I was exhausted on the bus and drifting into a kind of fitful half sleep and a bald man was in the seat in front of my own, and in my delirious dream-like state I thought that my baby – who is also bald – was sitting on my lap, and I felt myself leaning forward to kiss her on the top of her bald head which was in fact the bald head of the bald man in the seat in front of my own, and fortunately I stopped myself from doing it before my lips made contact with his tufty skin and I would’ve had to explain just what exactly I was doing. I dreamed you were my baby. Such are the perils of parenting. If you hear racist youths on the bus should you tell them to shut it, as in “the fuck up”? There was some yod-dropping Norfolk bumpkin in tracksuit and grease saying how he’d seen a black boy “so black he was shiny”, and one of his friends told him he was racist and he said he wasn’t being racist, just describing him, and I turned and said in fact it and by extension he was racist, and he blushed and told me it was none of my business. It’s the quandary of tolerance– should one tolerate intolerance? Should one sit back while injustices unfurl around them? In London there was an oafish slob shouting at and eventually pushing at his female companion, both drunk apparently, but she was telling him to “get off me”, to “stop stop”, and being drunk myself I suggested he leave her alone as she clearly wasn’t enjoying it, and he punched me in the face for my trouble, and neither the few friends I was with (including the sister of an ex-girlfriend who I had been in love with for a half decade [the sister, not the ex-girlfriend; years later we would finally kiss – I mean we had before once or twice {once} but only ever in such a way as felt like the reluctant concessions made to a friend at the end of a rough week – with something akin to passion, outside of a pub in New Cross where we had drunk for a few hours in near silence, only pressing into each other with increasing desire as the time passed, her toes against my flanks, my head buried in her hair, curled together like serpents, pulling away between lengthy slurps to look at each other’s faces, and she urged me to go back to her place but for reasons that I cannot comprehend even now I refused, only kissed her some more times, and refused again, and left reeling and wired and hysterical with lust, and on the train home thought about what might have occurred as I have ever since, about her genitals bared in a dark street, about cunnilingus pressed up against university property with a leg over my shoulder, about my cock in her mouth, about fucking her, finally, while she writhes and mutters, and softening and oiling her tremendous little arsehole and going at it that way, gripped around me like a psychopathic aggressor, about the pair of us left clammy and expended on her soft mattress with the door to the garden wide open to the morning, I should have gone, should have, should. We hooked up a week or so later, a day in the park, the pub, intense frisson, uncontrollable erections, and when I left we kissed again, more calmly by then, tender as children, as though we had all the time in the world; we haven’t spoken since, the copulation left as a thing only of imagination]) nor any of the other many passengers on the bus came to my aid – though the female companion called me a gentleman as she alighted with her abuser. The easy thing is often the wrong thing and we must not be complicit in the wrongs of the world or else be the cause. Welcome aboard. The girl, vile girl, belched loudly in defiance of decency. Her face was a smudge of features, remnants of an ill-resolved cleft palate that had entrenched her with the very psychosocial problems of which the belching was no doubt symptomatic, wilfully abetting her obvious misfortunes with acts of digestive hostility. She was a mean-hearted bigot, a Norfolk soul, slurring muttered insults through her own speech impediment at passing pedestrians, the wonderful irony of the truly ugly sitting in the harshest judgement of the appearance of others. The belches shook like seismic events with every turn of the bus wheels, superseding language, any communication with her couple of grotesque friends reduced to bodily noises, emissions, grunts, farts, endless dreadful laughter. Was there no sense of silence, the under twenties deafening the sound of their own pointlessness with a barrage of biological commentary. They would fall asleep eventually, ten or so miles out of the city, shattered by the intake of oxygen from the spasm of their diaphragms. One fat driver closed the doors as the final passenger before changeover alighted in the city and a gathering crowd waited in a vicious breeze to be permitted access for the return journey. They relished the flaunting of such meagre authority, the drivers, idly watching the waiting watching until arbitrarily they deemed it time. He hunched over the steering wheel behind which his fat scarcely fit as though falling asleep or squinting upon a small font but soon was seen to hook a thick squat cock from his fly and then shepherd it to popping while the assembled watched