#brux

they had gathered on stage. the room would rise to meet them.

joey wreathed himself in the laurels of an orator.

his, he sculpted in coral.

- the servicemen of the colonial states from which we trace our heritage were legendary for their games of sadomasochistic communal projection.

the flag of our country unrolled. it shone with silken translucence in the light. you saw the colors. the colors you had always known. your heart and your cock -- you stirred and pulsed with the colors. for blood and for liberty. for community and plenty. you were of a people and a land. you were not alone -- when people believed in the land.

- during these days preceding the crystallization of the amazonian ascent -- which some now dubiously call the pre-second empire apostrophe -- for the purposes of siring as many offshoots from the tree of liberty, in order that they may shield the dampness of the forest floor, compulsory exclusive gynephilia was presumed to be the norm for high status males -- as bizarre as that may seem to our more nuanced and conservationist sensibilities.

(- fuckin disgusting's what it is, bro.)

joey would flash a tooth whenever he repressed a thought too foul for air -- too foul for our enlightened age. his head lilted back in the light, and he phased dreamy through the astrolabe of the microphone.

- the word phage which as we all know has come to denote a man of learning was thought during the period of the fraternity states to have been a corruption of that term these, our noble brothers of old, would apply to the projectees of their latent desire -- that word which we know well to induce a mania in our amateur historians -- dating to a time where, much like in our pre-academy years, larval scholars and larval warriors could intermingle well into adulthood -- that most cherished word…

brux's head stuck out from the stock.

he too wore the orals -- the velvet of juvenile antlers. encased in a sack of skin stitched and flayed from the dead, his arms he held against him -- priestly and wormlike, teeth unlatched far down the taper of his hairy ass. his briefs outlined against the skin -- wisps, unrootable as an insect's through the cotton.

- yes, mates. you see, in the old days, all the gents would love to suck cock and have their cocks sucked, except the few on the top for whom this wasn’t feasible. except, none of them could admit it! -- the covert brainwashing apparatus of the colonial states had become so entrenched by the time of the pre-amazonian era, it was taken to have been how'd it always been -- so they’d take the smallest one they could, or maybe one who kinda deserved it, and they would basically gang-rang him or play double-bind games and engage in all manner of methods to assert that this could in no way be them -- that it was better to be helpless. better to accept -- better to admit defeat than how much you craved contact with another man!

psychorrhax unspooled a golden thread. he adjusted him with spins clockwise and counter -- in and out of the orbit of his manipulation.

joey stood statuesque -- in the pause of a beckoning breath.

- in the spirit of fraternity, liberty and egalitarianism, we will now all nut on hux’s face, he who sincerely wishes it least, to celebrate how far we have come from these barbaric times!

brux hung from the ceiling. harnessed in the cross of his rope. his arms rose high behind his back. his legs parted, tied at the ankles, with his knees stretched wider to expose the smooth of his glutes -- the briefs you longed to rip away -- to defile him in the air.

clench your paw over his mouth. down on his blocky fissures. rip him down the middle -- cleaving him ink from skin, and skin from shriek -- as he would gleam red with sweat. clawed by switches.

- paint me like your baby’s new bedroom, boys!

/// )*( \\\

in your country, you kept to the old stories -- and the old stories reflected the truth of men, for men were small things, not like the earth which sprawled beneath you -- she who tethered you to her with soft force, keeping you far from the obliteration that would be eternity without her.

for the shape of man's mind was a constant through time, and the dreams he dreamed remained unchanged no matter how he changed the land. from ape to man to more than man, his leagues of comprehension spiked in bounds as sharp as the steps of pyramid temples -- and we saw in the grain of their harmonic mesh, the logic of concrete time.

(tell me what you wanna know --)

they had plunged them deep into the earth.

the meter of their vertiginous tethers -- those sinuous tethers. who coiled through open fissures into her.

(oh come on, oh come on, oh come on)

into her core, they plunged -- and she shook. by her currents, they took her -- and rode the heat which crested through her.

THESE GIFTS

I GIVE

TO THEE

now from her core, those tethers distended, and they shone like arcs of light within her -- brilliant as tendrils of the corona of the sun -- they shone for her, and they pierced her, and they ate of her -- and she let them, for she in her bounty knew them to be her sons.

OH GRACIOUS

LOA

our mother the earth bore beasts, and the beasts lie in splendor at her feet -- and she bore man, and man ate of the beasts, and man became a beast upon the land. for the beast -- who was woman first -- lay claim to man as man lay claim to land.

OH GENEROUS

LOA

now man had made himself lord of nature, and could freely curse the trees.

