“Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen!” the preacher banged the can of Cambell’s soup like a gavel on the plexiglass podium, and finally a silence fell. “Ladies and gentlemen—I am here to speak of God’s production line. Because Christ died for your sins. Yes, brethren, Christ died for your sins. Which is to say that Christ, all the Christs, died and continue to die in order to facilitate your sins, the ongoing commission of your sins. Not to atone for them but to enable them. Or if he (they) do not die, they endure for your sins that quality of life which is the very (ine)quality of life that makes possible the quality of life which you enjoy without realising or appreciating it.”
A huge belt of sound went back through the audience—boos, hisses, cattlecalls and a general roar of protest. The preacher stood dumbfounded, and the MC intervened, taking the microphone, clearing the preacher away, hailing loud with his loudhailer mouth, “Fuck religion, boys and girls, I give you… Miss Arya Atombomb!”
YeeeeeeaaaaaaAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!! the joyous roar jostled back through the crowd, and at that very moment she appeared, teeming with diamonds, waffling with perfume, soaking in postmodern theory. The moment her hand met the microphone it turned into a dildo and she sang into it with a voice like Doris Day on a beltsander, “Every boy… and every girl… every woman… every child… every voting citizen… deserves three magic beans.”
The crowd stirred, the crowd whirred in a general orgasm. At last the booths were opened and everyone hurried massing into queues, squabbling eager, and one by one as the hours flicked by like flashlights they posted their souls into the blind ballot box, and one by one they filed away to jam up the mouth of the cinema, chatting happily together about things that had happened five minutes ago and people they hadn’t met yet, and all the best places to buy discount vouchers in bulk packs. In the packed cinema they sat like a tribunal, and in front of them there was lowered an immense mirror, the size of a filmscreen, and they sat there contentedly watching themselves eating popcorn, persuaded by the sight of themselves enjoying it to buy more popcorn, until demand exceeded supply and popcorn sold out and the whole place exploded.
Outside on the street, there was one man left alive—an old man with halitosis in daggy pajamas—and he found the Campbell’s soup can, and opened it, and ate the soup out of it slowly with his fists, like a scavenger sucking raw egg.

I thought I'd provide an old post of mine with some context...


***
Overture - Ovary Oratory

“Ladies and gentlemen! Ladies and gentlemen!” the preacher banged the can of Cambell’s soup like a gavel on the plexiglass podium, and finally a silence fell. “Ladies and gentlemen—I am here to speak of God’s production line. Because Christ died for your sins. Yes, brethren, Christ died for your sins. Which is to say that Christ, all the Christs, died and continue to die in order to facilitate your sins, the ongoing commission of your sins. Not to atone for them but to enable them. Or if he (they) do not die, they endure for your sins that quality of life which is the very (ine)quality of life that makes possible the quality of life which you enjoy without realising or appreciating it.”
A huge belt of sound went back through the audience—boos, hisses, cattlecalls and a general roar of protest. The preacher stood dumbfounded, and the MC intervened, taking the microphone, hailing loud with his loudhailer mouth, “Fuck religion, boys and girls, I give you… Miss Arya Atombomb!”
YeeeeeeaaaaaaAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!! the joyous roar jostled back through the crowd, and at that very moment she appeared, teeming with diamonds, waffling with perfume, soaking in postmodern theory. The moment her hand met the microphone it turned into a dildo and she sang into it with a voice like Doris Day on a beltsander, “Every boy… and every girl… every woman… every child… every voting citizen… deserves three magic beans.”
The crowd stirred, the crowd whirred in a general orgasm. At last the booths were opened and everyone hurried massing into queues, squabbling eager, and one by one as the hours flitted by like flashlights they posted their souls into the blind ballot box, and one by one they filed away to jam up the mouth of the cinema, chatting happily together about things that had happened five minutes ago and people they hadn’t met yet, and all the best places to buy discount vouchers in bulk packs. In the packed cinema they sat like a tribunal, and in front of them there was lowered an immense mirror, the size of a filmscreen, and they sat there contentedly watching themselves eating popcorn, persuaded by the sight of themselves to buy more popcorn, until demand exceeded supply and popcorn sold out and the whole place exploded.
Outside on the street, there was one man left—an old man with halitosis in daggy pajamas—and he found the Campbell’s soup can, and opened it, and ate the soup out of it slowly with his fists, like a scavenger sucking raw egg.

(The End. Ovation. Ovulation).

~Bulging Cheeks~

They stepped into the donut shop. There were too many donuts. The boy looked up on the counter instead, where there were advertisements. There was a dish full of small change, and over it there was a cheery bright sign that said:

"Need a penny? Take a penny! Got a penny? Give a penny!"

The boy looked about to check noone was looking. Then he stretched up, grabbed a handful of coins, and stuffed it into his mouth.

the unsung tongue

I can't decide which I prefer:

1.

She held the cage up high and said to her grandmother in excitement, "Look - I have two birds."

Her grandmother looked. "No," she said slowly, and reached out, and opened the door of the cage. The birds flew out, circling bright and singing, and the little girl watched them. "Now you have two birds," her grandmother smiled.

2.

She held the cage up high and said to her grandmother in excitement, "Look - I have two birds."

Her grandmother looked. "No," she said slowly, and reached out, and opened the door of the cage. The birds did not fly away. "Now you have two birds," her grandmother smiled.

hallo darling

i got ur SMS but phone a wee shade crazy thinks it has no service. had a fantastic weekend! plenty of cows and mudsquelching and pushy horses. and it was a beautiful place, no noise roads houses anything. phew. and all this weird old shit and 'condensed books' on the shelves, except the condensed books were shit to start with - like, condensed pulp.