse.

You just say that because you're not of any particular shape. Any..particular..animal.

Have you seen this thing it's like a picture of what the "average" human will look like by 2050 it's like tan skin dark hair like what a typical mixed kid looks like today.

If you wouldn't fuck it then you're racist, says Morgan. And don't say, "I've fucked black girls."

I've fucked black girls.

I SAID: Don't say! I've fucked black girls!!

I have black friends, too lol.

Lol motherfucker you're so hilarious.

But don't you see what I'm saying? Cousin love. Black girls. Black girls are some of the most beautiful girls on the planet—

But do you get cousin love feels from them?



Exactly not. I need to feel I'm betraying the object of affection in order to get off.





Whatever. Tell me about these cousin feels.

Kyd vicious, you're just far enough outside the cradle for me not to have become biologically unimpressed by you just near enough to feel we are cut of the same stuff.

Do you think Einstein understood the explicity*?*

Einstein? Probably. Most? Probably not.

Do you think Einstein was into butt stuff?

Morgan, how should I know?

You seem to be an expert on the subject.

What subject.

Shit for me now on command.

Morgan, you're in the wrong book.

Fuck you! You told me you were going to give me a whole book about me!!

Drop trou on command and let's get this over with.

So romantic.

Sue my ass.

I'd like to. Butt you seem a little tight up there.

B?aby I say you get in the fvcking shower and give your cousin a show bewilder9ing in scope behance-ing in the maw of power sponsoredByColumbiaUniversityKyyd with catLadies all over the mentalityProwess I raped -a- kyd necromancer in the video game . muffyn . spaceShuttle . launching semen in your vagina stringsPlaying mediocreOrchestra camelHumpsMy Lovely Lady Lumps killer.beesWE.onA.swarm —— theCoolestMother Fuckers in the wyrldKat .. peon pee on murder . muffyn . maladies




Cigars you never heard of.

Your dad is a fucking baby raper.

Terrible snyfty.

Buying minutes on the boat.

In an SXM loft.

Ifyouhavemoneyyoucanbuy a placeanywhere.

Buy your ownmotherfuckingcastle.

Thewoman who refusedtorentme







forAchess set.

It's time for a long paragraph! Selfconscious writing. Bleghc bleghc bleghc kid vyyscious inthe garden attack! Bling! Bling! Subject to the duress of a director who thought King Kong Remake was the greatest film intheworld! regurgitated!


killer bees we on a swarm ]]

I have to tell you something. Something only a baby raper would know. Terrible that you are the one who can understand me. Terrible that you are 1 in 1,000 who whom this rhyme makes sense. We thought the teacher was a loser radio DJ even though he was trying to Dead Poet's Society our ass.

You can catch these loser DJs

as they

and their wives

clip to seek


in New Mexico.

We come to you straight


with no inflection

and the most complicated


in all --the-- world.

It's Jurassic Park!!

!!that was a --unix-- system//

KillerBees --we on a swarm—

Kiid you never knew me bloodtwanging inthemost vicious whirlpoolof my kdny Kolodny(tn) variating almost organically in the mushroom sky of a blidney kyte seen though the windshield of a Harvard graduate who came and gone with nothing bytt an asscrack of Mehico. I was brought you to see my naked bliss of Lode Runner aka Mexico City the most boring ly named city in France. Amsterdam has the proudest kidlong virgins* in Mehico cum from cousins in every case delicious from a horror film. When my mother spout me out I came with predilections on predilections on summer bread (tm) they knew me in my every desire from the first chromosome that was governed in DNA kidslice(tm) and H/armony Korinn/e. We saw a dead kat. Miffed 22-like rifle but louder! Tense sturgeon. Micah. The old testament. B?adGod. TerribleMynd. Bling!+Bling! killer bullyts written in assembly code(—)

(—) core lybraries written in styne

(—) infinte neighbors optimization algo-fuck

(—) law of threes

makes three not just a round but an even


I am an expert at symmetry.

Kiid lovyr.

I split you where the guude lyrd kissed you.

Registered trademark.

(—) the last paragraph shall find you listened to me . kyyd . vicious of the only twenty-four lover I ever loved in kyyd luuv particles of shit on your diaper Morgan of a complex knot learned of fishermans in goldWednesday?niutCrackyrr. I have a pone corn pussy grown of absinthe in Orleans a very certain bar where I saw the likes of you on a cousin vacation before we hit the cruise with yourTwoDads there was a woman in New Orleans loved me like cousin lov something non-romantic about it and she had ever too many of theFantastic Kind (—) we took her in a paaragraph kid muffyn without autoreplace oh your genitals were just fine clean like a brother and a sister of the same kynd muffyn nut and a watermelon goo wiped from the table with a faux steel wool all plastic up in your VJ I scraped! the baby! out!

And came with the elementMuffynInAZebraCove!!

Kinesthetic Cowboy

and a girl

who I loved

and who loved me

for every salty reason.


And I'm at this round table with Geoff sitting next to me and Paul sitting next to that.

It's about 10 people at the table. A coupla cousins, some aunts, a parent or two, some sisters, a brother, a son.

Everyone's having mock Italian.

Only Geoff and Paul are drinking.

And that bitch cousin who looks like a horse.

And her mom.

Geoff when he sat down switched places with someone so he could sit by me.

Because he likes to see where my life is going.

Since I like his daughter.

If we're going to have mock incest, he at least wants to make sure I'm financially viable.

"New venture blah blah blah small office blah nothing run by a nigger this time" (we're in the south) "no nig no nig nog I left that last place lickety split when the nigger showed up" (he can't be supervised by a nigger) "new office is a bunch of Texas white boys etc etc fuck this nigger president and call him by his first name and don't capitalize president! 'cause he's illegitimate and wouldn't do to serve me food and all these nigger mixed wig wog musicians should be singing for their supper" (Geoff has a hard time accepting that rappers make more money than him) (he needs them to be less than him so he's grappled onto this phrase sing for their supper which he heard in some publication about slaves and whatever, he thinks it justifies that he doesn't make as much money as them even though all he does is translate tax law for oil companies so that they pay infinitely less in taxes (nothing) than the unacceptable lady gaga (do not capitalize)) "nig nog nig nog niggers everywhere" (a nigger is basically an illegitimate person, it doesn't matter their color) "fuck the niggers everywhere we have an all-white office yea!" (fucking asshole is like:) "got this job for you Temple all-white programming job we have these display boards used in our offices and we need someone to connect them to this data source do you think you could do that?"

And I'm like:

"Well, yeah, but you'd be better off getting someone who specializes in EDI. I'm more of a software developer. You know? Like your message boards, you just need someone to connect type a cord to type b cord—"

"Did you know that idiot Gore said the internet was a series of tubes?! Tubes or pipes, I don't know—was it Gore? Some liberal. Fucking asshole says he invented the internet."

"Actually, there is a metaphor in Unix—a data structure called a pipe—which works just like a tube in real life, or a pipe, so to call the internet a series of tubes or especially pipes is extremely accurate."

"But he didn't mean that kind of pipe."

"I don't really know what kind of pipe he meant. He could have meant a Unix pipe."

"He meant a pipe like a copper pipe."


"So can you do the job or not."

"I don't really have time to be doing people favors every time they need some little programming job done."

"You wouldn't be doing me a favor. We'd be paying you!"

"It would still be a favor."

"Aren't you between jobs?"

"Yes but whatever rate your small consulting firm could offer me wouldn't really be worth my time. I could find you someone I've worked with before who does EDI and recommend them to you—"

"The point is I was trying to help you out."

"Well, but Geoff, I don't actually need your help. You'll know I need your help because I'll come to you and ask you for help."

Long stare.

Then Geoff cracks a new beer and carries it outside against the restaurant's policy.

Paul tries to grab my eye but I sit staring straight forward, at my mom, who is nodding imperceptibly at me: stand your ground.

Morgan is to my left.

She caresses my leg and I wish we were somewhere private where she could just jerk me off to relieve some of this goddamn stress. You have a daughter and a major part of her existence is to pacify your nephew because you stress him the fuck out.

I'm a worse drinker than Geoff or Paul or the horse but I never drink around them—it's enough for three or four out of the 10 of us to act the fool when we all get together.

Nig nog nig nog.

"I love how Geoff thinks we all revolve around his fraudulent consulting business and his use of the n-word."

My mom shakes er head: you've gone too far.

But these fuckers have gone too far with me.

Besides, your daughter is giving me a rub job under the table; I think I've got the upper hand.

"I mean, what's it like at home, Paul? Is all the dinner conversation oriented around OXL Partners? Let's talk turkey. Does that jackass act like that all the time?"

Paul rolls his eyes at me in that fag sort of way.

It's the tension of whether he stands his ground—or sits it—at the table while I fuck with him or if he bows to me and gets up to drink outside with his husband.

"What are you doing for work these days, Paul?"


(He doesn't work.)

"Well, if you're between jobs I hear Geoff has some EDI work that any two year old can do! Why don't you hit that nigga up!"

"Matthew Temple."

"I love how when I say it it's a problem but when someone of your own generation says it, it's ignored like it didn't even happen!"

"Stand up from this table. I need to talk to you."

"I don't think I will."

My mom sits down.

"If you make that choice, you're on your own."

"I've already been on my own for a while in this family."

Then Morgan breaks in:

"My baby is Fiona Apple Georgia..impersonating the famous singer's soul..morphine the fuck up when I see you on the frank-n-yard fuck nog I see you in my crosshairs spider master killah singing drums on the island every tune reflow'd from streaming tick tock tick tock cripes we invent the very ground we stand on standing in line is not for the realest we slice the steeple off a chapel invent tunes on dome roofs cathedral candy bling blang bling blong mf we are not the one to be after and no vote will elect you to this ring (crackhead) tensile hanging strength beyond your wire capables twin towers Wu-Tang represent I splay fingyrs around all of you with fewer fucking degreez plugged to USB-C and nig nog salad you thought you knew what was behind curtain ##2 but you can never know you will never have me under your thumb I am on top and don't talk about me like I'm your pet fuckers I expand behind you like the back curtain of a playhouse Midsummer Night's melody entr'acte miffin myyffyyz with symmetry you never knew (bitch) you can't even ,mess, wiff my dreads but I learned how to spell panties in the second grade we turn accident to stone blang blang! melatonin in a microwave tenor trumps soprano and I whip my chair back and forth ][ you came to part ii with a vengeance front to back right to left we be stoppin' yo' breath bust down the fractions from the seventh grade killed a god in your yard party from a first draft that slicez lyke a blade. Motherfuck left motherfuck ryght. TundraShyyt(tm). Little girl party we were all in attendance and you played my buttyn lyke a dyctr. Put your fingers deep inside and stir me a crème brûlée. I respond as I want. You act as I desire you. Every move you made I Bobby Fischer'd you eight moves ago sacrificed my queen you fell and your dick landed up my puss squirt! yum! killer! bling blang! sup sup!! then I carried the one bling bling! manipulated fingers the dick of SmurfLand(tm) next Mario and the flat world of feeling everything softer than before I came off Klonopin mf'ing pharma biotch! we drank it up style-Malt-O-Meal pummel Christopher in the barn with a chapbook of snapshots taken by a cereal killer all made before minutes he killed a girl whirl-o-girlsub-zeroxmatric01

That's what Morgan said.


red blink—white blink—red and white blink—sunglass consciousness—people passing by—adventure of consciousness—"Hi!"—"Hi!"—neighbor passing by—in front of the ranch house—as I sneak out for a cigarette ]

Morgan's house has a rain gutter on the second floor of the ranch and girls pass by all girls with red hair and they dangle precariously from the roof ledge holding with pink fingers and tippie toed on this rain gutter which can barely support a squirrel but they are compelled to scale the outside wall and pass by every window where everyone is sitting salon style in green crushed velvet chair boxes which sometimes look blue in the light. These girls claw their way across the outside wall thirsty for dominion but only they find dangerous times when they reach the front of the ranch the gutter will no longer support their weight and they have to call inside to the salon for help whereupon motherfuckers sitting in crushed velvet have to disturb their sits to decide whether to help red-headed girls who might fall.

Kiss me darling you have to because you'll fall if you don't.

We have you stuck between a rock and the sky.

It was your choice to begin this journey.

But it was a trap you never knew.

Susceptible to red-haired bitches with knots in their panties.

Kill me now and let me nuzz between your legs.

I fiend for your luck.

Lucky-legged kids cousins sisters friends.

We made out in the truck with your panties twisting a steering wheel kid zone friendly katwoman bringing the soft heat. Kid producing the saltfury in my knob kneading your bread knuckling your softknot kyllyr kidsand—

—cigarette consciousness my god you have come to in the white black red neccesarios my bling bling chopping you off at the legs letting the legs fall from the roofgutter my swine kid not k

—not kristen not karen not kate my roommate's sister's friend you must be kidding if you expect me to ignore her sins would be practiced if I did her in the back of the cousin*smuffy*n don't even ask silliness such

—when I said a roof on the house of the gutter were you listening? did you have a kyd help you with your homework I had all the clues in your face like a leaf/mouse you never even saw your own eyelid I tried every permutation of labia vagina pussy lip

—there was nothing I did not miss but styll you needed a fourteen year old to explain it to you we felt it since the second grade earlier even

—did you see my mouse house?

