Posts Tagged ‘rc’

Stephen D. said something about the briny spume and all the punters – Daisy, Moustache, Faulkner, Hunter, Davida, Johnson, and Bartholomew, got into a brand new Taureg just off the lot and drove to the beach. The beach was snot-green and Moustache had a cold and a cough. Moustache’s cough caused the mucous to spray the dying embers of a bonfire left behind by bohemiams hoping for a new world. They’d burned their underpinnings. This was not relevant to Faulkner, Hunter, Johnson, or Davida. Daisy wanted to be a dominatrix or a writer. Moustache was hurting from the sinuses. The stars, too. They were circling somehow behind the sun and clouds. They were waiting. Moustache knew this like he knew he had a clavicle. Like he knew his uncle’d jerked off to a young girl masturbating. It was all written down somewhere. Bartholomew was not writing it because Bartholomew was entranced by the orifices of tiger lilies. Not Daisy’s orifice, although, Daisy had several, which she would hide behind giggles, perfume, and someday a whip or a pen. Daisy was a smart girl and she wanted to go to university. University of life. Bad art. (more…)