aghast. The bus reeked of glans when they boarded, face as red as slapped hide, the exertion of pleasure almost too great. A mournfully pale teen wandered the commercial areas waiting for transport to the barren coastal town that heaves with spent opportunities and miscarried enterprise and in which he resides with his two parents who are themselves emblematic of such miscarriage. He had incredibly short arms, unusually so, as though suffering from a mild achondroplasia, despite his being of average height, his minor hands balled in fists in front of his immense fleshy pectorals that like meringue attain firm peaks visible beneath his attire, his feet equally inconsequential, perhaps an eight, perhaps less, such judgements can be difficult during motion. Little feet little soul and little ponce also. He bore the hallmarks of the fan of the metallic musical genres, adorned in clumsily applied eyeliner that appeared spooned on in darkness and greasy black locks scraped back into a stump of pony tail, a ghostly moustache smeared like food across his philtrum, a memory of a moustache, an allusion to the possibility of one, and on the rear of his black hoody was written in a large serif typeface “The streets were lined with a mixture of faeces and gore”, and I thought this a ridiculous and strange mantra to exhibit on the rear of one’s garment. Beside him was a tall fellow in ill-fitting black jeans streaked with mulch, a red flannel shirt, a pristine Marilyn Manson t-shirt, obviously new. They walked some feet apart but were evidently together, testing the costumes of nobodies and doing so very convincingly. She was cruel looking and sharp featured and sat only with her partner, a tall nonentity stuffed with teeth who in a child’s voice spoke of the motorcycle projects he undertook with his father and showed pictures of engines, fenders, various components that he kept on his phone. They seemed an unlikely coupling, she viciously gossiping about the transgressions of college associates and he thinking only of motorcycles, but appeared committed to one another in the way that the slim pickings of the rural townships that encircled the city instilled in their populace. On a late bus with a paucity of passengers, likely they’d been on the drink, their cheeks were flushed and they hummed of fruity ciders, she bade him finger her, down to the knuckle, with scant regard for privacy. The sloppy sound of his moving fingers, of the flesh of her cunt at work, were audible over the engine. As she approached orgasm she began to chirp like a songbird, a trill glissando from deep in back of her throat, an odour of flatus freed by the violence of her muscular contraction. He closed his eyes and pictured motorcycles cleaned and reassembled. “I’m skinny for my height.” Bird faced, thick hair, a non-entity. Most are until our twenties, even older. Clawing around for some key identifier that never comes. May I amount to more than the sum of my parts. “But even as a skinny guy I’m weak. Particularly. Only I can’t become stronger. No amount of effort will grant me the muscle of the better.” Cargo fashion slacks, elasticated waistband, two feet of pulled drawstring, pulled up above the navel. Didn’t know they existed outside of the end pages of the tabloids of middle England. The slack for the very thin and the very fat. Comfort and style, although not style. Comfort only. A slippery looking fiend creeps into the throng at the crowded bus stop, great pink lips like a couple of pink eels, grossly pallid, straight grey hair falling like coarse fronds about his huge ears, he presses up to the advertisement hoarding, elbows past the elderly and crippled, leather jacket in the cut and style of a blazer, desperate to board first despite the bus being empty, panicked, face a wash of reds and similar and greys and similar, spam a great plain of bulging veins, black boots that looked as though he’d sculpted them himself out of kids modelling clay, chomping at the bit for entry, squirming for it, why, cunt nabs the same seat every workday, but he’s crouching, crossing his legs like he’ll piss himself quickly. Please driver, grant entry. Cleave! Imagine his head cleaved open. I do. Cleave! Split down the middle like a prepped nut. CLEAVE! On comes Nanny Red – must be 60 if she’s a day. Always puts a smile on your face. It will be a fitting epitaph, when the time comes. A career whore. Best hand job in the eastern counties. Can work her palm across the top of the tip like poured custard. Knocks your legs out. She doesn’t fuck anymore, doesn’t need to; she was always a shrewd businessperson, paid into her own pension, retired from the more demanding acts by 45, but in her heyday she was mythic across the towns for her indiscriminate approach to the construction of utter pleasure, worked her tricks like marionettes, carefully aligned with their place in her narrative. They would count out their currency with trembling fingers and ponder how life could be the same after such enormity of feeling. She was a big fat bastard now but still turned cocks to rock, still forged fearsome desire like a skilled smith, and she still did