—was it a turn on?

—did you cum in the seventh grade*?*

—this was the moment and i kyssed you with the sky blue crayon dildo and glittyr fingyrs zone they killed me with a vowel change in my underwear jerked for glue eaten from fingers sticky salt the needing of more twice 4x the regular dose I had injected your labia gnawed on it kat-style in the mouf dildo present a toy box delivered to my boss giving it to the twelve year old next door did you have me kidding 'cause I was completely serious as a canine friend who licked my mom up and down if we could get a kat to do that it would be hot (we both agreed)

—gritty was the moment you had sand in your thing sand in your fycking thing puss fiend in my mouf handle my business my busnaas there is steam in my mouf from the hotness between your legs in a cradle muffyn who pretended not to know I was munching a hole like mothjuice in the kittens



—just nasty

—rule of threes still applies three holes motherkittyn and a dawg haus running to an even number

—i knew you sang for help on the rooftop

—with toes trembling asked help from the salon

—too fast you fall and dinner for the cayman below

—some nature show

—infinite invention of survival begs as they rip your clothes

—you could have called out earlier but pride prevented you nutbegging in a role-playing situation we called it murder in the dark but some insist on a fancier name calling boys cradlemuffyn when candlelight ran out on the settlers you wonder how I know what to do but put a dog before a bone put a set of yellow chompers in thy puss and see how fast we lick your night clean

—there is an awkwardness in the first pussylicking kind of like a short stop at bat without a helmet cycle you needed a safety course but none was offered that semester semen code I am a zipper on a rollercoaster nig nog kyte in a tree kat and grouse string kid kittyn muff-diving crazyhorse nig to the nog dig to the dog people know they're being followed when they turn around and see someone following them they don't know they're being followed if you get there first quote from a reputable source my feet are dirty but I toe you anyway that is what we do at the dinner table when young girls are present from my stepdad grandwoman in a moo moo couch honkey it doesn't have the same bite does it?

—i bought you butt plugs the size of a horse nozzle

—i'll lick your snout in the shape of random glyphs

—too much is never enough

—when I see your toes curl I knew you're there

—when I see your hair

—when you took off all your clothes in the game closet and we played monopoly where I monopolized your features all the ins and the outs we could see our breaths and you had patchwork pink and whites and your nipples were hard because the weather

—listen grrl in this climate you can't cum without me knowing your every move I can see you like a vision beforehand I knew that you came before we ever came in here I knew the microstructures of your vesicles indeed your hair is a microformat worthy of celebration Macy's Day Parade killing you until you cum when you have to pee it's stronger that ever if you can get through it

—cum in my hand

—rule of threes

—early death

—cow nig apeshit twelve twenty-four eighteen key points in the development of my Morgan c developmentally she had my language in and out from day one knew the shapes I liked shapes I loved from the triangles to the wisdomtoe(tm) came out of surgery doped up and hallucinating for weeks kyd I thought the pinnacle of any lsd experience was the culmination in lovemaking with a beautiful woman who you can connect with on the cosmic realm

—nasty and without thought

—when you cum in my hand Sally Field-like redness headness first-year art student actor with attack kyd you've been with me since the first time I saw Guys 'n' Dolls in the basement of a house on the east side interminability everything was missed by auto-replacing the monkey hat I knew you inside and outside the goalpost we fucked before we ever fucked came before we ever came and sooner or later you dropped the pretense and let me reach all the way down in your slim little pocket of lust my friend there were inventions of you and me before you and me ever existed and this was the way that I take you like a high-speed shutter my lips tonguing wind instruments is the technical defynition of the wyrrd that you said to the singing of some next-dimensional sensation never called out god but said to me fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! and sand went through the glass capo creating form breaking form putting my mouth on your young skin then taking you out licking you like glass sticking my mouth in your crack lycking you up and down the meridians in the opposite of faith whore introduced us both to medicine harder than the pype and we couldn't help but hit it untyl we was hooked like niggers in Harlem buying you through clandestine neighborhoods doors in secret walls and the absence of sound no cop ever had a beat on you and me cray cray girl you bounce on this cock until you own it like a meal never swallowed but fully tasted and thrown up bulemically to be eaten again and again and again until we are tasting our own tongues dogey eating its own ass you are the head and I am the tail in our magyc pony suit delving a cartographer plopping down in the anteroom parallel to lines on the globe baby call me glue the product of your body melted down wherever fine foods are sold(sm) I work your twiggle with my middle finger and Aunt Louise looks on playing orchestra private album crescendo moon with a black man would be better than a cousin nig(tm)flappafumpty I found safety in you having no end and no beginning lawyer wrote me to charge me for the postage of sending that letter and that's how I love you Morgan at its own cost without reason and deeper than snow. Melting and I don't know which is better. Snow or ice. Blizzard or the rain. Nappy or straight. Ponytail or dreads. Your hand or your mouth. Living from moment to moment. Every moment is either missing you or with you missing. Bring me the wrong feeling of cumming in your ass and calling you virgin. Kill me with the body wash. Silly one sucking me in the shower. While everyone is outside having let us go knowing we're in there but afraid to step inside our world and so we rule


When you were

When you were a baby tiny in my arms

Hair blown by sea foam

And we had infinities before us


The sum

of the Universe



who grep up

to be

Ridiculously mine

I knew you in infancy

Swept up in form and fantasy

Seas calm as glass

After terrible storms

You always knew the right word to pick

My darling

took me in with a phrase

killed me

and all my yesterdays

just by turning your head

Sister kid

of course you could have me

from go

from upper to lower

left to right

from back to front

You are a rhyme

on accidental pleasure

You had me at hello


from the pickup truck

every day you were with me


your scarf

around my neck

but not to kill

You hung me giving me life a tarot mystery upside down by one foot and cater my mind back at me doubled over like taffy in a wheel time could only carry one of us forward and it picked me I'm sorry darling you were left behind and frozen as a memory kid vicious running puppysickle in the surfff kid vicious pinkles tinkles running in the sand one-piece kissing avoid the word don't say it if you don't say the word it isn't happening and moon find yourself on the moon without any oxygen in a one-piece bathing suit webbed toes emerging from the sea kid vicious torpedo you had it from hello your first moment in the world when I saw you come out of your mother I knew right then I would take you into me and you would take me in and it would be good just like the first book of our so-called religion camping on the edge of the first wave of the rule of thermodynamics strength in repetition weaving waving weaving waving like the mind waves consciousness waves in meditation your hair was red from that first wave to the world and they say babies cry but you always never didn't cry you looked around and wide eyed took it all in all of us two dads a mom a sister some cousins and then you yawned like you were too cool for all of us shook your head and balance on your shoulders the brilliant woman you would be then showing at. the. very. moment

Would you kill me with a word

Would you


Momentary bliss

Is all you ever spoke to me

And I wondered

from that very moment

whether I'd

Live my whole life


For you


I'm a spider you're a spider

Delicately handsy

Playing some kids' game

Where the itsy bitsy intentionality

Comes full circle

At seventeen


My moth

Store your ass in my mouth

Always a tangent

On the circle

Of a planet gaff


Carbon dating

Shows that I'm a child-abusing incestual bitch

Who resisted training by cultural mores

Sticky sticky fingers

I rub them into you


You are me

Kid vicious

Blinging bod

Blanging hair

You meet me there

Out in the buildings by the reservoir

See it's this thing like a dried-up river

We don't have water here

Between us

Only the trench

where it should have been the mother of all wrongs but it turned out there was deep space nine and bigger fish to fry like aliens didn't even give a fuck they were just trying to stop us from blowing everything up to them this was like an ant going to therapy like what could it possibly learn about itself that its own discoveries would already be obvious to us like waves like consciousness like the mind the ocean waves would you like me to describe ant sex to you do you know do what do I do am do saying do

Anything you want

on ocean shores

Take some Philip Glass

with you

Revel in your toes

my kid

Notebook of your mind

and sand everywhere

You know how much spice to put

on pasta

Don't you

of course you do

How did you learn

to love

My friends

it is time to put your small mind away

And run

along the surf

Breaking form creating form establishment destruction build and tear build and tear my friends never do the same thing two days in a row you and I must always be going up then going down always ever and forever ruining what we make and making what we will ruin tying what we will untie and uniting what we divorce things that couple are made so that they can uncouple it is the whole point of coupling to decouple they say to go west one mile is to go east one mile right so when you break you are putting me together when you put me together you are taking me apart when you pull me in you are spitting me out spitting and sucking sucking and spitting sucking and spitting blowing and tearing across a beach house like a hurricane delicate watch the h I touch it just a little any more would upset the tai chi of the whole situation to read me, girl, you would have to read everything

There is no reading you without reading your entire past and everyone you ever knew every page you ever browsed every stone you ever skipped every lip you ever kissed every syllable you ever uttered is the background radiation of who are

Every star you ever gazed

Every ant you didn't even know you stepped on

Every screen you ever touched

Every pad you ever wiped

Every favorite number



Piece of Mozart

Tear cried at opera

Bath drawn

Moment spent under water

Digit calculated

Icon blemished

Avatar chosen

Photo filtered

Message sent

Word posted

Status updated

To know you, Mor, I would have to be in your lovely head be the playlist of your life dream your dreams with you carry your weight taste your hair as you do when you sleep sleep sleep my baby your life is a chain of golden stars and a progression of chords the song of rainy birds sign of the goat maybe even pisces kilograms mitigated at birth you—invention!—you dead of flagellation con]stellar brought together like a claw in a cat fight pricked me pricked you delicioso gubernatorial they make horses out of glue

Can you believe that—!

You are my horse

and I braid your mane

Dreading the moment of subtlety

when you die

Next to me

and your data comes unstructured

Kid, that will be a sad day

for whoever goes first

Is the one

who will not even care

They say death is about the living

and I die a thousand days

Spent you in my thoughts

when do you know you are done

With my torment

when do you know you are done

Watching this film

how many times have you seen it

Call and response

the surface of gulls

When will you eject me

from the complexities of youth

Morgan, Morgan, Mor, and all the names of you that aren't even words just the sound of my breath when you make me come to you in a childhood bedroom baby blankets jean quilts made for you by my mother since your dads don't sew we sat next to each other in every theater our parents on the outsides and they knew they knew the whole time what we were doing and they didn't stop us not because they didn't think it was wrong because deep down they wanted us to be happy and deep down in some angle of themselves they didn't give a fuck they knew the prevention of love was some anti-Prince tune and they never wanted to play it even in their basic Christian morals they had to fall back on Jesus love they just looked ahead and watched the previews if gay people can marry if you can fuck your dog why then my cous' why

and a sweet refrain

Dove-ing with you in sunlit pastures

mating for life

Rubbing in your hair to get the scent of you

all over me

Morgan le Fay doesn't have shit on you

and I'm Arthur

for sure

I wish we were under a tree and you were a princess

a King Arthur princess with dreads

and we could make love

right there


rubbing our genes together

under your skirt



than today

My kid girl I would have liked you

whatever your name

Taking each minute with you

from scratch



it was the first time and the last time


we never knew death

if we forgot our birth

maybe death the same

maybe forgetting is death



what difference does it make

we just wanted to preserve a fire

on this tiny ball of blue and green

tell me what book would not approve

of that

I'll never aggress you

never try you on

without permission

your red and white are too precious to me

even from the moment of your birth

a cow gives baby to a horse

both are painted with a sky blue crayon

both are made of glue

the stars

are just pinholes in the firmament

and on the other side

is the sea

Well—kid—drive my truck to the overlook cliffs where we watch the most fascinating show of tides drive throughs and finger splaying from your hand to my knees and beyond this is our drama played in touch as though we were blind to every other sense discovering each other likened to a grain of sand an hour and we have this whole beach of a life to go through brilliantly I don't even know you with my mind never even could but my hand knows your hand and my touch knows your touch and we'd be clogging up our minds

