Two young boys lay silent on a patchwork quilt that separated their bodies from a muddy, mossy hillside. Humid, heavy air clung to their skin like wet leeches. Frogs could be heard fucking behind a wall of grass while fire flies burned florescent penetrations. The black scales of the cottonmouth vanish into moonlit waters. Snakes lost their legs so we could gain our sight, or so they say. Fingers begin to unbutton jeans. Lips open to taste foreign flesh. His mind begins to wonder: What sort of ghosts haunt these hills? Are they the echoes of weeping Indians? Or are they toothless rednecks riding mad through these hollers fucked up on speed and corn whiskey?
A barn owl screeches somewhere within the depths of a black forest. His lover burns a trail of wet tracks on His naked chest. Spines arch with cosmic pleasure as endorphins drench their brains with sex dope. This was how virginity was meant to be lost. Not in the backseat of a handicap accessible minivan or on the top of a dorm room bunk bed complete with masturbating roommate. No, here they would offer their bodies to Eros beneath eternal constellations. They would consummate their lust on democratic ground because when it came to sex, America had witnessed it all.
The myth of a white Adam and Eve served only to convince those red skinned natives that they were savages in need of a white Christ. Once adequately brainwashed, our indigenous brothers and sisters quickly forgot about their queer seers who had lived among their tribes as prophets and so began the myth of the vanishing Indian. In their place, White Christianity emerged along the eastern seaboard where swarms of European capitalists and Protestant cults began multiplying in a frenzy of sexual reproduction. Why, it was their god given right to fuck and breed and fuck and breed and fuck and breed ‘til this entire New World was nothing but a white sea of Pilgrims. And it must be pure! Not like the Spanish who defiled their kings by fucking Indian squaws and adopting their tongues. No, America would be a pure country. English will prevail here! Yes, we may buy Iroquois child brides and rape Cherokee women, but by the grace of God we will Christianize these bastards!
“How precious is that flow/ that makes me white as snow,” they would sing from their wooden church pews as the charred bodies of New England witches smoldered outside in the town square. Yes, even our own children must be cleansed by fire in this new land. The sodomites and the witches should be gathered up according to their sins and bound by rope to timber poles. Bonfires are to be burned at the foot of these stakes. No witch nor sodomite nor adulterer nor blasphemer nor goat fucking abomination shall be allowed to live within this American Canaan. All must be washed in flames. Specific Bible verses should be read aloud before the demons in order to castrate The Serpent from our midst and into the fires of hell. “No other fount I know/Nothing but the blood of Jesus….”
Love American-style doesn’t end there. We still have the matter of the American Negro to consider. Arriving here in chains, these new American immigrants would discover that sex would become their blessing and their curse. These black people were nothing more than chattel to their white masters. Many would declare that they were not even fully human. How could they be? Their dicks hung down to their goddamn knees! These were not men but monsters! But we must utilize these monsters and build a nation on their whip scarred backs. And like oxen, we must breed them! Sell them! Work them ‘til their bodies drop dead from exhaustion. Oh sweet America! King of cotton and coons! But what of the first silent moment of love between slaves? What of the first two to fuck in wet Alabama fields? Or of the first babe born into a new diaspora of American enslavement? Or the first African mother to see her child torn from her black breasts and sold on the block? Yes, sex could be a vile curse.
Our boys are now naked. Their bodies writhe together in simulated sin. Genitals are fondled with curious pleasure. The air hums with the sound of dying locusts. Diesel trucks can be heard in the distance barreling down dark highway hills. A rifle pops somewhere on the other side of town.
Caravans of white buses roll toward county prisons. Human payloads swathed in orange jumpsuits stare outside dirty windows. He felt as if We were all shackled and sentenced on those buses. It has been said that education makes a nation impossible to enslave. Hollywood begs to differ. We had become hornets buzzing to escape the sugar trap. Our legs scratching the glass pitcher in a plea for help…buZZZbuZZZ…Farewell Freewill! buZZZbuZZZ…Adios Inalienable Rights!
Even in the midst of love, He wasn’t able to abandon these thoughts. They clung to him like perverse stains. Like vicious ticks, they dug into his mental flesh. He asked himself if these visions were prophecy or just bat-shit hallucinations. No answer came.
Hands caress smooth cheeks as fingers loosen up tight holes wrapped in a ball of flesh. Satellites blinked red signals overhead. Lips are locked like they saw them do it in soft-core cable pornos. He hears a whisper brush past his neck and the world seems to stand still in pious reverence. Mouths emit moans as assholes are licked and sucked on. Who knew lust could feel this good?