the odd fast-five, for the art more than the pennies – the market had changed considerably since the days of (her) empire, lucky to scrape a tenner for an old-fashioned these days, less in the sticks; the ubiquity of porn had made the humble okie-dokie a precursor, at best, to something bigger, certainly not the grand finale; the lads of today wanted the endpumps of their hasty denouement to be rectally sleeved, the shoot-out facially deposited, or else cream-pied and foaming and Instagram fresh, so were the tropes we were fed by the erotic custodians of millennial lust. So fickle, the tastes of the flesh, ever in thrall to trend. There’s a pair of genuine anomalies, birthed as adults from the foul Norfolk quag, loud, thick, near toothless, the coarse thorny chin of lefternmost, the face sunk in on itself, imploding into its own catastrophe, nylon, muck, tapered ankles, corrective footwear, Velcro fastening, beige undergarments, genuine confusion, caged beasts turned free after decades, blinded by the patina of reality. Beneath a woollen bonnet – in June! – he blew raspberries, presumably unconsciously, with every exhalation, certainly a strange tic, but did not during conversation, if it could be considered as such. “Smartphone?” “Yepyep”. “You understand it? Understand how it work?” “Off outten Great Yarmouth amorrow.” “Oh yepyep.” “Gettern dustpan’n’brush’ll fer me sister.” “It’s’n day out hintut.” “Day out.” “That be the Thai place.” “You like Thai boyo?” “That I do.” “What’ll it be? Pasta spaghetti?” “Noo yer fucken mawkin, it be different items.” “My heart, life be a rum ole job life be.” “Do he do as he do do.” “Backards en forrards.” “Fare y’well’n.” The gaps punctured by the blown raspberries that went unmentioned by the other passengers, too cowardly to draw focus towards such obvious deficits. The civic operatives had constructed a portal for the eels at New Mills Yard, allowing passage for the slimy bastards past the torrential sluice and its gathered bobbing detritus, part of a misjudged river regeneration project to return the once navigable, now shit river to the centre of the city – floating businesses, outdoor bathing, formalised walking routes. They’d have to clean up the johnnies and syringes first, pressure wash the goose shit. Reassemble lost faith. All of it. They’ll not have mine. “Dauntless Rubberline,” fuckin ha ha, “this is for you.” Fuckem. I’ve a note or three about me, perchance I could sling one to Nanny Red, have her slop me out while I wreak squalor and agony amongst the commuters. Such scant hope for society when even the educated classes of which I am one choose depravity. A simpering young mother tiptoeing on razor heels dropped her baby, poor ruddy dolly flipped in its car seat off the back of a travel system it hadn’t been properly affixed to, hit the pavement with a thump that turned my guts, left hanging in darkness beneath the upturned seat; she bent for it, the mother, gripped to her champagne Huawei, trembling with that dreadful realisation of what might be, but the kid was okay, sobbing, blonde, floppy, incredibly red, but apparently not unusually so, and she said to a passing enquirer “why do they test us like this?”, and inevitably I imagined death and thought that if there was a test of competency set by the infants to entrap their inept guardians, which there wasn’t, then – if there was – she had failed it admirably. She’s left me/without a word/and her/the other/they’ve all of them gone. Raiders cap, I'll open you and bleed you over my balls you interminably fat fuck, you coughing oaf. And then this fuckin sad sack, fuckin paprika moustache, block of muddy hair, mute nobody, jeans so blue they’re white, Christian bookshop carrier bag, bus pass, stood stick straight waiting for the bus to stop, small talk black hole, all suggestions of conversation consumed into his void. Pathetic face, probably a destroyer of a kind, some depraved fundamentalist disguised behind misfortune. All roads then lead to cunt, like the creases of her jeans as she seats herself all sink into the unsinkable vessel. Her fingers are long and thin, slender, inches of curled white nail that would reach back and pull the lips of her cunt apart, God forbid she put her phone down, tits aloft with the perk of youth, child’s nipples really, fine points, poles of the perfect hemisphere, the geodesics of her naked flesh, tea cakes, whispered, TEA cakes, I’m salivating with impulses I’m too pathetic to curb, her knees like toffees beneath he gaping slashes in her denim as is of fashion once more, though saw me – along with the Bermuda short kid – banned in my day in ragamuffin hand-me-downs and a “relax” t-shirt some twenty-five years previous from all non-uniform activity, and I the vanguard, and now they’re all at it, slit jackets, bare backs, her eyebrows an arch construct of her own doing and shaped in assurance of tremendous carnal promise. I would disrobe her bit by bit and would relish her judgement, or adequacy or otherwise, would take her critique on board, then silence her with aggression as sheathless I’d slip from cunt to arse, finish with a shit rimmed dickhead