if we worried


with anything else


] infinicandy blurbing under a mussel tree you whispered me hello again old friend who came to me in times of woe when doubt was the darkest and I was at my lowest tide cow tipping with Morgan le Fay that kid sister from the imagination stream if you were one grain in a million sandy beaches I would stumble upon you kid the first and kid the last my best my only soft like grits and textured from the inside darling starling can you hear me through this book if I said two things in my life they would both be you if I heard two songs muffyn murder maladies jingo lingo kid in your diapers standing in a crate for unwashed clothes existing in my mediocre mind like some object brought back from space did I explore you did I suck you with my tongue all the way up and all the way down you had me salty and salty was the desire and salty was the skin everything running thin emperor cous' you signed your email thus and squirming in a seat I saw your panty area scraped like sandpaper would I recognize the end if it smacked me in a car in tar if I switched my belt from leather to cotton to swaddle you and your white ass baby baby zebedoo irritating like a rash or spending cash babeedoo baby baby baby doo I applied strips of the fabric of our lives to your bare and spanking butt it's ok if you'll someday become a movie star we play like cats and like cats sometimes our play hurts kid I'm coming at you with a deadly cuddle sipping your salt and providing you with some of my own will you use the cotton straps will you founce with me in a rash make me cum like butter touch me inappropriately—is there any other kind is there another love forgotten introductions of and if they find out at my job they will fire me dislike me punish me like they do the gays you will never hear the end of it but the end will come selectively enforceable rules used to arrest no a pregnant woman on the sidewalk but everyone else listen kid if they did acknowledge us the family would fall apart singing in a birdcage the death canary would you go before to make sure it is safe these were the words spoken to everyone who died forging a path you know it's all culture, right reprogrammable me take a giant step back now take one even bigger and bigger bigger boo now imagine that the heartbeat was just a binary signal and everything was written in C would you be a bit with me can you imagine this without eyes can you imagine if there were no senses but just a sense of things they used to think that life was made of squishy stuff that you could see the soul but if you take it sideways if [ you learn to think without sound or shape then you will start to see the soul that you cannot touch know that orgasm is just a symbol know that you only think you're here what we have is a hallucination of a hallucination of a hallucination I'm only real because I think I am if you leave out all the colors ] or translate me into another language I will be the same but you will have no grip on me that's poetry that is the snapshot everything that cannot be translated put me in music put me in rhyme take me out for a walk on the shores abstractly think of death abstractly it makes your values like paint layers on a wall you never know what kind of rabbit hole you'll get with me what am I willing to do what am I willing for you imagine if your sense of touch was forever altered by a drug what if touch was more sensitive and dry and more information than before—forever what if there was a film over reality that could never be wiped away what if you became lodged in my mind what if two was the new three and three was the new two what if you instructed me to cum and cum I did for you where was my prudence where was the part of me that cared did you come with me on a journey and end up somewhere new did you care about things that changed were you desensitized to the theme does my name color itself in pink and gray will you dive with me deeply deeply whore and she looks like she's about to vault herself on a fence post will she reject mere society mere overtures of silence muscle diving repetition repetition repetition why are some norms more normative than others when will we be more flexible when will rules be rules will they apply more evenly to girl and boy and everything in between is there a rule that says pb and j must come in separate cans what is the name of twins who have a nature versus nurture party will I like you better if we do drugs together if you part your hair unevenly does that make us more attractable my friend says he likes the butt because it's not supposed to go there so by that rationale if a pig had better personality he would cease to be a filthy animal does everyone run together and Eminem become Tarantino and Mussolini become Bush and so on and so forth ad infinitum did I go crazy twelve years before anybody knew was I tempered this way from the beginning obsessed with girls overly driven by muff in to everything female so much so that I wanted to become one wanted to try you on your skin needed to be inside you going back home like in the ocean stole a rock that told me I needed to be in her thought about her schemas every day loved her diaper in every form needed to feel like her to know how she came to control her make her cause her to cum taste her lemon but a girl who doesn't clean her vagina stays with her vagina thought it would change me into something else elevate me transform me guide me like a butterfly—flower crawling out of you as something more would not the feminine draw me a longer journey are you not more when I cum inside you something more than a woman and am I not something more than a man darling—starling does kid vicious rub the hard places until they are soft don't you brush me in your hair and does not the victor become the loser and the loser become the lost bat at me like the enclosed kittyn measure me with an insane system and let me feel—the tip—of your tongue in a way you're all my cousins, sisters, friends just a rudimentary form of genetic engineering learnt from a magazine Cosmo says to hold back before the point of no return and I will strengthen my orgasms—do you believe it*!* we are simply pigs from above and some of us have the slightest handhold on what comes next barest handhold but not enough to even see around the corner put my face, my reticle, in the mirror navigate by the stars it's really the only way we ever have done so by some cosmic intuition setting us right and putting us on course you don't have to think! for the guides are always with us programmed in turtle terms aside each cell little commands the barbaric instructions to cum, to grow, to breathe, to die will you have me in a ceremony that would make as much sense as anything if you know what I'm saying I mean kill me with a feather but I'm marrying my dog I can marry syntax forming a nascent play you had me at assembly cured blessed, blessed cure every word between us is a dipping of the infinite stars could you not kid like that I can tell when.you.are dreaming apply the salt if you write about cousin love are you writing about cousins or about love because the American Chess Federation is either an American federation or a chess federation it is not possible to be both and so I bring you A Wedding in June, end of act ii, slide rule Hemingway Shakespeare plus a bag of chips plus tax plus the change you get back and it is a love story as every story is simply love not even love for cousin but love for self do you love your job your financials your illusion of safety of control of invincibility I think I know you I know myself I know what drives me is that salty reflex like a seatbelt really matters when you're jizzing down the road at the speed of light—my god my sweet swearing moon we got more done when it was all without conscience in negligent holy systems of sky little one you you you everything is about you did you ever think about that—that why I would want to become your lover is to think about myself—running away from opposites think about that you let me run from the prison of my cells do you think you can let me go as far down as deep as I can go—will you—will you let me hide from myself?—can you think of a better name for me than your own?when did everything become vanilla?I have swept myself up into a little pile and brushed myself into the trash—re-interpreted—seen myself in dust—breathed through a year, an hour—jumped rope in delightful dreadsfelt you hold me to piecespiece by piece, strand by strand, drop for drop—you owned me from the very beginning


Did you know me as a delightful whore?

Kitten play, and a rump romp.

She loved her daddy. Went up his leg as old as eight, knew it excited her daddy even if he was gay he was a pedophile to a small extent as all people are even if Morgan said she liked dick her father liked it more and she had taken the tip up the ass lubricated with dildo cum catering to non-shit plummets and the texture of modern history it was raining racy from a girl named Carol Macy who dressed up in the feminine options trader of a Markov chain but Geoff said:

"We need to get you cleaned up you have cum on your panties."

:and he fingered the quilted panty of his daughter scraping up extra cum with a fingernail. There is bliss in the apron of negligence and hack0r spelling ones and zeros like I explained you away at dinner time with a conversation. Blushing bride felt redly hot at even a gay man's touch it's not the gayness or the madness but the fatherness of the dude which felt wrong and she (I) had learned to like that feeling. You call it abuse. I call it paternistic love, doubting all damage if any possible in Celtic handholding circles I mean they had been doing it since I was young and they even thought about it amongst themselves but dismissed pockets out of pocket..pedantic..never ending..glory. Had woven me in two sometimes three layers going down down down on a baby meaning twice in a stack twice in a ho when she cried. They went down on her and felt the tiny pussy juice and she grew up that way getting licked by Geoff and Paul and they all pretended it was an eating disorder. Smoked a cigarette at an NA meeting. Upped their coffee consumption. Increased their fixed income. Learned more manuals of government tax evasion and excreted the product of multinational grief centers ducking behind complicated texts whose understandability was the primrose of exclusion instrumented excursions and naked liability counters of whoremisunderstanding.

Well that was the whole thing really except you do remember what isn't said before symbols form in the brain you just don't remember them in symbols. That's the lie. There is memory forming before the nut of + and - carries that one right into the alpha, the zed, and everyone in between.

Right-o lickety split and a ho dee ho.

Stump me trivia master.

Excluded a comma.

Licked right up from the ass crack to the infant pee hole.

Let it prove a cake setting long enough to bake.

Know that I make a mirror with you that everything wrong with me is the key a fit piece connecting us a hole in me is a stump in you cruel but that's what I am—a brief discursion of everything one node jumps away from me chosen every little gene for its properties of lust against the next—who is—undoubtably—you*!*

That's what they call the kicker.

Like they know if a cat will kick the toy—and so*!*—they name it the kicker then the cat kicks the toy ands everyone says oh, that's why they call it the kicker!

They know like I said.

They know. And they know it's going to turn their Morgan (me) into a sick freak to lick her (my) baby pee hole unconsciously before the symbols form.

But those symbols will send you to MIT.

But they won't prevent you from dying.

Halle—(fucking)—lujah hole.

You and whose funhouse mirror?

She came as an infant?

Geoff had played with his youth group once taking a tadpole from the pond—and—rubbing its tummy until a little drop of cum came out of its tail and the youth group kids wondered if he had given the frog an O!

You never know with frogs these days.

And what is the difference between pissing and cumming (in burrito distance)?

Right question those things.

When Geoff had fucked a girl we was seventeen and thought the mucous was gross that's why he licked it so hard she came out of fascination and that's all she wrote except for a torture fascination wherein G and P licked their doll's vagina.

Salt and pepper, some cayenne, garlic powder (to preserve taste). But then Geoff said:

"Come here cow just because we suck dick doesn't mean we such that and—Promise Keepers—I own your virginity bitch."

Then Paul said:

"Won't she remember this?"

But Geoff said:

"Her symbols haven't formed neurons yet."

But they licked her long after her symbols had formed neurons and you might think well you think everybody is a child rapist well everybody is. And you might think: since you think everybody is a child rapist then you are. But no I've just heard too many stories and admitted to myself that some futuristic fantasy à la Huxley had to be involved. And everyone on the island—came*!—together right now kids and adults and even motherfucking*cousins.

Were you there for Titanic? Fucked until the very end. Fucked among the icy waves. Blew me old man down! Craved it and when the luna life raft is at its end more than these will cum endless parties and sisters sent to singing blast that cap off like a whale*!*

Let me be clear:

Morgan's fathers did not consider themselves pedophiles.

No one does.

But they licked her tiny (everything!) until her brain was oatmeal. She never not knew the lifestyle and they (my two dads) took it to their deity in private moments and prayed to make it go away but you have to understand that by telling you a story where the gay dads are speedo I am not saying that all gay dads lick cunt right I am not making a statement I am just telling this story in which a coupla fags lick cunt baby cunt right that doesn't mean that the schema is a size fits alopecia hair loss on the genitals halfway bleeding there was a pseudo-Mexican fast food joint we used to frequent with the baby (Morgan) in the back of the car we fed her Coke too is that a crime give me a break no parent is perfect they never had us at hello I mean what's a person to do, in this life lick cunt just to keep the baby quiet that's not a valid babysitting tactic but you knew that—Vincent*?* Vincent*?*—an Elvis man should love it.

But they said:

We need help! We need help! Is there a child abuse anonymous because deep in our heart of hearts we know that much less yelling at this child isn*'t right but evenmore the baby bottom sandcake in a* mustard tin. Or evenmore! The lemon! Get one of those squeezy lemons from Whole Foods and consider yourself served by never, ever come back to this market for baby puss.

Do you think the subject is handled callously*?*

Think I don't know what I'm talking about*?*

I know the end-hall closet where my sister and I are afraid to go (me*: Morgan* and Laura). But there is subtlety in approaching a parent (or a sibling) about such matters to them it isn't abstract a matter of ones and zeroes not hardly due to the sensitive nature of the matter. Here was a clear case of nature and nurture why does everyone always assume it's one or the other? Duh.

Try to follow me on this it's kind of profound. So like, when someone like likes something you do it's like, not just a matter of them coming to like you it's that they have changed. Not that an isolated liking and unliking machine likes yo' shit—no—but that you have changed their liking and unliking machine right yo?—so—they've come around to see the world in a new way as in the property of life wherein life not only requires certain circumstances to live but also—life—like—changes the geologic properties—of its surroundings to be more amenable to supporting life! Right? Do you get it? Know what I'm saying? So when you come to like something it's—like—because you—like—have learned to like something new. Your definition of what you like has changed. You were never prepared to like something—it prepareth you.

So—like—when Morgan's dads played with her fledgling pussy in the bathing tin—right?—that's like her learning to like something new something she never would have tried without help.

uh huh.

you see me.

you feel me nigs?

Bless me and pardon me Roy but I will never lick a kid's puss and you will never marry your cousin. Fucknugget. Lamplighter. Who is doing the corruption and who is doing the protection? Were we meant to walk in rain? Do I have to scream it during the part where the pastor says does anyone here know of any reason? and what if I (the bride) am the one who knows the reason and the reason is that I have been too fucked up my entire life to make anyone happy least of all myself. Will you let me do this to myself? Take home a soldier who learned to walk when I was still feeling myself under the table under the dress I bought for this ceremony with my agitation with my compliance and in the throes of blanket aftermath in a life of quiet contemplation. You call me an artist but the real art is putting up with you. What did I survive? Torment of childhood. Pressing the fingers of a thousand motherfucking boyz some of whom I could never stand even when left on my own.


Why.is.it. that it is worse for girls to get pregnant than for boys to get them pregnant. One comes with glory, one comes with shame, and even the parents support this notion.and.it.is.this. imbalance which lies at the heart of girlsex versus boysex.