Many of the sermons He heard as a child damned the whores of Babylon. The preacher smirked at the end of every warning on Sodom and Gomorrah. What was it the old perverted man from Tangiers had once said?
—Something about sexual suppression and how it is the ultimate form of social and political CONTROL.
Forget it now. All He feels is a raging fire inside his chest and a strange sensation that He’s been lied to more than once. Americans stand in lines at the election polls only to find out that they’ve been ripped off once again.
—We will never send your boys into foreign lands to fight foreign wars!
We’ve heard it all before yet bodies still come back shrouded in red white and blue. It was only yesterday that the Negro was allowed to fight alongside his white countrymen. How can we justify killing all these poor darkies if our own can’t even drink out of a goddamn water fountain? So we throw them scraps from the table of integration and we recruit them to fight other red, brown, and sand niggers. And now? Well now it’s the fags who are whining for their equal rights to conquest. Those faggots and bulldykes are demanding we let them into the United States Armed Forces! Even that shit rag the Constitution can guarantee the right to own a 9mm so why can’t queers play Cowboys and Indians like everybody else? I say fuck it all. Let the boys blow themselves up and take their nagging wives and bastard children with them. Fags and dykes make for much better looking neighbors anyways.
Another queer is running for Congress. He looks like one of these all-American types with the football scholarships you meet fresh off the farm right before they have any idea they like to suck cock. Of course he plays up the hetero-card and even drops hints of an ex-girlfriend that conjure up images of him fucking her in the bed of his pickup truck somewhere out there in Illinois prairie land. But it is the pink checkered Ralph Lauren shirt and the tailored white pants that scream FAGGOT! The turquoise belt only adds to the suspicion that not only is he queer but that he prefers a thick dick wedged somewhere between his fuzzy, tight tan ass cheeks. Washington had long been controlled by hordes of queers in pin stripped suites and black rimmed eye glasses. The long standing Republican senator from Florida was infamous for his annual Labor Day church services. That’s what fags call any form of orgy that occurs in or around a pool: Gay Church. Upon entering the back yard, new congregants were welcomed with stares and whispers as the boys began placing bets on who would become the first to drop to his knees and begin sucking off the hung Russian investment banker for the holiday invocation. Legislation and equality were not on any of these faggots’ vodka soaked minds. This was a time for unrepentant sodomy and sloppy blow jobs. A crowd begins to gather around two beautiful boys. Throbbing and erect, they begin to make lust on wet patio furniture. One takes the other inside his ass. The Senator stands at the forefront of the crowd with his dick in his hand. The men surrounding him are sucking and jerking and kissing in unrestrained ecstasy. Sacraments of white hot syrup are shot from the mouths of monsters. The boys continue binging on their obscenity.
Even empires need their perversions.
So with all their Constitutional Rights intact, our lovers go back to sucking bottom lips and ear lobes. Legs are spread wide. Stiff and swollen flesh enters warm mouths. He gags but continues to suck and taste this beautiful thing. His own stiff and swollen thing becomes even bigger and harder as His lover returns the favor.
He closes his eyes as the sound of beating wings echoes within his skull. The universe began to condense into beads of sweat adorning His face. A raging flood swells past dams of decency and the only words that can be released from his lips are, “Oh fuck…Oh fuck…Yes, goddamn.”
Night crawlers squirm from their rotting beds to feast on the body of Manifest Destiny. A swarm of shrieking katydids sounds like an orgy of reptilian aliens. Stars are born in this. Civilizations crumble in this. Nothing escapes this. Lovers attempt to reach this. The mysteries of orgasms ignite within His mind as if it were a kerosene soaked rag. He could hear choirs of doped up angels. The act of anal penetration became a glorious moment of epiphany. Life inside these public prisons held no hope for survival. The oceans were boiling. Car bombs rip through foreign deserts. Noses sting with the smell of burnt spices and charred flesh. Sobbing widows in black babble in Farsi as more decorated war heroes come home to pursue suicide on the crumbling steps of memorial hospitals. Muslim Fascists point their fingers at Western Gluttons. He could hear a canine crying. A degenerate fucks his dog behind locked doors while bankers were molesting their nation in front of a billion eyes. An infected whore dreams of eating a moist slice of her momma’s strawberry cake as Congressmen rub their sour chlorine cum across her purple nipples. Roaches crawl out from radiated shadows in a manic frenzy of disease and survival. Mutant spiders shit out toxic silk: The result of nuclear Holy War. These giant fucked up bugs are the new kings and queens of America.