saucing where the cunt ends, tears a serenade. Next came a red faced woman with staggering tits distended out of the sides of her dress, sipping a tepid long drink out of a Tommee Tippee bottle, could smell the vodka over the tinned pineapple, who boarded with Debbie, a gruff voiced brute, 5 ‘o’ clock shadow, receding thatch, ovoid bulge in the leggings, where the balls were. I’d have Debbie’s cock worked while the poor old fellow grunted out. She bent to retrieve change and I saw the gusset of her soiled pants, waning twixt her raw chapped thighs, soaked by Debbie’s persistent advances, roving paws. There was a buttock-faced pimp who it was rumoured had defecated onto the door handle of a flatmate as reprisal, but in an act of amazing thickness had had a friend film it for social media and since had his life ruined, his friends, his family, his work colleagues, all of them now intimately familiar with the rhythmically contracting muscles of his working anus. Vicar boy boarded, 70s, face as red as raw genitals, dog collar, button-down black despite the dreadful heat, poor twat tripped on part of the step assembly and smashed his face pretty hard when he went down, ha ha, nice one, Lord, you fuckin clown, ha ha, there’s joy there right, even the holiest done by circumstance, it’s justice of a sort, right, the fearsome wrath of the non-existent; there were some blood specks in his white goatee, the hair on his neck sodden in sweaty clumps at the lower rim of his panama. Reading the bible – fuck, there are other books, like, other fictions, you fuck. Why not them – Bible’s nothing new you sexless husk. And you madam – you going to cry? Fuckin clutching the seat in front like you’re on a fucking fairground ride. Don’t shit yourself, we’re all going to die. I had been the unconscious perpetrator of an historic sexual assault, when in the moment of happening passion one’s determination, grit, persistence, hint of forcefulness, felt like fair game for courtship, the way to go about things, and not the imbalance and disregard it in fact was and would come to be. She younger, Christian, proficient in kissing but sexually inexperienced (she had claimed that her few attempts at coition with her previous boyfriend had failed because her cunt was simply too small); I plied her with Archers and lemonade and took her back to my stark mattress, and we kissed and groped for hours into the night, and though I knew she didn’t want to screw I made my case in assertive gestures, and I was charismatic in my way, made her feel like she felt excited, stripped her of her clothes, clawed at her flat chest, fingered her utterly dry cunt in the dark room lit by the LCD display of my hi-fi, the hollows around her rib cage, and laid out like that she appeared scarcely more than a child, but I was drunk and young and selfish and I wanted to pop, and I kept at her and at her, licked her up and over like a sloppy lolly, went down on her, flipped her about the bed, tried to get the tip in through her closed legs, felt her pubes on mine, humped down in her direction, inexpert untargeted stabs in the dark, and in desperation and appeasement she began to clumsily fellate me, her oesophagus a bludgeon, all teeth, palate, devoid of pleasures, and I finished myself to a mess on the white of her stomach; she didn’t say no, I insist on it, she didn’t say stop, but I knew she wanted to and still I didn’t, and is why I was so offended when she casually mentioned to a friend that I had raped her, which seemed patently false – I hadn’t so much as got it in! – and also shamefully precise, an abuse of the power I hadn’t known I had but over a drunk seventeen year old had in abundance. To feel guilt now borders on senseless but these ways of seeing cast dismal woe over the impulsive narcissistic inadequacies of my formative years. The driver, awesomely fat, limped from his seat clutching a flat, white, sweat-mottled cushion from beneath his arse, which he placed on a vacant seat and sat a while, his trousers faltering beneath his guts at half-mast, his pinprick eyes and nondescript features like the aspects of a thin face peering helplessly from within the swelling waters of morbid obesity. He was nil but his fat. And it was that girl – not the ex-girlfriend but her sister, the sister of the ex-girlfriend – it was she who broke me, or who like a twisted Oxfam campaign gave me the tools to break me in perpetuity; I loved her with such pointless devotion that I had to be broken to survive her absence. I’d made her my whole life and without her was only vacancy; she wasn’t around corners in museums, she wasn’t reading on my bed in odd socks, she wasn’t making tea, answering the phone, she was nowhere at all but somewhere else. How do you convalesce from a loss of this stature. I don’t. Failed to reassemble the fragments of decency. As she stretched recumbent and moaned a little and raised her arms up above of her head her armpit appeared a perfect vagina, its shape, its dimensions, and I was paralysed by the need to finger it, to trace its lines with my index fingers, to lick it out, to – of course – fuck it. I commonly scoffed at such