(there ain't no motive for this croime --)

now man had made himself equal of the sky, and could freely shift the plates.

the ants came -- you could see them from your branches. could see them gather round -- to fell the tallest first.

amphetamine-fueled where, at the consoles at which they fucked their secretaries, the machinery which man had made slipped through his fingers, and careered into ditches on the side of a road through the acceleration of a wormhole in spacetime we saw only as some familiar sight from a dream we had dreamed one dismal night and half-remembered one dismal day --

for the ants gathered around you with scores of silver teeth, and your branches spanned too high to fan them far, only shade them in their labors -- and with their teeth, they bit at your ankles and gnawed you to the fiber of your bones, to expose your invisible rings --

for the ants came crawling through your veins.

(i know my roights, i've been here all day)

the north african coast decimated the italic peninsula untold epochs ahead of schedule, closing up the mediterranean like a sore, and sweeping away the last of those once ageless things from which we traced the beginnings of our heritage -- and without them, all was confabulation, and what we knew we filled in without knowing we knew, and our past was translucent as heat ripples on a summer’s day in winter, and some nights we lay awake, dreaming of hypothermia on coasts when the warm seas too were houses.

for the seas would cup, and the seas would pour -- as doggerland rose out from beneath the waves. it crested its head as a great hound, and its back arched to receive the warmth of the sun. onto him, the ants would march, and from him the ants came marching.

now there was no wall between britannia and eurasia, only between eurasia and africa. we had dreamed what we never dared dream, the restoration of our lands to its whole -- the unity of east and west -- into a united gondwanian mainland.

(-- and it's toime)

for vivacious and bashful laurentia -- our sister above -- looked to our cousin eurasia, and coveted to be whole with him, as we coveted to be whole with you -- our brother whose skin shone black as soil, whose hand we struggled to grasp across our ever-widening gulf.

for laurentia, our sister who was our mother, was our cousin, too -- for from her did britannia seed the colonial states, as from her did iberia seed us -- and the colonial states breed us, too -- and from her came the fraternity states, and from us the sorority states, and we bred one another and were amazonia, the united north and south -- a tower to bring light to the frozen sun which chilled us with a bleak and acrid cold -- the eons we sat alone in the black ice looking to lights over mountains we knew to never see again.

though we were not whole when we were amazonia -- for in our hearts we yearned to be gondwana, for this was our way -- and the way we knew to bring light to the world. though for the price of our yearning, we were to become one and alone on our side of the world.

(she said she loved me)

-- for laurentia, weary without us, bore carvings across herself, and lay in cruel passivity to welcome any ravishment.

(but she had somewhere to go)

by their matrices, they bore into her -- promising to look, and to care for her -- and she did not stop them.

the shape of the mining algorithm, its unending nodes and ridges, sifting through her bowels -- seized her -- and her waters shook as though she had hands to seize her bedding.

(she couldn't scream)

from the crown of the alaskan coast and from the scepter of nunaat at the king's far end, to that bend which cupped the gulf of empires abandoned -- the lush steps of those stones which were of men and of gods -- where men once suffered to tie an umbilical across that cesarean of her unspoiled expanse -- her every fertile peak and valley -- every zone where her herdsmen lived -- the young and the old, the rich and the poor, the sick and the able -- their great metal cities which tore at the stratosphere, those marvels of engineering no man could make, for no man was bold enough to claim the sky -- their cities which sprawled across the dry beds where the lights once shone on walls, and they tended gardens first with silver, then squares of color and data -- their purple mountains magistrate, their vast and unconquerable prairies, their dead land, and their cactus land, where they channeled the force of water to dazzle desert nights with replicas of things which were, but never were, for reminiscence made illusions of them all -- the grey cities cloaked in smog, where the flares and toils of industry once burnt, and faded into the silence of a cold broil -- the bright cities they built on swamps which overlooked lakes, which flourished in their pomposities of wind -- and all the farms, and the foxholes of the wooded towns, and the men and women in their houses, and the children they kept, and the animals they pampered, and all their objects of metal and wood, so plentiful on that land which had given them so much -- the primeval pine rains which were older than men -- we bore down into her guts by the fury of our claws and teeth -- and we ate of her, the clockwork of our metal maws, tooth after razor tooth, rending bark from bite.

(when i held her close)

over these stones -- over the gouged and gyred land -- the pacific rushed to kiss the atlantic -- and the flatlanders clinging to their islands where they sprouted naught but filth kissed at the temples of their infant skulls and rose into heaven, for at last, they knew what they had always known -- what they repeated so often, and cheapened as often with their falsity -- that these laurentians, who called themselves amalricans, were all created equal.

(i swore i'd never)

for it was this land whose corps was our corps, whose boys were our green boys who fought for us since the war of the two georges --

and they could have never seen -- what they with their own eyes refused to see.

(let her go)

though you should have seen -- when the old hungers flared up.

a fasted gut -- ravenous to sicken itself --

will split on what it cannot stomach.

(AND THEN YOU WHISPER IN MY EYUGH)

these men, they called you their own.

they called to her, and they coaxed her.

how could they do to her --

(to their own --)

(I KNOW WHAT YER DOIN HEYUGH)

(-- their own country)

for she was for them to take --

for every beautiful face --

was as a banner billowing in the breeze.