Girlsex is dirty. Boysex is clean. Goodboy and badgirl live here. Goodboy is likened to an explorer—a king! Badgirl is likened to a cockroachsnailcoochiesnatchdarkmatterholeinthewall. Girlhide and boyshow. Girlhate and boylove. Girlhide and boypride. Oh.and.

Going.in.to.the.girl. penetration. She is vio.lated. (Desecrated.as.in.the.song.) And that is part of the joy of girlsex for all involved. You let me go inside! No symbolic equality for boydick.he.is.unchanged.but. she will never be the same. As if she was disturbed in some fundamental way.when.it.is.all. psychological for any parties thrown in Oz. Rubbing genitals and the myth of penetration.do.we.destory.a.femme.when. she comes. is she. ruined. for the king who slays the dragon prince the purple prince marches on taking all.the.fame. and.so. Morgan remained a joystick lover without a handle .and. whenever she jerked it with vibes she wondered does.this.make.me.dirtygirllikevolcano. swinging from the trees. is this the end of me. this the end of purity. When does cleanmorgan end and dirtyme begin. dirtytime when sand got between my labia I wondered whether any boy would want to be with me even.when. the lollipop gagger of a female doctoral student ran it between .slip. my lips I said to morganme morganme I said this is the end of our game for sure no one will want to be with a girlme who has had sand stuck in her fucking thing this proves that you have been in me all of you every little prick with its outpouring of love tiny animals you made to swim in my lake .rivers.of.blood host dirtygirl and cleangirl that's part of what you like .is. turning one from the other in.to.clean.girl and out of dirty.girl you like to make a mess of my hair.you.like to cum in there it is me who makes you dirty fool.

Me who colors your cock with smell.

Me who steals your fame.

Me who defeats your king.when.you.came I found a rhythm stole you transformed you .I. am the same. I .make. you cum. and deliciously .therefore. this is what it is rubbing.genitals it does not matter who is inside and who is outside and how do they say that the girlparts are better designed than boyparts boy.having. essence contained on the outside but you can't see one without the other the only reason one is pretty is that other could be ugly the only reason one is contained within is the other contained without they are one organ Morgan essentially right. It's like saying one end of a symbiosis got the raw end of the deal. It's the way you individuate. There is not one part.ner without the other. Oh yes so I was saying. That's all I'm saying. You know what I'm saying? That's all I'm saying is all. Explorer violates the cave. Why do you get off on violation. Are you basically still marking your territory on a tree? On me? Oh whoops I broke you.

Is it the privacy? The mystery? Or is it just the ole in and out? Do gaylords feel this way about their butts? There's my whole confusion about my.own.virginity again. Right? I think it's when you make me cum .or. it is a sliding scale .not. some binary decision like you would have in one of your programs. Buttnasty. Right? Not a property. Violation. I wanted to fuck a popsicle.

Have.wanted.to stick everything possible in there for as long as I know. Shampoo bottles. Hairbrush handles. Turkey basters especially. I'm sorry but don't you think virginity is a psychological.thing. known to many as submission and.or domination of a cow tickle? Domination by a rolling pin? Isn't the moment you handcuff me. Isn't the moment I cum when you thinking about my mind? Isn't the moment you let me. The first time I explode? Isn't the moment we got serious. Aren't you. So. Dedicated. With. Your. Definitions. Worse than heterocentricity. You're telling me that two lesbianfreaks never.lose.their VJ? Huge laughter. Doesn't that make straightsex the.only.sex? Hence the hierarchy. Etc. QED. The light pole.

Oh and beautiful people have better sex, right?


I .am. just .a. girl .in. the .world.

This .looseleaf. badge of honor. Killing me.

Then if a condom.

Then if a mouth.

Virginkiller a badge for one, Scarlet Letter for the other of the same part.ner. but not even.in.hand. One defiled one lauded in the same act. As if it was a zero sum game. Sex hidden like it is a weapon. Something polite mature people never talk about. In fact polite mature people never talk about anything professional people keep it all plunged down and don't even talk about sex with their babies it is impolite to tell the truth or say anything close to it will make you lose your cool and you might blush or have to face the fact that you are a fucking idiots taking over the doctor's office bedroom only talk about this subject in that room and that subject in this rooms are for narrow-minded subjectarians my elbow hurts for plunging your asshole try saying that in a business room for every subject but one that strikes close to the root of the matter what is it with you don't blush in this room when broaching that subject but try switching rooms it's as if you have difficulty focusing on more than one thing at a time is of the essential oil secreted by a cockroach containing panoply pantheism everything .pan. or there was the time I (Morgan) tried LSD in a Denny's with the author of this book doesn't .that. qualify me as not a virgin more than any sex it's beyond sex and if you never come back completely does .that. qualify me as not a virgin I mean hello. Hello. Hell.o.




I think I've .made. my point .are.you.serious. did you forget to leave your literalities at the door. did you forget the first time you came was it with me or someone else for.me.it.was with me and is an equally weighted transition as I imagine it would be to "lose" it to you if you make me cum it's double points from the backboard off the free throw line off your head if you do me the firsttime with your mouth then it's quad points at MIT drowning in pussy he was fuckin' knee deep in pussy I mean god he was drowning in it lucky boy what am I suffocating on dick choked in it overwhelming me to death? Fucknuggets. Nig nogs. You'd like it if I choked on your dick while giving you brain. Fag tags. That would be the ultimate.cum.in.a.girl while she literally .chokes. on your dick and dies to death. Nothing sexier than killing a girl .and. maybe .that's. what you really mean when you take*!* my virginity you want me to die in a little way want to dominate and kill a girl and take her life away to own me pin me use me disregard me for his pleasure it's ribbed always for his pleasure and the mission is to humiliate me for the crowd of you i.think that's what it means to be straight.


is the sexiest thing I've ever heard



Eat me.birth me.fuck me.kill me

4 Lyfe

Of course*!* Me too of course*!* What do you think I think about when I think about when I cum to think about cumming? Of course*!* Of course*!* I watch videos of girls' last moments on snapshot taken by a serial killer. It's the kink of the modern age. Take me. Destroy me. Own me completely. That is what is happening to us anyway, nig nog, we might as well enjoy it from the victim's point of view. If you think I'm talking about sex you've got another thing coming as dear Cosby would say. Paint just one eye then fuck me like Blade Runner. And be honest with me you will make me cum like blushing if you kill me while we fuck fuck me and take it from me—is it lost?—my god you've taken it from me how am I am I less? Gave it to me so how am I not more of you, you generous little prick! Who is giving? Who is taking? Isn't that what gets you off taking something from me? Using me? Owning ribbed for his pleasure always, always, always ribbed for his pleasure! My whole lyfe is ribbed for his pleasure! Fucknugget and a gantry tree.

Is it possible a young maid's wits should be as mortal as an old man's life? Channel you volumize me condition my puss with your spunky way of discharging me with a crime we both committed together known and unknown one and selfsame nothing bigness clamping a rooting worm take it from me, cous' who is cous' in name only now dismantled to nig nog room decipher me decompile me deconstruct me kyd two can play at this game you're my kyd walk you shit you burp you four letters at a time running naked to my house you came to hide I am shelter who is in control! who is more needy that is how we run it, son that is how we run


She is deterred. She has anxiety. Her legs are crossed. One elbow launched upon the crest of a knee. Silently. Flicking. Haling—in—out. Eyes growing the first shades of adulthood—desolation. Disenchantment. And flicking, and flicking, and flicking that cig.

She is on a bench. In front. Of the wedding hall.

Her wrinkled vagina never used. And may never be.

If there was ever a day to kill myself, this is it, she said.

And so it ever shall be in the name of the lord, amen, forever.

Bling blang nig.ger.nogg.er elementals.

Killing me softly.

She smokes and thinks of her own perspective from my point of view. How she must love the weight of him upon her. Love the teasing and the tempting from below in the wrinkles of her folds. To bury secrets in. Morgan --v-- Fiona. Wondermint. fzSpirals kid.

Smoking, smoking.

That choice we all have made. To allow deadlies. As a form of entertainment. A little death around the edges. Dead lies. Lies about death we tell ourselves because part of the equation is that we die anyway. That's the missing variable in the equation. That this moment has far more value than the next moment—since this moment exists --and-- the next one may not. Bling blang. Nig nog.

Bring in the big log.

Veil pushed back.

Eyes thinning.





And such.

We kill the mom.

ent. At which you cu.

m. Hardily handily murd.

er. ing. me in the dark corne.

r. s. of my mind. Did you ever t.

hink. to do this. This is why I make

the big bucks. For painting a bride sitti.

ng. smoking. a. cigarette. in her unwant.

ed. dress. Fuzzy cows for legs. Doubting th.

at. she'll ever get action jackson. Mind over mat.

ter. Deterrent from scantly duties. Wanting a curve.






Instant. Cereal. Simplicity. Eat me with a spoon or eat me with a fork just eat me eat me gutturally oh but then what you paint the alphabet you just write my name you do egyptian hieroglyphs 'cause you have a college degree? Action Jackson is my kittya katya and I have a small unwanted dogge (pr: dojee) and the dogge licks me across species am I still a virgin? My military doesn't know how effing effed up I am do you? Fuzzy cow we have run into the smack'urst'bation period of 14 years cold wherein you see the bride of softer quiet windows desecration reference but she (I) am simply blowing my head off with nicotine because who gives a fuck nor I. Nor I. Nor I. Yeah we had some stoppage in the family tree and I said no I will not marry a bee. Nor you, nor you, nor you*!* Military turpentine. I said Look the ceremony's off if you can't make me feel like a __bad bad__ girl left at the altar by herself now sitting outside smoking on a bench did you know nicotine is a __technology__? Dogge. Dogge smokes a cigarette with me ever in the slightest nape neck jiggle you have your chance, cous' if my meltdown doesn't give you a word an in then nobody wins. If this opening doesn't let you sit beside me forever then whoever will? We're pulling the future out of a hat my everlasting gobstopper of a boo. Minor example of a major theme. Can you get your watering can I need to water my pussy. Lick me in the morning before you brush your teeth. Bless my skin with your mouth. Terrify my tonsils and melt a little cumming Alans terrify the monster. Cumming out of darkness reticulated skin tell me real for who is scariest in the dark but the one who chases monsters not the scary ones but the one who scares the scary ones __I am telling you the same thing over and over in underscore__ singing bloodsore twanging pussy on the rocks retrospectively natured a philosophy in swag this moment that moment from the first and only ever play performed in a schoolway hall --by-- amateurs of the first order kids who knew everything + nothing found it all in pop psychology books from the 50s that was all we ever needed to learn how to fly bracing selves on a sidewalk walk of shame accompanied by Prokofiev's Romeo + Juliet that version is all we ever knew



Puffing the rod

She smokes one then two then an entire pack waiting for the red pepper stomach to pass but she'll never know the taste of shrimp if she doesn't like the flavor texture taking cues from capital never letting in you don't see the monster is why she had to get married in the first place can't remove the hood from the girl even if you remove the g— from the h— you know what I mean

If possible she would like to give herself cancer in one sitting

If possible she would like to swallow a helpless dogge

Then sit right down on her kittya katya protecting the sacred beast for what?? subterranean m— diving in a lesbian pool? More Jolly Ranchers and Girl Scouts are the order of the data tape 1978 a large room full of tape recorders that's what we called a 'puter then but this is what we call it now a small girl "virginity" ( intact ) whose mind is altered beyond recognition by future cancer centers of amerikkka you learn my spelling bitch or I'll have to lock you in my basement until it gets the hose again dark horse finger fanger slap you in the dick with my naked ass we've just about established your punishment for being a girl and you could call this __one giant experiment__ do you think the mouse knows it is part of an experiment what we see out the windows is just wrinkled glass my friends of yes just shadows of the experimenter who can play the name of god __ I see myself as Sharon Stone in a millionaire's pavilion stone masonry modern greeks the beautiful genius sitting poolside with some wine I can't pronounce we drink four lokos in my hood. But I won't hold it against you.

She is the wisdom of the world: a bride avoiding the ceremony sitting outside the wedding hall on a bench in a white dress smoking a white cigarette. That is the small tip on the funnel of seven continents and 40 million years of evolution. We created a culture without our even knowing that the birds had it too. We lived in a jungle in the middle of! the jungle nor could we even see outside the jungle in the middle of the jungle culture an envelope of metaphors screen of analogies and cognitive cores wherein everything we know spells out two things we can never know so knowledge had to be filtered down in a side channel to the bride on the bench outside her wedding hall, me flipping dreads hidden behind this cultured veil.

Don't give me some electrical engineering response.

Some antagonistic answer about the movie being unrealistic.

That's not how you have to judge this shit.

I mean whether or not this is an according to Hoyle miracle

is irrelevant.

Vincent? Vincent!

An Elvis man should love it.