obvious fetishization but for this not a bit of it. Years of life lost with her. If I saw her again would things be different. Nothing changes. I recognise that shuffle – Rita de Passage, ceremonial fundament of near every local lad’s erotic development. Like the unwilling vessel of genetic necessity she had borne young but had done so exclusively by caesarean section, ergo, she would assure the assembled congress of imminent suitors all vying for first dibs, cunt like a twelve year old – an obvious falsehood, if for no other reason than the sheer weight of cocks that had ensconced themselves within, for however brief a session – though remarkable Kegel strength did afford a certain ham fisted grasp, it was true. Now you, you slimy bastard, you leather lipped piece of prick – my, I can think the talk – I’ll hold your flopping wodge of banana skin hair while I scald your shit face with fucking spoons. I’m not aroused by violence but it interests me, hardens me also, I suppose, if I’m truthful; the old swell, feel it in my jeans with every thud of fist on flesh. Iron whiff of spilt claret. Finally fucking moving. I have tried to be a better man. I can’t atone. Misanthropy intersects with ego. Was there a festival on, a performance. Everyone in the street clad in white hoods. Was there a festival. There’s nothing to see with my eyes closed. There’s nothing. There’s. Eye holes cut in the hoods. Nothing. There’s. White cuts. Eyes. Slit. Nothing. There’s. There’s nothing. There’s. There’s. There’s. Holes. Eyes. Nothing. There’s. White xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx The bus was parked in a clearing in dense pine forest, out Shorthorn, out Strawless, the trees tall and straight like the vestiges of a lost civilization. The ground outside was swathed in brown dropped needles that champed under foot. The utter swine, the cretins and cunts who passed for passengers, all were alighted, the top deck barren and stifling. My hands were tied together and to the seat back. I tried to pull them free but the binding was clean. Sweat decanted in torrents over my brow, into my eyes. One hoped for life to amount to something more than this but expected if anything less. I tried to blink the brine out enough to see. Through the condensation on the bus windows. The assembled figures were hooded in white, had formed a circle around a large fire. Their naked bodies were scarred keloid with occult geometry. Several individuals had been recently branded with a specific collation of runic symbols across their breasts, the flesh raw and weepy, though they exhibited little discomfort. A fawn was tethered to a stake, of sobering beauty, appeared almost mythic when not decomposing and bloated on the shoulder of the A140. One of the hooded figures, great sacks of breasts scribbled blue with complex venule networks, entirely hairless pudendal cleft dangling in two slack halves like a tectonic fault, approached the frightened animal and knifed its trachea and delved the knife around deep and carefully widened the hole and held its head still while it jerked spastic and bucked around, legs going like a gragger, and she lifted her hood a way and pressed her mouth to the jetting blood and seemed to drink it like ambrosia. She stepped back and carved the head from the creature and effluvia slopped in gory lumps from the neck and fell upon and around her feet. I was pleased to see Nanny Red when the hood was removed, dear old Nanny Red. She held the fawn’s head afore her own to the jubilation of all, a grim mask of clear black eyes coolly clouding over. A hooded male with a pitiable erection approached the slain body and with little ceremony began to fuck the neck stump. Most of the remaining celebrants started to copulate indiscriminately amongst themselves, an engorged fluid blur of mutable flesh, though some handful adorned with ornate regalia chanted incantations and soused unguent upon the tremendous blaze. The noise of the chanting and the sight of the fornication left me feverish. Their acts of depravity would draw the horror of history from the trees and earth about them. After a time a very fat male broke from the entanglement and gathered the recently branded females and with the assistance of others proceeded to subsume them into the fire’s very core. Their flesh caught quickly like meat, contracted and tightened and blistered and crackled, softest parts gone in a moment, their screams concealed somewhat by the loudening chants and by the groans of release, and when they tried to escape from the unbearable heat as of course they did they were pushed back into the blaze with a number of long iron poles and held there in place until their screams soon silenced and their cremated forms crumbled cooked and unrecognisable amongst the coals. It was compellingly unfamiliar and I could not bear to watch, though did, completely. Complicit in my spectatorship. How quickly they became not human, scarcely even mammal. Food, spoiled food. I turned from the window and Nanny Red was before me, the moustached passenger behind her. She was caked in drying blood. She jabbed at my face and my body. She crept around me. She did not speak. She stood inches away and turned her back and bent forwards and pulled her buttocks open and bared her anus, wide and rimmed with blood, and pushed it into my face and I slathered it hungrily without a splinter of want. She extracted and towed my dick out and worked it manually into something dense and took a knife from the moustached passenger and sawed it off at the root and blood all over there was all over there was blood xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
