Really … a felt marker? Is that all that is required? To write things down. Had I known earlier I’d had taken notes. As it stands, I remain. She is so hot. She kneels on the bed. She pulls down the front of my briefs and my cock springs into action. I watch her mouth open. A woman’s face so close to my sex. Her blonde tresses spill onto my lap. I grab her ass. She comes at me sideways. I want her sex on my nose. My ears are burning as I lick her pussy. She holds me there with her thighs. Rubbing the back of my head. She starts twisting and bucking. I worry about a broken neck. We stare blankly ahead as we make love. She wants to come. I want to come. Go ahead already, she says. Come into my pussy. Zig sleeps in beds of women who adore him. Makes no sense. He is as ugly as a Neanderthal. Fragile. Broken. The world could crush him at a moment’s notice. Zig spends his life bewildered. Fleeing from one place to the next. Flannel shirts. Dungarees. He does not require much. Night becomes impossible. Day. We breathe. We are the bellows of the fire. Exhale. Inhale. Snore if you must. Keep the planet spinning. Atmosphere and all. We make love under an enormous sky. Her buttocks press tightly against my loins. I look at her back. Spine. Shoulders. Under her armpits I can see the curve of her breasts. I yelp a cosmic scream. I always forget what I forget. Then I remember. And it begins all over again. The Being. The walking.
Sixty-eight pages of nonsense. The writer’s job is to be alone. I am never alone. I am haunted by ghosts. Hungry ghosts. The blue-blinking ghosts of Pac-Man. Chasing after you. Like the Kraken. Thirteen thousand words. None of them are mine. I borrowed words from the borrowers. Language is mind control. If you don’t think so, think again. Escape. Be real. Be fake. She is so angry at me. Glaring at me. Wanting me to… what? Am I not enough? Am I too much? I am a handful. I admit. Handfuls of ass. 3:33 pm. We make love in a rough arc. Zig feels her vagina inching down the shaft of his penis. She starts pumping her ass. Incredible. I know not at all what I say. How can I? What? Is it not strange how seagulls use the medium of air in our atmosphere? As fish use the medium of water. Man is so fixed to a horizontal axis by gravity. Books. People. Autobuses. Strange how we keep things going. Keep moving. Even the mind is restless. Especially the mind. Particles bouncing. Ping-ponging against each other. I had a girlfriend. We used to fuck in my bed. It was nice. We made love. Now, all I do is work. Pleasure of the text. Metropolis. Take care, Big Man! See you later, Boss. I was walking. Zooming. Coffee man wished me salutations. I gave him my best Peter Falk impersonation. The hand wave. Serpico under the Hell Gate Bridge. I am a filmmaker. I am an eyeball. New York is a city of empty beer bottles. How can it be otherwise. Somebody has to guzzle the stuff. Easy on the Pilsner. Leave some for me. You and your electronic masks. Ruby Waves. Two faces looking at each other as their groins and hips find each other. Yowling and grunting. Ass-grabbing. His cock has increased in thickness. She feels it through her panties. Through his briefs. They are kissing on a single bed with their jeans off. Fantastic. Unbelievable. At length … approach the glistening. Zig holds up three fingers, five fingers, four fingers. He is doing some weird calculus with his hand. Anybody who sees him thinks he is a madman! A supercomputer! Language collapses. You become a lunatic. Everybody else says something except for you. His hand slides up her skirt and cups her pubic mound. His ass swings to and fro, a pendulum between her buckled knees. She braces herself for an orgasm. Hands balling into fists, grasping the Queen-sized fitted sheets. ”Fuck!” she says. “Fuck!” The endgame is at hand. Possibly a few last moves. The penultimate. It is good one can stop and think between moves. Possibly forever. She is a dazzling lover. No question. I can hardly keep my eyeballs in my sockets. Let alone not tell all my friends at the tavern the next day. I have no friends. I keep our secret to myself. I am discrete. She tells everybody. We are gliding towards Nirvana. Nothing can stop us now, she says. She is on top. I am holding her ass. My palms bigger than she or I imagined. When she comes, we are everybody everywhere. The perplexity of our existence is beyond the beyond the beyond. The bafflings. What else can we call it? Moments of Uncertainty. Pretty much all the time. I hear the clattering of Marley’s chains. Yes. I am terrified. How can I not be? I push the sofa against the metal door. Useless. I wait. I listen. Silence. Buttocks in our hands. A breast in the mouth. The nipple is hard like a pebble. We are twenty-two, twenty, nineteen. We are forty-four. We are eighty-eight. We still want. Tenderness & intimacy eluding us for so long too long, so precious, so rare. Her gaze fixes on my rising cock. I watch her take off her panties. Her sex glistens. We get into position. The excitement. The approach. The angle. We prepare our bodies for too much pleasure. 6.24.73. Stella Blue. Something is wrong, really, what. I sit in a Toyota. I stare blankly ahead. Waiting for something to happen. Now, I am in an apartment. A box. A machine. If you spend too much time writing the electronic interviews, there is no time for the novel. Do not let this happen to you. Is it happening to me? Not yet. Almost. I must fight it! The Kraken! Toast with butter. Marmalade. The number 13666 is terrifying. What does it mean? Word count? She lays back and lifts her buttocks to removes her panties. I lay on my side and I caress her belly. Everybody says stay inside. We are already inside. Peeping through peepholes. Listening. I hear the hum of a television machine. There are thirteen pine slats supporting the single mattress of a bunkbed. I sleep in the wilderness of the imagination. In other words, I do not sleep. Everything is real. Every syllable. Every vowel. She feels with a hand for the cock in his briefs. It comes flying out like a dangerous adder. She starts to giggle. Gives it a fast suck. She wants to fuck. Her pussy charms the snake. Lures it into the dark. The man worships the woman’s small breasts and big ass for the rest of his life. The clangor of steel wheels and a loose underbelly. The machine moves along iron rails. Passengers ignore being in motion. Pretend otherwise. Reading novels. Eating potato chips. The dishwashing machines is washing dishes with boiling sprays of water. The brainwashing machine is washing human brains in electronic whirlpools of information. Click if you like it. Double-click if it gets you horny. We are half-limp plastic people in the exploding Universe. What happens next? Eh? Are you prophet? Are you an engineer? Are you a harpooner? Did you see something in the water? A shadow in the deep? Keep your belly on the boogie-board. Kick a little less. Splash a little less. The Kraken lurks. Submerged. Invisible. Waiting to emerge. Nothing phone. Pick it up. Hello? Nobody. Nobody is there. Or here. Pressed tightly. A backwards glance. Truckin’. 9.10.72. Stop burning fossil fuels. Cannot help it, pal. I am American. It’s just funny to even have language.