If I had to pick seven of the top analogies—cultural symbols—of this species I would have to pick the bride. Killing herself it is a suicide of sorts on a happy day—did you forget—a wedding is supposed to be a happy time. My (I) am (bride) goes down the rabbit but there is no white rabbit not though she is late there is only a stuffed animal called Mr. Bunny who has bee with her (me) thought all (over) the(se) years sentence in an alternate universe book written in a parallel dimension only coming into focus when you look at it but you can't look at it 'cause it hasn't come yet into focus --ash-- on the ground --second city-- in the sky(scraper) ;; fz

Bling bling syntax right when it rains that ash from that bride might just suckle to the sea and that bride will be working as a dishwasher dreads don't fly in Texas they've got police coverage on every Mexican so whites can live in peace Morgan's neighborhood is such and the only work for a federal dishwasher is the wife of an oil company executive but her dads are gay --or-- the oil industry is run by the federal --nig nog-- government or is it the other way? that's what we learned in The People's History of Banned books measuring the font to exact dimensions I couldn't tell if it was large or small and that font is the way I judged my own size in relation to the government run by oil husband is going to war to procure oil fathers are staying home to procure oil by finding loopholes in the government system so that the white people in Texas can live happily ever after on the backs of brown tax dollars I mean this is my future and what do I have to give except this piece of dastardly pussy

Smoke smoke smoke


Fight the urge

Kill myself slowly except for running away to New York or LA but maybe I'm not as crazy as you and I need somewhere to sleep at night that's not a fucking bridge maybe I don't know what I want to do with my life at the tender age of never done anything maybe the only reason I wet my pants for you is for you to take me away from the moment like breathing and could you become oblivious to the fact that even in my old age I never went for the ultimate touch


But—did—you—come at me—on a winter's day—

Or—was—it all—a high wire summer tent—under—


My friend—what if we were born a Shakespeare

Coaxing and coaxing

Materialistic wealth

Do you think it has everything—

—it has nothing

—to do—on a candy lane

My grateful naughty friend/fiend

cameras locking in for terse/tensities

in the moment

I packed you like bits

in a crazy structure

*xxy. *—

You unpack my fluids

with your lovely head


otherwise you have to sing for your tape

this is the kind of thing you will encounter


when you leave your town

But—she has the Swisher Sweetsall in a row

sold at the candy tent

by a clown



take to the windy sky

in whatever season

we happen to



orchestra rising

from here—

from here!

they are fluids in the brain*!*

they are petrochemicals*!*

naughty naughty*!* fz*!*

only if we reinvnt!

the fact of death

car, cutie

but a

panoramic rotoscoping butterfly mentality

interior maximillian latency of cavities

remember the first time I touched

you with my tongue two soft

infinite realities who

caved to thro.

.bbing fz


I have found blasphemy sans god in your plush, pleasure-filled dualities naked singing for your supper on some daddy's lap other than your own kid vicious they laid the trap going to the ExxonMobil strip club—didn't think they'd catch their own daughter in a sex change but everybody up there is a kid or a mother a daughter sister father brother in the eyes of god great omnipotent dickhead you will know I am speaking to you because when I speak to you I will look at you oh father of mine with the porn 'stache in the book ends he keeps it in the end-hall closet and there it smells like must telling me don't go further don't go in or you might never come out there is a reason he still showers with you calling himself gay but still he manipulates your sex, girl, sex girl is the reason they wanted a daughter like a compact car something that runs on gasoline forever burning up thy flesh of dinosaurs peat moss gigolo fraternity what's your ratio of weddings to funerals to fun house mirrors did you get wrapped up in the game you played for hours thinking you had reality in your hands when all the while it's been unfolding in your lap and through both ears in the space of a ceremony dog pile nitrous kittyns kaught in a kandy floor

Will you mark me as of note?

Was that time on the couch too much and did we explode?

We went digging and found there was nothing there? below the stigma aynd self-hatred inherent in these human cultures seen from above we are uptight to the point of strangulation and any kid could see it New York Kid do i have a rhythm you can see my friend when the law is applied selectively to a hood jumper from the Empire State Building where she worked as a Russian two blocks below in the direction of a small alley street and this is after the divorce but Morgan was extremely proud to go on Homer's Odyssey with no trip home. When I say I'm going to fly up to that state and fuck you twice you say: "Little mouse, little mouse, there is plenty of penile matter in this own state and you'd be wasting your Delta miles. Kid, now kid in the other direction, to go east one mile is to go west one mile and apeshit caters to little boys who find their exes online and fuck a cousin you might as well look up ex-girlfriends and suck cocks for a country mile what have you and so forth and so on plenty of vaginal matter in every state south of the Mason-Dixon artist in my fingernails—ya dig?" "Not really, kitty cat. My flesh wound of a heart-throng has yet to be filled. We tried to pack it with sand but kid mouse was unwilling." "Don't waste your effort there's nothing special about my VJ snoopy." "It's not your VJ exactly cous' but more something in the seams maybe stolen from stenography kid 'n' play." "But really every day is spent on subways and working this ridiculous Russian accent which gets me 400% tips these New York rookies think they're gonna take home some immigrant hooker who is going to be soooooo much more fun to fuck than a Texas girl which is all I am." "I say spin 'em the nookie tale and take home the bucks, kid." "No you didn't really what you said is keep your legs together 'tend like a virgin wait for me and we'll anger our parents once more I mean drop the pretense you would come up here and live in the Huge Pomegranate just for cousin love?" "I will call you later after your shift." "Don't bother." "Who are you fucking, kid?" "My hand there's not really time." "Can I call you." "Yes but no kittyn shyt I've had enough of your predilections supported by the twin towers of lust and psychopathy you're always going to pretend it's you and me on the couch in the truck and I'm some cotton-pantied girl of twelve I don't know if you're more into incest or pedophilia." "Neither cous' I'm just into you." "Better put a leash on that puppy!" "Well it's true that we love one another / I love Jack White like a little brother" "Holly all the money that I give you you've been spending on pain pills" "Listen, Mr, the days of me quacking like a duck are over and the days of me behaving like a sensible fucking woman have just begun." "Is that a no on me using my Delta miles?" "What we been talking about? No more liquor stores!" "Will you still dirty text me?" "Yeah I'll do that. But I mean, what we had was good as kids and I did what I did at the wedding  censored  but you have to let me go as though I was dead." "What if we move out west and no one will know—" "Everyone will know everything due to the internet! You'll post a status and someone will know! There is a film over the world now reacting responding and knowing all that there is to know it's called the internet and it means there is no goodbye! Shall we skip backwards for these motherfuckers? Tell them what they need to know aren't we responsible for completing the ninth circuit of hell?!" "Jack White Jack White I'm your brother." "You want me to wash you heavenly after going on a TV show centered around Christ now you're a slut in horrorshows. Third time's the motherfucking charm. And call you Jack White My Little Brother? You like it between the two of us in the shower-bath?" "Look I just like to squeeze those tiny little nips and pretend you're my Russian waitress holding onto my dick underneath the table and coming home with a stranger it doesn't hurt that you're my cousin too I see the color in your eyes updating the screen at 50 Hertz and a formal dropping of a friend after he insulted me I want to shave your vag formally with electromagnetic waves do you think you could ride a bike for me and mail me your panties i want you in a skirt with sweat rolling down your legs and a cotton gusset with vagina lips on both sides IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?" "Jack White it's true that we love one another." "Gussetmuff." "You only think of one thing, day and night, pussy and pussy and puss puss puss Jack White it's true that I love my cousin." "Holly all the dough that I give you you've been spending on pain pills I want to fuck you hopped up on Vikes with you in a painless baby state warm and numb I can apply the powder between your legs or else it gets the hose again." "Do you want to fuck me, or eat me, or kill me?" "All three—" "—though I'd hate to see which order! Jack White, don't you have another cousin to fuck so I don't have to admit that I like you heavenly and with every part I will always loyal you." "Could never pry you from me?" "Never, Jack White." "Then let me use my Delta miles." "Ok, but here's how it will be. Don't tell the date. Don't tell the time. Just show up at my restaurant with the Russian accent and sit at my table and I'll show you my panties when the manager isn't looking and you don't know my name and we never met and we aren't cousins and you don't say a word you just come back after my shift which I will name-drop casually when you pay and we will go to my apt. and we will play-times in the shape of a tent between your legs nabbing and nipping me a small puppy I call it a dogge a tiny dogge needing nimble care and it will be like my underoos are chloroformed watching the parts of speech between us and you slide a cousinly hand under the blankets and touch me like my dads never should have been in in charge of a chyld. That doesn't mean that every gay dad is a rapist just that my dad was. We're in a complex cycloplex now showing three times a day. Did you find my family because I'm lost without them fucked with them and in my lunch bag found four nickels and a penny sauce named Waltzing Matilde.


But she wasn't a Russian whore named Cataline. Her name was Lovely Morgan she was my lovely cousin and we sang it quietly so the grownups wouldn't hear. Did you love me softly in our youth? Was your name tattooed on my organs like Hanuman? When you screamed the name of god did you really scream me? Salting. Approaching. Negromancing elegant subtexts. Bottling tears like wine. After a certain point you'd want a cigarette after a certain point you'd drinking again after a certain point you'd paint your nails black after a certain point. You lived in my living room one summer before you went to NYC after we had grown stale and you wanted nothing of me but grime and a turn at the PlayStation. Count me in for infinite rounds thumbing the knobs and you can fuck my delicate hole while I stare forward at thy screen your colleagues will be texting you about the users and system uptime and I will have your joystick in my hands free device my mouth between my legs. Do you get a turn on me every round counted in some cosmic register of fucks. Cosmic register of squirtoffs. My my my the only reason we ever had that progeny of cousins was to make the sandbox full of lice. We ordered a brush off Amazon so you could scrub me like a baby girl you got in all the nooks and crannies with a wooden handle much like spanked with in the second grade. Used to have a spanking fantasy and the woman from church thought she was punishing us but we talked in spicelike afterward between ourselves pulling baby powder on you like doctor—a cake! subtleties make me hard !count the number of times you came on me pissing the negroponte faculty division chalked and board complex--sub--r mifflin sucker when wet wool is the only warmth black is the only darkness kale is the only source of wood jerseys and she was like——! and I was all——! then she was all——! and I was all——!! then we spent the summer together smoking weed and it was like——! and she was like——! then together we were all and all like all like like all all. But between us we were all and was all like. I guess you got to be all forgetting the abstract leaving behind the concrete and mifflin mifflin mifflin. Must we leave behind the shore remain tethered to a dock used by tender children to catch fysh with Skittle ##12,831 it was grave calling me from behind the silver screen touching hollow points in some policy show if you just make up a title there is a movie with that name it's like you can search for something and make it up call it into existence just by searching for it did you imagine me and Morgan fucking that whole time? did you see us screaming and squirting and screaming and squirming when someone called action and we played our roles. It's as if me telling you the story is less effective than me jumping inside my mind and rooting around for some bullshit. Never say almost. Never say very. Never say cunt of a ho-ho whore. Never ever say never. I'm trying to outdo milk. Cum terribly. Hate myself for giving oral sex to a baby. Mixing themes. Matching metaphors. Quiet dog quiet dog. I am most definitely not most definitely. And she was like Jessica. Who went to church with her husband and her two kittyns with my cum still dripping out of her pussy tastes like honey on the tip of my bone. I own her pussy in row 14 the pussy row as she sings your praises I can't remember the color of her panties that she reminds me of in text but I remember the color of her flame twa la la to go inside the teenage pussy of my high school lover but she lacked something Morgan had in spades. Even though I don't feel guilty in effing Jessicah I should have fucked the kidlike earlier but where was my moralisticguiltpackageinmybrain. I am a simple machine made of muffyns. Corollary antagonisms riding the pony in Anaïs Nin. That was my favorite aspect of Morgan le Fay and she was fearless was when watching cum her made herself riding using me and watching her cheeks blush as a virgin and who knows her first may have been with me orgasm just like in the story where he says keep going keep going and the model rides the pony vibrator until she blushing comes before me. It is like an execution watching you die and you share that between us all the different types of execution can you walk over the bridge two ways one where you expel complete discomfort one where the bridge is yours sky is yours and all the earth is yours that is the recommended way walking to walk across the bridge. Pony. Kill your cum. typesetting. your. cunt. Typesetting your cunt mifflin. Negroponte. Mifflinmuffyn. Sometimes I kiss you for clarity. Sometimes I kiss you for claws. Watching virgins cum. Blush is my jam. Involuntary capillary. Put the pony on fast speed and rock the vote, kid, rock that motherfucking vote. Get off at me getting off at you getting off. My god, that stings. Family at the amusement park. Water slides. Cousins sharing sun tan lotion all of us in one locker and your sister pulls on a wedgie swimsuit every thought is about butts or ass butts or ass butts or ass buts or ass and every other thought is about puss dicks or ice cream your butt puss dicks or a motherfuckin' lollipop. Remember that time we noticed that we were in a bathtub sailing 2wice around the wyrld in a midshipman'scounterclockwisescrew. Does that ring a bell? Does it tell? Are we rolling over and over over and over clean laundry hot to the touch and nothing on underneath the covers where a butt spider crawls my hand onto your tinyHiney(tm)!! where it was never meant to be calculated skin grafts in a science fiction tome that features alien sex magic sugar blood. Spank me like a baby you say and I oblige your pink ass until fingers slip around the back finding their way inside your rock imagining I was your adult you my kyd what is so fun about playing doctor? But we do it anyway.

