Where was I? Oh yes the dream of a pig rooting in the woods, sleep is a little better lately with some wort in the coffee so the winds blow less wildly in the mind, there is less chatter, less flickering of these teary eyes, I try to take walks now too so I am less tired just to be able to spend some time away from the house where the queen of the soldiers was killed, where a teenage boy of simple thinking had broken into, ate the chocolates and played with my ink and brushes on the balcony, left his mark of a few uncertain letters, drawings of a gun and a penis, I thought the gun looked remarkably like a penis and the penis looked remarkably like a gun, ay! such troubles when one leaves home for work or leisure, the plebs revolt and overthrow one’s illusory throne of sanity, and the hottentots break in and defile one’s veneer of civility and prudence, well these render my walks light in the woods and easy in the city, like fluffy white rice steaming in the pot, like the beards of old white men, the ones who live in the periphery of towns and cities, oh how they incite my wickedness, the sight of them! I anticipate walks in cities because of these men, some of them weary, doddering, aged faces and necks, tempting me so sweetly to offer a serving of fleshly pleasures and of the more venerable of them I would plead to grant me the blessing of immeasurable ecstasy, such charitable men of age, men carved of many years for whom the queen of the soldiers die many times, by whom penises are silenced pistols, beautiful in that mute distance between sleeping and waking, between the moth and the pig, between my mouth and savory delights the Johnny Saint Wonder that shuts me up with sucking noises, fills the hazy spaces in my mind with visions of old white men’s legs, necks, breasts, forearms and silver hairs, we both know what we want when you take me home and yet you make us some coffee, eat sweets and listen to music, have some light conversation and you make me laugh loudly, and within the hour I am shrieking loudly over Coltrane’s sheets of sound for all venerable old men know how to lick and suck this woman’s nectar, kill and re-animate this young queen, fire me up with shots of your tongue and fingers, until the generous nectar flows, the first gush slippery and the next a mildly sticky runny sap, the secret of the queen, a gift of nourishment, heaven’s libation, and you too must let me take you, break in through the kitchen window where the knives are silent they know we break in like illicit lovers eternally young, eating predatory sweets, let me mark your body with the verses of my aching fondness for you, let us fuck on the floor and stain this house with our juices, with our sweat, with our lurid stench, we be pigs within pigs, squealing shameless! how splendid when my mind takes such brisk walks!
Fatima Lasay, San Roque
Monday, August 11, 2014