V. POINTFUL

So old am I that even the sequoias were getting sick of my state of being. So, I got sick of them. On the other hand . . . different meridians were not drawn for any other reason than fuck’s sake. The age of the big discoveries wouldn’t have happened if men had no balls. No balls – no poles. No North, no South . . . The world would have been like a big round tongueless mouth. Undivided zone with scattered homeless bones. Not that right now the situation is much different but at least the Earth has been sliced up into semi-neat, complete deadbeat suite, unsuitable and stuffed with a human stench, mincemeat bench . . . on stomping bare feet, some drying wheat in the sea of downbeat full defeat . . .

Wow . . . Roaming could be as nutritious as some heavy pig meal dining. That indisputable conclusion has indeed a lot to do with the meridian division of this fucked up world. A one-balled man could still be bold enough to take a deep . . . rum soaked, stinging puff from a slow-burning tobacco stick and . . . cross the loss of this prime-time years. Right . . . what’s next . . .There is a dead fish in the sand. It’s still a dish . . . Yes . . . The subject is still meridians. The beauty of those is . . . they can’t ever be parallel. How exciting . . . the boundless curve of roundness . . . Most painters paint it with their eyes shut – fewer do it with eyes wide open. Let them . . . Who cares. Texture isn’t a shabby content of painterly surfaces. Skin too . . . One major reason for the generous sperm donor to go through the pain of crossing meridians and slide up and down on their concave edges has entirely to do with chasing after the most adaptable and tough tribe of species, well-known as the race of pussy-holding eggs. Or . . . eggy pussy-holders. Whatever. Another word is women, indeed. Melt the untouched butter cream over the low heat of her sugar bowl or heavy-bottomed pan and when melted stir in the sugar-egg mixture and the passion fruit juice and . . . keep cooking gently stirring constantly, until thickened. Then off to another meridian.

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This is the first page of the story. I charge a subscription of $36 per year for access to all my stories. There are 15 stories currently on my website -- ogoart.com -- and I will publish a new one each month, together with -- from time to time -- some excerpts from my novels. To subscribe, go to my website at www.ogoart.com and click on "Writings".