Imagining I don't see you sexually.
Touching you anyway.
But it's sexual for you.
And me too.
Why is pretend professionalism so hot?

Girl you cauterize your rabid puss for moi staples from the uniform seeing our breath in the air where we lived in imaginary Massachusetts some kind of winter we would never know in Texas of course we're an oil family we grew up watching soap operas with our home town and when we poured icing on your lovelypuss(tm) that was the end of ants for mep and my visions of you generation x y z a b c what is the difference lovelypuss? uncle russel kept a gun in the glove compartment wheeling and dealing in hate and all the cousins backed him up saying you don't have to worry about that racist jackass and who are you kids to say something oh well ours is just the generation of mass shootings we just grew up bowling and some of us have lived in cities we don't think it's so cool to wheel and deal with a 9mm in the glove you're the kind of person who ends up on the news --and-- we're not into that lolipussy(tm) in the teeth of seven rows a killer whale the first time Morgan saw me as an adult was in New Orleans French Quarter I had sweated through a mountain walking in the heat they knew naught outside an SUV and all I wanted was time to change my shirt but Morgan brought this up to me time and time again how she wanted to lick the skin the cloth my nipple through the sweat wanted to cum in the bathroom with me make it up against the servers' closet of that cafe famous for whatever Café du Monde or whatever and we would be skirting and sweating and licking and fucking and sucking her fourteen self for the first time that's something my family says or whatever everyone says it or whatever fuck I wish I could uninherit that frase or whatever because it's like they're all and I'm all then they're all and I'm all sex or whatever fucking or whatever puss or whatever when it's just sex fucking puss no whatever or whatever I want to take your virginity or whatever I want to fuck those naked little legs to shaking or whatever reach inside you or whatever rub genitals or whatever break into a bank or whatever if they ever ban a word I hope it is --whatever-- fuck my cock or whatever make you cum or whatever tickle your vj or whatever hear you scream or whatever ride me like a pony or whatever read some Anaïs Nin or whatever reenact that shit or whatever like your clit or whatever fucking make me say fuck or whatever fuck fuck fuck! or whatever grab the bed or whatever lick me awake or whatever road trip blowjobs or whatever passenger seat of the truck or whatever lift your skirt or whatever rub my cock with your ass or whatever squeeze my cock in your ass cheeks or whatever fucked you in the grass or whatever you've never had a cock in your pussy or whatever you're still a virgin or whatever we played just the tip or whatever my almost everything has been inside you can you say whatever can you say shake can you shake the devil's hand and say whatever say say you're only kidding


Well it's true that Morgan isn't my cousin. Right because she has two gay dads so the X chromosome and Y chromosomes couldn't combine in the way that they needed to to make this story controversial. So it doesn't matter if I fuck my cousin's tight little pussy hole—or does it?

Check with Sherlock Holmes Nancy Drew she can handle the case. There might be a riddle at the end to package us all up in a tight little knot. A chapter to conclude it and let us all off the hook. But no. The taboo exists in some social sense outside of the genetic basis and still any sex mixed with family is unspeakable except that it's what makes one.

Never discuss sex inside a family but sneak away (parents only!) and get it on with turned faces and blindfolds deny that cum is spilling out my father's ass and that the mention of oral sex at dinner will be scolded by the kids but guarantee that we hear your mother moaning through the night.

When I said we were the same character boy and girl, the dinner at which Morgan said she had a tongue tie and it affected her ability to suck cock her fathers said Morgan please this is dinner but after it they could be heard by both daughters slipstreaming the didgeridoo playing flute whatever you want to call it they slurped and thought everyone was asleep so their screams were heard downstairs and up the hall end of paragraph.

There was a blanket under two brothers to catch the shit.

They were dads but brothers as much as Mor and me were cousins.

End of paragraph.

And did you spy me primrose in the grass with a blanket spread reading Sonnets to my daughter Mor did you spy a virginal picnic and the grasshopper. Cricket wiping its legs off before it sat on the blanket. Leaning back on the diaper so I could lick her grool from both lips like a breakfast lunch and dinner. I lick up one side and down the other buttering my bread with cheese and honey loving to suck you like a baby chickling starring role Disney we leave out the middle because god left out the middle don't you like that antiquated word when we talked I thought you were some neon demon from the future because traveling through space is traveling through time and vice versa you could cage me with a pregnancy there is no right granted to men they should both be able to kill up to age four.

End of paragraph.

Somewhere in my early life I stopped talking to everyone but you and Morgan's lovepuss. That was all I hoped to gain from this life and this world and this sleeve of butter and jam. I took an everything bagel and licked off all the salamanders. Drank the poppy seeds and took a drug test. Said hello the the big dog in the next yard and called him "puppy."

Morgan I have seen a day in our future when we tire of each other, become just pals, and that, even that isn't the end of our controversy, even being friends drives our family crazy they would hate it if we held hands as kids. They would hate if we, platonically, moved in across the street—as family we aren't even allowed to be close it's ill-advised bonehead and general denied if we were boys they would worry we were gay even though two adult males boning the wig is perfectly fine. If we were a boy and a girl they would worry as to our sexuality even though two strangers having sex is a walk in the park.

End of paragraph.

Morgan just walked by and said, "I just did some speed."

If I ever get married I will definitely follow Morgan's leadership and get married on speed.

It seems like the only civilized way to go.

I hope Morgan has tons of non-C-section babies and ruins her vagina becomes an alcoholic gets divorced and given the current trends this will likely happen. Then when she calls me in ten years I can be like:

"Morgan, how's your vagina?"

And she can be like:

"None of your business. You missed that train years ago."

And I can be like:

"Fuck you, ho."

And she can be all:

"How's your limp-dick penis, serial monogamist?"

And I'll be all:

"I jerk off to you in the bathroom stall at work anytime I see the face of someone who even remotely reminds me of you."

And she'll be all:

"You're dead to me, Temple."

And I'll be all:

"I use you still, even though you're gone."

And she'll be all:

"You never even knew me. That image you're jerking to in the bathroom is just your contortionist vision of something perverted enough to make you leak from the tip."

And I'll be all:

"Morgan, you're a lifetime of fantasy."

And she:

"Do I lick your tadpole peen even in your dreams?"

"Licking the tip of my drip drop nig nog nag fag?"

"Tip-licking the animal dozen."

"Pot-sticking my ass from the bottom up through the pipes in your place of work nig nog pig pig there's a brown stain on your ass let me lick it clean for your highness."

"Yeah, that's the sort of thing I imagine."

"Why don't you imagine fucking me as a baby?"

"Because I'm not into baby fucking."

"Come on."

"No, really. Are you?"

"I'm usually the one getting fucked, not doing the fucking."

"Nig nog."

"Pig pog."


"I just did a line of speed."


"Want some?"

"I better not. Speed is a bad drug for me."

"Just wanted you to know that when you take my v I'm going to be speeding my ass off."

"Is that going to happen?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Why don't you go get married and ruin your vagina."

"Do you feel paternalistic about it?"

"I just think if you let that pig pog paramilitary shit stick it in that no one else will ever want to stick it due to the mushroom growth that will ensue."

"I think you have a germ fetish."


"Scared of shit. Scared of pussy juice."

"I'm not scared of pussy juice."

"No you just have to have it elevated to the status of god to let yourself love it. It has to be your cousin to feel good about it, it's kinky enough for you to get past the technicalities."

"That's not true."

"What does your therapist say?"

"We haven't talked about it."

"Then it's true."

We played the staring game for a while.

"Maybe I'll have some of that speed."

"You said it was a bad drug."

"Just sit on my lap and rub me off."

"How many times do I have to get you off on my wedding day?"

"Three. Everything comes in threes."

"Want to have a secret baby we fuck today then I get laid on my wedding night which is later today then nine months we have a turtle baby like the horse in Troy."

"Yeah, good idea."

"I'm serious."

"You want me to squirt in you?"

"I want you ring my bells, motherfucker."


"Cunt-fuck me and make a little girl cum."

"How did you get to be such a sick little bitch?"

"I was made one through years of systematic abuse."

"I think everyone in our family can relate to that."

"We can claim it it's our motherfucking birthright."

"Morgan I want to watch you."

"Watch me what?"

"Make yourself cum."

"Fuck you. The ceremony's about to start. I have to get my Pretty in Pink panties in a row and get the rod out of my ass and remove these clothespins from my nipples and take the mini vibrator off my clit and forget about your rod and go get married."

"Don't call it a rod."

"When I sit on it you won't care what I call it."

"Go get married. You're never gonna sit on it."

"Be careful what you wish for."

"If we haven't done it by now, with all we've done, it's not going to happen."

"So certain are you, of the future, young Jedi."

"I'm certain of you."

"Why do I always feel you're quoting from a movie?"

"That's the preferable way to talk, now: re-use words instead of creating new ones. It's less wasteful. More environmentally conscious."

"You know what I think?"

"I think I know most of what you think by now."

"I think you think this is a dress rehearsal."

"Isn't that a quote from somewhere?"

"But..it isn't. This life, this day, this *marriage..*it's all really happening. And..right?..when it's over, it's over. When this day ends I'll be married and gone and we're not going to play together anymore, cous'. This is a one-way trip and—you know—you've already fucked up most of it. We all have. We've had our day in the sun. And as soon as you have an inkling that it might someday end, it's already ended. There's no rewind, but in your mind, and if you use that too much you're not really living. This is the one day..the only day..everything that came before is past and the future is a funhouse mirror or..what do you call those things in the desert?..a mirage. Yeah. A mirage. I think I would like us to go on forever..to be eight..13..16..17..but our cush days are over—"

"I think you capitalize Cush."

"See? That's what I mean. You're stuck analyzing whether to capitalize cush, whether it's a k or a c when really it doesn't matter and you've got to decide whether to stick in me, convince or rape me, pop me open, impregnate me, or take me as your option, because after today trading's closed and all options expire."


"Truly gathered, near we are today, to celebrate the death of one man and one woman in each other's arms. To the point that they are alive, breathing entities at this point in their lives they will surely be squoze to death like the South American anaconda squoze a cheezyMeal from MacDonald's to prove it could swallow anything. And it could, my dear friends—it could—it could swallow anything. So dearly bewitched and gathered here, we ask that you shed your vapes and stop smoking crystal for five minutes to witness the age-old mystreal of a man and a woman—or a man and a man, or a man and his dog—wherein skyscrapers are tossed in relativity to the stature of universal love. You have heard me give this talk a thousand times before—at birth, copulation, and death—and you have tried to avoid it but here I stand in another robe in another round of cities and with another cycle of nicknames for your various and sundry parts reticulated like the python of Continent X. You have heard me in the names of all religions right down to heathen hand fasting but none of it means anything because no one sticks with it long enough and stability is maintained even without these markers but don't tell the kids that or they'll all start having sex on the rollercoaster. Giant fountains of love. Entire books written about love! It all fades in a decade and wisp willows grass crystal dope ethanol fires up my diesel for a little altar boys. Did you see that Penn State thing that was hilarious. It's like every town in the world when a serial killer arises they say, "Couldn't happen here," but we know that it can because it did. Slounge lizard peepshow caterpillars. Due to timely unweather March will be unearthed in unruly fashion unleashing tiny dogs when cats growl at the moon or an unlocked door and you can't tell which animal is animal. There was a speck so tiny I couldn't tell its color on my arm it could be precancerous. Imagine tons of bitch-ass virgins lying in the lawn this must be what priests think about every day when you starve it it is hungry and it lashes out you have to keep it fed she spoke six languages and still couldn't save me it took one-hundred and thirty-nine sessions and I still came out a head. Do you think she mocks me in retirement there was this idiot guy I guess he became a priest I wonder if he was involved in the Penn State thing faggot I wish women could rape men then we could see some real faggotry oh but they do. Oh but they do young Padawan they do in spades drunk forceful or just never satisfied maybe he's just like my father died in an elevator on opiates never sleeping that's why I had to quit drugs and become a pedophile the sleep is just too good it's the ultimate drug meditation indicator of mental health it's the love of (or lust of) prepubescent children prepubescent motherfucker these days if a 19 year old loves an 18 year old we put them in jail there is truth in something even if it is not 100% completely and factually true almost. I think orange is best. But these two before me: let us linklater their wildest cum-hither dreams and front them when they back and back them when they front explain why there are LCD screens up their butts and each holds a monitor in their hand exploring fucking to the motion on the screen. Kinesthetic healing pop a firecracker in thy anus silly rules we inordinately governed with the goal of security but read what Helen Keller said. Therefore, truly gathered, host me in thy heavenly hosts something called a triumvirate or the smallest instrument in the orchestra complex cowling calling me home. Sweet Jesu the tenor playing an ancient game console in the sand was it I? was it I?? who was born the son of a carpenter, drawn toward the temple, and spouted infinite wisdom to woo women for that was the only point in being wise to make her see me as the savior of her life rescue her from west Texas from the Bible belt my serenading skier we went to Vail to practice our money when the kids were young and we still gave a shit about them but soon, young women, and especially young men, you will forget the vows you made to each other and stomp your children bashing their skulls against the ground. Did you know that's how it is well you haven't lived it's little things like my therapist tells me her daughter lives in Los Angeles and the thing is—the thing is—it's hard to make it in the film business but the daughter has a poem she wrote flying on the ceilings of LA busses so everywhere people go while they're waiting they read her daughter's poem and the thing is that no that this is great but that you'd have to be a therapist to appreciate how good this is this is more than most LA people accomplish and you might go there to be a production designer and end up a director the thing is. The thing is, kittenmouses, stompweather trouthouses, the thing is that after this bright and glorious day the hymns will fade and parental support will become anger (at your spouse) you will trade all your intimacies with siblings and friends and build a house (metaphorical) inward and inward and in! so far that once the sex gets good you won't text your best friend for a nickel. You'll drop your sister for your kid (which you hate) and she'll have to work it out in therapy by herself (in Portland). You'll be in Austin and she'll be in Portland and you'll be trapped by your goddamn kids husband on duty then you'll start to drink and that's exactly what granddad did don't you love it! You'll care nothing more for nothing more than escaping. Then the texting will end. Everyone will resent each other. Then the end. End of meaning. End of life. End of paragraph.

