chapter 28

I was thinking. I'll call it Anny the Sex Maniac Part One and the first line would be.

"You Cunt."

But I think I will call this book Part One so it will be then, Part two.

"You Cunt."

And just so no one worries. It is a love song. Porno as literature. You'll see. It'll be nice.

But let's be leaving wet dripping genitalia and finish up with a serious thought.

And let it be about servitude. The Kingdom of the Big Lie. The Priests that poisoned heaven. Let's make a poem out of the bloody story.

There was a time with eternity stretching before and aft, that a mad primate figured he could prove all men were daft.

He concocted a big fuckin' lie, put a plug in the third eye. And bla bla bla bla bla.

Cunt.

chapter 29

Fuck, I got a fuckin' Motor Head concert to attend tomorrow. I hope I find if funny. I like his real old blues stuff. He's still being a rock head.

There is hope and desperation in writing. Keeps it honest even in its fiction.

Everything written is fiction. Some writings are more representative of real world than others.

Let's tell a story from the canoe trip with the Baptist Church boys club. Most of the boys were not too concerned with God. There was a tendency to act apish. We worked together to move a large rock from its resting place. Likely resting where it was since the last ice age.

Cunt. Tree.

Well, a lever was applied and it rolled down the rock cliff and into the river with a very loud rumbling and snapping. Then it was still again except for the boys looking for the next thing to do.

Eventually it moved on to terrorism. It was a game. The older boys torment the first years. Just for fun.

One guy simply refused to be moved with terror. He stood there and said he wasn't running. He knew we wouldn't physically torture him. It wasn't in the rules. We had adults with us.

One guy didn't come back till morning. Slept out in the woods with the bears rather than take the chance of being caught and tortured.

The rest of us went into our tents shortly. Then we all got out to pull the stones from under our tent. Many voices went up in outrage and I saw Ron, one of the leaders, laughing. He was in his sleeping bag without a tent.

I knew who put the stones under the tents.

And the next day we are talking about Heaven in our Bible studies.

And Ron mentioned more than once that he didn't mind pulling out weeds. He was a farmer. He liked it here. How is heaven going to be better.

There were many answers. I can't remember them. I remember looking at Ron knowing he was telling us something that according to what club he was in, it was out of place.

He knew he was in heaven. And he might have seen that I would figure out where I was.

I could ask him.

I'll call him up while writing, Anny the Sex Maniac and tell him.

"Hey. I figured out where we are."

"I thought you would."

"Funny. It doesn't really change much."

"But it's good that it's funny. Otherwise the pain would seem like a hopeless tragedy."

"You got that right."

"Maybe in a few hundred thousand years our backs will be better."

"And we'll fuck like bunnies."

chapter 30

I can get 36 chapters in this book if I write a few short ones.


chapters 31 - 33