A snag! Psychic vibrations….roach caught…legs thrash in frantic horror…“No use in fighting chap, the ‘ole queen is already on her way,” whispers a mummified moth…“Best if you jus’ relax and close ‘yer eyes.”
The insect will not accept this fate. He must live…must mate…must survive…must breed…must must must…a sharp glowing pain…a sweet blissful moment as the venom takes control.
Glorious visions of heaven and hell float above their naked flesh like apocalyptic northern lights. His lover enters The Boy’s body and an indescribable power overcomes Him. How could anyone ever possibly explain this? Words are useless. Is this why we fuck in silence? Interludes of primal screams, panting breath, porno moans. Four syllables: I like it rough.
The sound of disco ballads comes through like the peyote dreams of Aztec drag queens. Open assholes are given up as offerings to faggot goddesses. Red seas part and The Boy can see his destiny shining in leather hills. Chains are broken. Roman candles burst into Technicolor rain. Bare feet rest on broad shoulders. A cluster of muscles, limbs, wet lips, firm buttocks, engorged veins grind together in a beautiful mess of homosexuality. A hundred different lines of cheap porno dialogue swim through His thoughts. A voice speaks in the abject darkness of a dirty movie theater while analingus is performed on screen to a score of light jazz.
Faggot ancestors transmit a message from The Land of the Dead: We queers are oppressed because we are in touch with senses that serve no “useful” purpose in the industrial system. The world isn’t ready to believe it is yet again caught in a cycle of revolutionary change. There is a dawn on Rome and the clock is tick tick ticking with sinister clarity. Bitch! Wake up before it’s too late!
He began to question what the term Representative America meant anymore. He pondered her death. Was she still alive somewhere? Out there in space with Elvis and Tupac? Was she ever coming back? Did she even give a fuck? The rebels and the revolutionaries, the prophets and the poets, the shining hopes for the liberation of human consciousness had all been trademarked, all signed to labels, all faces of a fabricated reality of corporate power and industry.
A static voice over the radio: “The President announced today that he would commit 30,000 more U.S. troops to Afghanistan to secure American controlled Afghan provinces. Militant forces have pushed their offensive into the borderlands of Pakistan forcing thousands of Afghan and Pakistani civilians into the crossfire of American drones and insurgent bombs. With the war entering its twentieth year, the President and his Secretary of Defense unveiled a time-table for withdraw that many hope will turn security over to Afghan officials by next spring and reduce American troops in the country.”
Visions of yellow sissies descend from the heavens and bathe the lovers in golden showers and disco ball lights. The sissy boys join the lovers on their bed of grass in a cosmic orgy of naked lust. Minds explode in white light. The Sissies break apart the space time continuum with their dick sucking and ass eating rites of Sodom. Time melts away. All that was has become all there is and all that will ever be. Broken promises CHANGE a new Emperor a new war death in a field of poppies sex on haunted hills these words a black videotape grainy images of a forgotten childhood. Rebel youth dance naked to post-apocalyptic-electro-punk…queer boys fuck for all eternity as pillars of salt…an assassin in the wings…patches of pokeweeds, milkworts, and purple coneflowers…Solomon’s Seal on the breasts of blue-eyed virgins…Icarus buys a one-way ticket home. A recurring dream disappears like burning film reels. His lover holds him in the winds of political absurdities. Orgasms and revelations swirl in a dark cyclone. Male mouths embrace at the moment of ejaculation. Lungs fight for breath. Hearts collapse at the finish line. Lips lock in love for all human weakness while lightening bugs extinguish into a blue grey dawn.
The boys lie exhausted and sweat soaked under the dim light of a new day. They cradle each other in a nest of pure bliss while whippoorwills greet them with their morning songs. August lights seep through the cracks of a nightmare’s shell and rays of sun begin to color The Boy’s bare body. This act of lust had ripped a hole through the veils of their mental solitude. A newborn energy inside His mind awakens and It fills him with overwhelming transcendence. The wars and the deaths and the oppression were seen for what they really were and would always be. The Emperors and their wars…the industrial ruins…landfills and red brick skeletons…the chronic disease of American poverty…streets littered with needles and used condoms…the human Imagination shackled and raped within public prisons…Daddie working for pennies….Momma’s tears…the beautiful boys who beg to be bred…the entire human species bent on self-destruction…and the dirty gold junk that had started it all. He feels a breeze of early morning dew as the sky above them begins to glow above their naked queer bodies. Out of those nightmares and visions of madness, out of those wet dreams and schizophrenic illusions, out of the darkness, out of the prison cells, out of the storm came a voice and It spoke to him saying:
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