"And while we while away the days of youth between young Morgan and her paramilitary bullshit husband, everyone will be wondering why such a spark settled down with such a dud. We will wonder—except her parents—what could have triaded her compromise. Her two dads, however, will wonder no such thingy, happy that their daughter will benefit from the military salary. Even if he dies, she'll be taken care of! Excellent, excellent, here say. Did you know if he's awarded the Purple Heart a general will come to her house and suck her cock for a thousand dollars? No, it's a million, a billion, some kind of trillion-dollar playground for her kids everyone betting on death! We are happy when it comes, live to fund the life insurance, kill to collect, you never loved him anyway. Everything's become a financial transaction where the fuck did that come from and why is it in my brain. Another milp has silpped through the sand another year seeming so grand just fishtank fishtank fishtank killer whales and you'll spend the rest of your life watching the nature show learning what makes other animals tick and oh! how smart they are it turns out we aren't the only cool thing in the universe. Rename me a teddy bear and be her best friend grabbing her arms in my sleep when otherwise the bed is empty husband doing crank in Syria that's why we go to war it's a drug exchange program forced upon the world by whoever makes the better movies. And the rest of us have to find as many ways as possible to entertain ourselves while we wait in line at the bureaucracy. Oops I stained my panties with peanut butter. Try to breathe in a surrealist way. Dump the dragon at the gates. Churn butter like a motherfucker. Try to tell me. Go with your first thought. Windmills. I felt the crescendo coming. Faint hollows of the kidnapping. Every kid in the north Atlantic. Treaty. Morgan put this slice of liver on your vulva and see if I'll eat it. Take off all the reigns. Expert handholding. Dock boats and clock goats. This is a 9mm that will be perfect for your tiny hands. Perfect for suburban home defense. Oh but—shh!—they didn't tell you?—most guns are used on their owners—by themselves—shh shh quiet we wouldn't want to hurt the feelings of a CEO whose product is mainly used by people to kill themselves. Even when your own government provides such statistics no one believes. But shh shh Morgan go to sleep. We put this in your hands because for all the reasons we can think of you might need it, it's the ones we can't think of that matter most. Losing contact with reality in a plush pillow bed might be the way you go Mor it might just be. Can you take off your hood and lie cuddling a Glock riding it between your legs the only action you've seen there in years they saw more action in Syria and that war was fake kid we pulled the trigger for you long before you were born and that paramilitary motherfucker is a good choice you can become Emily Dickens and sit up in the house until you cease to exist la la la good thing you have that scarring on your lungs it's the perfect excuse to stop breathing wanna know my name kid it's spelled dog backwards and you wrote me at seven years of age peeling back the curtain and (just as you expected) it was all you you you."


Thus sayeth the Lord.smallcaps. And a drop from thy blodd worth a finger in thy cup. You want my opinion? You want my opinion?

Day two Morgan was dripping that eye-wide look, like some sort of electric owl dipped its finger in the socket. One day, if you could keep it to one day, was enough to cook your brain. But if you came to day two smoking out of lightbulbs and tinfoil, the chances are, in my wide observation, that you'll be shooting it day three.

Day one you say, "We only do lines 'cause smoking it's too tweaky." Day two you'll be smoking it.

That's how Morgan was at her wedding. Parents who never thought it could happen to their kid, who wanted to pal her off with a military dude not knowing of course that one of the largest sources of abuse is the military. We give it to our soldiers in small doses to keep them focused. Don't worry, ample paperwork has been filed to skirt the legal issues and remember it's not illegal if the President does it it's not a crime if it's done in the name of national security and this is the state in which Morgan came to me with her panties.

White panties, wedding pants. Killer cut along the side a shark bling bling blang blang tailors knew how to cut a fabric to make a man's dick hard or a woman's plush grow wet. In my case a bit of the latter. Morgan said:

"Why don't we screw and you'll get to see how tight the hole goes is it a blacklight baby or a tiny pinprick what you see is the shape of my vulva a corkscrew a rocks glass and a splash of tonic water some blackening around the anus a Pinkberry curtain laced with bead muffyn cardboard and a see-through elevator puff.

"If you peg me tight in the anus we'll need spermicidal lubricant ##17 to get past the wasteland but I can rock you with my feces as dohpe as any man.

"Take me home cum in my squirt! cow-lick me with that wide tongue of yours and we'll have it till the zombies come. Zig zag zip zock tick tock and a fairway home. You'll beg me for the pinprick hole and know me in the Biblical sense but I promised not to tell you of my puss in ancient realism metaphors for what is not known is what is known and the alien babies crawl out of me so you know it's an ample exercise in clown car reprehensibility.

"Be zig zag zigalar to my Aladdin princess don't you imagine how it would be to fuck a Disney princess well that's me. Fucking Aristotle ideal vagina ideal cock ideal cunt ideal fit ideal squeak and you can cum out the back of my butt. Remove parts for easy cleaning dishwasher safe even the hair but I need you to squeak me now to know that you care.

"For even your spanks and finger lovin' are not enough to convince this child of your commitment to our game. I need it signed, sealed, and delivered with sticky paste from the tip of your DisneyCunt my man! Love, with care and hatred, The Inimitable Morgan.

"Lay me back in some perfect frozen sister fantasy two sisters one older (you) one younger (me) one on top (you) one underneath (me) one in control (you) one in submission (me) one twiddling (you) and tweaking (you) the submissive one (me) who lies on bottom (me) at your (you) control you (you) can make me (me) cum at your (your) command. And it is all the better for being consensual rape.

"My brother my cous', up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right, B, A, start. Tattooed that motherfucker on my stomach between my bellybutton and my hole just so you won't forget how to touch me.

"Unlocked my cheat codes. Got the zone flowing. Free life and a two-player game broseph T. Just put your pennies in and never go to MacDonald's due to the high starch content but rub me to a little pocket of yummy. Bring yourself off it's a honey pot Christopher Robin all you have to do is dance. Little girl squeak I've got that little girl squeak it's like magic I've heard my boy I trust you you see you've always been nice to me. Kyd, you're my kyd too and I need you to break me in as I know that only you can do. It just wouldn't be right if I came to my end at the hands of a drone. I want it to feel wrong as hell the first time I do it not high and tight but your sk8r haircut banging me in that big sister way I submit (right) submit (right) to you.

"And like a good sister you only want moi to cum. I look in your eyes and feel you twiddle my digits searching for the magic code.

"Sweat on the bed.

"Sweat from the small of my back.

"Sweat in the arches of my tiny feet.

"Sweat in my palm prints. Sweat in my rugged tunnel tuning me to a daily resonance scrape scrape it upward on the top the back of the nerve pile behind the clit that's my g string arabesque 'cept not with the tightness of a dancer's cunt my cunt is not an Arizona rock face it's more like a Texas hog without the fat back asses coffeehouse specialty write your name on my drink I'll order you at the counter and bring it to your table all you have to do is drink. Drink. Nibble my mitten. And then fuck me like nothing else.

"I have had the fingers. I have had the tongue. I have had the tip of your cock and so maybe I am no longer a v but you have to give it to me. It makes me salivate like a Jolly Rancher..I think strawberry red to go with my head and I know I have the badass dreads but I'm still the 12 year old you first came in holding my hand on top of yours and making me rub you rub my legs together made me wet and you were using me using me as a tool my hand inside your hand and all you felt were my fingers getting you off.

"Sticky mess in grandma's bathroom.

"And you used my mouth holding me showing me how to give head pulling me and pushing me around your cock it was easy like a twelve-year-old beginner class on giving head to a man all I had to do was tighten my tongue and keep my teeth out of the way and you used (me) (my) mouth as your own little girl head that would do you anyway you liked and when you came I sucked and sucked and sucked I knew what I was supposed to do to make boys feel good and your fingers in my eardrums so all I could hear was a muffled hmmmmmmm.

"So bring us back to this moment. I want you to pull away my girl pantaloons and rub me with the hard cock who knows he is about to get away with murder—a double coup!—the virgin and the bride. You will wiggle your way into my Texas hog and fuck a girl you should have fucked long ago my cous' fair cous' fair mark fair cous'. I invite you to a temptress, learned enough to tease and used enough to know I please you Texas hog pussycanter trot your Texas cowboy into my stables, cous', bring it home do you know what I mean? Do I have to guide your cables? Who will strip you if you will strip me? Lying back in the chair I say: nig nog pig pog, let loose hellion, give me a good fucking like your other girls don't treat me like a baby give it to me rancher cum in me and everything I want that final step freaky deaky something I can say forever you came in me on my wedding day and I wiped your cum with my wedding panties you say there is the matter of consent since I smoke the smoky white but where were you when double hands held me on your cock and you taught me how to suck? And where were you when my much younger age rubbed and rubbed and rubbed! her butt on your GMC in the pickup truck did you think that was all manual labor?

"Labor in creating an image, my cous'. Labor in becoming that lacy thing strapped in white strawberry hair with so many freckles you were drowning in whiteness tickled you on your leg before I ever knew the purpose and swam for you in a pool suit that showed my vj lips stood for you so you could see it let your big hand slide against me underwater wrapped my legs around your neck and rode you pressing pressing pressing (me) over (you) in a yellow color of butter and lemon.

"Butter and lemon.

"Butter and lemon.

"Butter and lemon strung together for you between my legs I made smells and tastes and tricks of color to pheromone you so that when I laid down in the pile of towels in GranGran's laundry room you almost went for it when it really would have been a scandal.

"Now we're almost stale and you've missed the boat time and time again my cous' and if you miss today you'll miss your chance to make a mark on me at all..you'll just be the cousin who never fucked me..the cousin who did *everything but..*when really I'd much prefer if you come to the summer chair spread my stockings and take advantage of a girl."


Running to the back..room..room behind the church and priest where they mix communion wine. Reminded me of a youth group I knew once, hiding in a pile of pillows reading scripture with Pastor Steve.

This time it was just you and me.

This time I sat you down and kissed you in a line from your lips to your face to your neck to your left breast and bit you through the wedding dress.

Left a pocket of spit..

..to find..

..to dry..

..to melt me like sherbet. Kitten run I wipe you from the butt to your glorious clit, sending messages in Morse between the fabric and the skin. Getting you wet. Pressing into you dream mattress want to find you between tracks of a train, extremities tied in golden thread from a fairytale. We, at least, had something to focus on that was real..unlike the mass of nerves gathered beyond that door..brains..hands..eyes..cancerous moles..we at least had a meditation. That every day I'd go to you, in person..in my mind..and every day I'd go to you would be church..a worship something real..something tied to the senses and god..blood..universe..cow. Came back in a million lifetimes for fresh, earthy, dirty, fun. You can do anything you want to me..dismantle me..cut me open from the insides..come at me with a scythe..if you want you can cross my heart and hope to die..you can stick a needle in my eye. Sew my lids shut that my soul cannot escape. Zip me in a plastic baggie, dear, close me one last time and identify the body of a nut..just trying to get a squirrel..to move your butt. Entrance it all, from the mystery cosmos to the other side of the planet..flip side..bottom side..other half. Even if a space shuttle dies every ten years it will never be enough to convince you that the world is flat. Someone reading over our shoulders from the very start..and even though they didn't, they'll send someone back from the future to read you before reading's began.