an master an majesty I poked the little severed thing up me and I fucked me with it reet afronta him and he were blacking out’n boyo slap him up to keep him up an say ar ya reet bor an he were fucken lolloping he were and blarin an crockin an thas a fucken rumun areet we reckon he wanta see it an’ I fuck it till it wrung out like a fucken dirty sock hintut an me boyo drant he mawkin bonce up fer a gawp an I shew him when I pull the fucken stannicle out o’me troshel an cast it up me gob an drant it down t’swallowed xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx passed out and back and out my head was bobbing and nodding and my screams sounded separate like tape recordings and blood there was all over there blood I was puking awful fibrous chunks there was burning my nostrils and chunks there was all over blood and there was over all chunks blood there all was fibrous bilious chunks there was blood the moustached passenger sawed hacked really sawed my wrist my hand blood all over and chunks fibrous chunks and my hand dropped as litter and the stump spat the moustached passenger blood Nanny Red all over there was fibrous chunks stump passenger Red and all over blood over all and he the moustached passenger pushed me pushed my legs around the stump all the while spitting blood all over and there was fibrous chunks snagged he pushed and bared and gripped my forehead and held my eyelids open and his thin little dick and there was blood so much of it all over and fucked me and Nanny Red cut out my tongue while he fucked me and swallowed it as I great clots swallowed while he fucked me wrought delirious with iron and all over chunks and all over blood there was all over such viscera that had been of me and was now not and he fucked me and Nanny Red was and all over was I was my was all there wasxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
an him’n dew keep a troshing fumble fisted at he rum chute, got on um an he illun wus up, an he mob a rumun when I had his slug out an necked his lingo, an he fuck’um suffun savidge he do, roid him up atill he war up, an afore he cast out guzunder, afore he crocking an puckaterry, we hull him atop and over skoots an over troshel an out of the bus and forrards down atop the slar a pines as tarl em drift xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx handless dickless tongueless I wondered there was such blood I wondered had justice been I wondered all over blood viscera I I there wondered all over handless dickless tongueless I wondered how could I not I wondered has justice I wondered has justice been meted out in this trinity of absence I wondered and all over was blood for my stumps were many such was justice I wondered xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
we staked him down for master an majesty as were his lot as hoddy-doddy offerings by sky as air as burn we offer this up master an majesty we offer up to you we do we bred an born we be fer yor darkness me master hear me blar bear us out from ahind a pootrud shiver o’ life xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx they soused me in noxious elixir my hair and eyes in my nose the sting of my stumps my trinity of justice meted soused all over there was xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
master an majesty hear me blar it hear my offering to sky to xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx they had me down and soused and my anus done in and soused and three stumps blood all over there was and soused and I was down I was and soused and blood given over to xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
and he ablaze like phlogiston his crockin sonorous licked aflame he body and he now as ameant fer thee master an perchance we as arst fer y’ lug an yer honour to see as fit fer a foison annum ya reet xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx taste myself cooking I the sousing roared through it I can it roared through my passages it there was I can it dried the it was very hot everything dried even the everything that was all over had been now was not was dried I could taste and it was hot and all over there was xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
master we xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx I was soused I was xxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
not a deen xxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx all over I was all xxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
nor a drant xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx over xxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
nor a fucken nothing