Therefore, my turtle, cast off these phrases of doubt, for all is being recorded in the cosmic eye. What you ever have done is simply a projection from the center of gigantoid computer consciousness, from the tip of my cock to the center of a baby blue foal. Can you pat its head without him running away? Is there a cat under the blanket? Will she let me rub her nose? And then again, don't you rub her every day in preparation for what we're about to do? Don't you treat her to the skin of a pup? Wet-nose dick, kindle me a fire at night in the scope of a simulated wood..breathe pixel hash wormwood in that Orleans tavern where we snuck away and drank ourselves to death, stumbling with mounted police, renaming their horses, eating Arby's on the way back from our makeshift date.

That's the way we'll always be, so baby put your head in my chest dig deep breathe in my deodorant (which I buy just for you) and let me do the navigating. Can't you hear the music of a song? I am coming in around the ears and your fuzzy lobes make for a feminine nibble. They say the first shall be last and the last shall be first but where we're going we don't need *roads..*and here the first shall be first and the last shall be first we eat from a plate with no bottom no sides no top no edges no back no front and still the Earth is spinning.

Morgan, baby, spread those legs and look at me let me touch you in the there of theres in the mumbling pit of mumbles in your soft soft and wilding button. Morgan, wipe your hair back and paste it to your forehead, paste one leg behind your neck like the contortionists if you can't do that we can't even be together my pet dog cat and horsey in one I played with you in childhood cast in plastic with a seam running from your nose to your ass let me read the maker's serial number on the underside of you and determine if these materials are safe..what recyclable what reusable by others and are you safe to microwave?

I will clean you up in the dishwasher after shit comes out your ass.

Morgan, lean back and take this..take this gift to you and me as if it was a sacrament. Give and take, for both of us, almost touching, your head to my chest, my hands down the pocket of your underwear, rimming your ridges..folds..wrinkles. Why do you look like a red blur on TV when the camera slides in to shoot you taking the SATs? Did anyone else notice you were just wearing jeans..that your cunt sat open to be and to the entire room? I sat with my desk facing every you in the room so I could see up their pleated skirts. Only you spread your legs wider when I looked your way and you said, "Are you eyeing my doughnut?"

Morgan..Morgan le Fay..do not kid yourself that there will be lots of blood. I think we know that we you and I conceive that it will be something from a Ridley Scott film that is why they try to keep us apart but let's make an Alien now..kill me with the back hatch..lull me into silence and light your furnace you described it to me in our youth over an open line told me you would set me ablaze and I knew you were touching yourself when you said it my Morgan—my Morgan le Fay!—bring us together in your childhood bedroom with your dads next door. But if we can't have that then I'll take you as some alternative Disney life form serrated for his pleasure her pleasure everyone's goddamn pleasure!

Take me to church spread it let me go all there way in this time we deserve it to have one moment of pleasure off the map do you remember / in the playground how we kissed in a tunnel of our lips hands between and came down the slide legs first wide / wide / wide / wide! my friend my little, little friend I cast my vote in your direction in your conception we will pump / it's not your fertile days but baby if I ever had a kid it'd be with you.

Silly goblins.

Neck and neck.

You are the pot I am the handle.

Stiff dick and bubblegum.

Find the horsey rhythm.

Pony bauble.

Leaned back on the holy couch.

Leftovers go to not me! I loved you first. I loved you first.

Kyd sister, blubber whale, I whip my hair back and forth!

Whip those dreads.

Show me that one tear that drips down your face

But never tell me what it means

Morgan, Morgan, Mor. I have built you up in my mind and now you mean something to me that you don't even mean to you. Wonderful, counselor! Disney kyd. Cum so hard on my serrated knife. I'll hold me in you up up up in you so guud that's my girl let it come ride it upside down ride it like a pony hands on my lower back and I see you looking down to see what it sees like for you to be around me me go in you us go together wrapped up like an egg roll. Wince! Pull! Finger me! Breathe together—pump! Pump back and let me pin you to the chair go in as far as I can go.

Morgan, Morgan, Mor. Taste you with my cock from the tip to the core. Base your pleasure on this moment, may it all go down from here. Can you touch your clit while we fuck? I wish you would. Morgan make your face—more—

Like the log ride let me crash into you

Morgan, Mor

Splash into you

Well, Kyd

That was it

Melt me my whole body inside the whole of yours

Scoot while I pull up my panties

Wedding day

Hold you in me before

I have to go out there and

Say the thing

Go through the door

Vow to do this never again

But I let you have it

And you made me blush

That's as much as you can ask the first time

Big brother

Big fat fuck inside of me

Happy to host this month's summer games

You robbed me of my cum

Stole it

Made me leave it in you

You control

Train me well before death

Train me to—


Do you think you can hide the spots?

I'll stay back here

Don't you—don't you want to watch me?

Not really boo

You really thought we would end up together

Move to Montana or something

I didn't think that boo I just—



To watch

To watch what

To watch you throw your life away

Come 'ere Big

Don't throw my life away

Want me always

I always will

And let go of the family, right?

Let go of all this

Your mom, my dads

All the stupid wayward cousins

They'll never hold a light to you

And you'll never find a comfort like me

No I won't

So what do I settle for?


Settle for a sad song

That you'll carry with you till the end


For people like us

All there ever is is longing


I guess you're right

I never really felt at home

Anywhere but you


Get your dress smoothed

And send me a text

Every once in a while

For me



That less road

And never look back

Beyond this day


When all the slurs had been hurled ] and every capital mouse

taken to redacted dungeons

we're left with M le Fay

and medieval daggers

who want what is not there

procession down the steps of a church

we throw birdseed instead of rice

something about the bleach

in the future it'll be a hologram

field mouse of protracted pussy

always, always a bargain

slipping a dick

over the infinite sideshow of ] cum loudly

we used to value our genitals wholly

now ] it's just kkk

and your mom

blinging the bling blang

ping pang ming mang

] sort of like a system reset

in the middle of a fight

she carried a classic parasol

spinning that little cap gun of yours

and drip drip drip little april flowers

under the bed ] balloon

m a ybelline

close one eye you

will see



d a i l y

with a kid right

under the bedsprings

did you know a mounted camera

styles your dress ] ? in anamorphic widescreen

placating the two dads and the PhD aunts who taught us

how to hate they're playing organ

concerts with a complex

rhythm and hues


purple to brilliant nice

will you thread closed the lips

of my pussy




win again

from the murder

salad on a bed

of lice



strikes me I will

meet you

on your sweet tooth moon

bury me in decades-old pussy it needs

a cunning hand and hand to mouth

someone who unforgiving yesterday

elevates candy fucking to an art

] x

cross your legs duckling*!*

ants are following the trail

duck your head into the limousine

cradling the bride you military motherfucker

and take my cousin away from me ]— she linked my head to head in a gaming console gods were formed in her every schema from dawn to dusk we'll be drinking ourselves stupid while he tries to get impossible with you for the first time bewitched the showcase television crow if you don't breathe in you can do anything for ten minutes we took the shot shot after shot vibing the robyn elephant tusk on the most ridiculous nature show in the world bless me bless me girl you have given me more than I can ask for in time is running out for the clock cock in a ho dee ho shot clock in a ho dee ho campfire kindling your nuts kyd I'll always have us in the truck imagine you at any age working your rump over a cousin's crotch you snuck into the New York apartment just rubbed and left sent me those videos when I sat at work drinking you in didn't even cum just salivated believe me there is nothing more ripe than your kid nacho sprayed with ez cheeze I am in a sweatstorm holding your hand and you shake your dreads back and forth for a rat bastard to take your ass away can I be your saddle Morgan forever is all I ask I've got a peg so you don't fall off you righteous bitch cow and hung bull I saw a bulge! he's packing heat! you used me to break you in! now you'll need a paramilitary cock to tickle the motherfucking ivories no more cousin fucking for you! you bitch you left me in lieu of a typical life I do hate when they get religion imagine the nutter at the Embassy Suites he wags it off in a tiny cunt Morgan screams assuring him he's found the right girl and I can only enjoy the hate that I came there first like some demon cares only for possession not even that stale union flag the panties hung politely in the window of my truck hanging from that rear view nothing of a prize I will always know simple Morgan that I fucked you first

cut to*: ]*

the marriage limousine.

back seat.

he slides his leg over to hers.

she allows it and looks out the window.

Paramilitary do you know what?


What if—what if I were to tell you—?

Right-o, right-o, skip to my lou, my darling.

Listen, brill-pug, I'm trying to tell you something.

PM boy at a lack for words. Go figure.

I guess I didn't marry for your eloquence.

You're the one trying to tell me something.

Well, pig pog, this might be hard for your granite brain to handle.

I guess what I'm trying to say is..

nig nog pig pog

..what if I was black, would you marry me then?

But you're not black.

But what if I was. Nevermind. Learning books in the photo album. Did you see I have one named girls? Did that teach you something of my predilections? You know in five years all I'll be having sex with is girls, right—you know that?

How do you know?

I traveled time-wise into the not so distant nig nog and brought back evidence on my time cycle, that's how. Didn't they teach you of the US time travel program in your studies on paramilitary jump points to barry odometer moon fallacies?

Can I fuck you now, you've kept me waiting.

That pretty much is all you care about, isn't it. Do you know why I've kept you waiting? For your own safety, that's why. If I had let you fuck me at the beginning of the book you would never gone through with the wedding simplistic dope you didn't even know how to spell my name until I hung a kiss if you liked it then you should have put a ring on it nig nog pig pog mister man it's all a series of coats and blasters don't you remember fingering me at Sonic it's never what you think pussy cow is just a cave of bulbous ceilings and walls not at all what you'd think from the ads I mean when you feel me with your dick it will feel good as strawberry ice cream honey cakes but to kinder examination we're not exactly talking about a sleeve sieve my pussy will never get cold that's more than I can say for your nig nog pig pog nig nog nig nog pig pog pig pog ]— camera reset

] —hard reset—

] —system flush a baby—






] —system is up—

Listen, prime minister, and listen well. I've got the equivalent of your caulk gun between my fingers and I can squeeze at any time to make your dreams come true. When I cum you say how loud?! and I'll need you to play para-incest games with me for maximum squirtage these are the lips and my seriously why do you ask me that I shave it for her pleasure can you see that everything I do I do for your dumb ass now make the checks my smartness is blazing and I can tell you limb from limb the monkey of the second law of thermodynamics I've mentioned it before I'll mention it again fucknugget camel toe written on the side of the package see I'm labeled and high tech my pussy has been used to fulfill the fantasies of a man more demanding than you and I can rub you on my face and make you cum from just the smell.

Prime minister slides over.

Prime minister decides to try me out.

PM Smalls is the rap century of a decade. I have

buried data pods beneath my skin. These pods carry the

known DNA of the human race. I will let you squirt into my

terror cave!




I finally got to sunburned my pussy

Look, Biggie Smalls, come to Momma

I framed your cock in a mudslinging incident


Seriously Kyd

If you ever learn to finish my sentences I'll cut off a shoe

This isn't meant to be a blood match

Maybe you can guess


I would marry

A guy

Who does nothing for me

We who are super sensitive don't necessarily want our skin assaulted

At every turn

For the rest of our natural lives

But come

This is what the limo is for

Everyone expects us to be doing it anyway

They have this neat pull-down window so the driver has something to jack off to

Special perks of being a wedding driver

But no one's a virgin on their wedding day

So come

Feel on Momma's breasteses

Feel on Momma's ass

Rip apart the asspanty

At the seams

Light up that cock

Let's smoke it


Why is this town so dry? Couldn't you get Momma some weed to smoke on her wedding day? I'm sorry I couldn't wait to have sex I had to give firsties to my boy cousin we've been cooking since I was nine—that will never fly.

Um..I'm biochemically incapable of getting off unless the object of my desire is violating my labia in some indescribable manner. Good thing I haven't any brothers.

Can you make me cum with a mechanical toothbrush nevermind just stick your hand down my panties and twiddle me between thumb and forefinger. That's it! You're a natural! No don't go to the bottom of my drawer-drop! Heave-ho! Please don't stray. I look you in the eye and guide your hand to where it's not supposed to be.

Do you feel that? I see it on you. The distinct look of a man who knows what man cum feels like and you! ha! you! hahaha! you have discovered it in the snatch of my silky whites, rolling it between your fingers..devil-catch in my eye..you fish boy terraformer..I hold your hand there..you try to escape..and now you know all those stories are true..everything my uncles warned you of..and I creeping smile..a little treat for you..another man's cum..do you think I hid it for you 'tween my legs throughout the ceremony as you said you did and I said I did I was carrying my cousin's seed in and around the c—c—c—cunt you thought was yours—