Of old-timers and past glories
only, never money. I stand talking to him, spinning stories, jokes. And he takes it in. And laughs. And when girls walk by, regardless of how they look, he says: “Ba le maswe jaana,” as ugly as they are … and that is it. “You owe me, no no no, man … pay me now, when are you paying me?” I say i have to go home and fetch the money i owe him, i will see him later. & he tells me he will wait until i come back.
Days they sit together, Bra Joe and Maswejana, legs straight out on the floor, next to the only ATM in town … smoking, conversing in tongues i cannot understand. Emotionless. And they stay there for hours. And the world goes by. And they watch the dust, maybe, and its people blow on by. They pass a cigarette between them, smoking each in style, after their own special manner. And they seem lost in whatever dimension. Or space. But locked together in some understanding.
Mutual. It’s a sight for wonder. And when the odd ATM user saunters by, draws money and starts walking away, Bra Joe shoots his hand out. And the day goes on. I have seen the laughter on their faces sometimes though. Like they knew things i didn’t. No-one else could comprehend.
OX
ld socialist-communistcomrades gone capital is like THE YEARN. Ultrastraight man on crack cocaine sticking massive phallic objects up his rectum when the rush takes on. & Gael said:
“It makes you know the truth about yourself. It is a serum. Gets you paranoid still, and you go scared of even yourself. Your shadow tails you, stalks you, talks menace to you ...’ The sexual exhilaration is without outlet though. Builds up to explosion and then just peters out, leaves you whimpering, it is majangling electric-wired like the brain cells will explode, and you feel them, on the burn, the ends going to ash. The ultimate white-lit end of it just beyond your reach, and you grasp, your nails wanting to tear out even, if the need arise ... and you try a hold on the nothing out there, just ... outside your grasp ... your arms not long enough ... always just micrometres away, you never get to it. And know that for truth but no matter, you have to ... so you hurry up and light up away before it disappears forever, you think ... but inside you is knowledge of how vain it all is … and that even if it were not and you got to it, you would be smashed to bits, what smithereens means ... and that will be the end to miniscule you in the universe floating up there before coming crash-landing on your being. And still you want it. And the hunger makes demands like starvation is your all .... and just one bite will be your salvation. IT IS MASTER, YOU ARE LESS THAN SLAVE NO RELATION MORE DEMEANING.
But you must obey because your genitals will it, the crotch reaches out, desiring deep. You want to fuck to the end of the tiniest crevice. And the biggest juice-dripping orifice beckons. And you want to squeeze the extent of your very self out of your body, it is a casing you don’t need anyway. You need your obliteration in the pleasure promise. So you stoke up white, open the coils. And the glass-pipe hums, mocking. And the rock sizzles and opens its legs for you to come in. Penetration time. You clutch the lighter tight. Don’t want it running away and gone. Need no loss now. And the seconds ticking seem centuries... and you flick and flame up, trembling in anticipation. You torch up, and solid turns liquid turns gaseous and your inhalation makes it shoot up your tunnels, seems running in and out all your holes. Like the hair is in shock standing up. Hold it in long as the lungs can withstand without collapsing, coming down hard. Joyous like nothing else ever since time. Hold, keep it in, still, blow out, sigh. & the wash comes. And baptises and blesses. And the warmth floods. And you grab your cock and pull. And it is to cry ... it comes closer. & cums inside you. You pump harder. Fuck images flash, dance in your head behind your eyes and a million pussies yawn wet hot open and you sink your skull in them, all of them, same time. And you feel them wrap around you. You are your cock. And cunt. And arse. And sucking mouth. And sucked. Cunnilingused & fellated to all sevens. And still it calls you and you’re staggering. All the while you are running on your haunches though, like your legs amputated above the knees. Hard as you gallop can’t get there. Just on the point of coming it fades. & it is back to the beginning. Of your time, your existence. You tremble, shake, shiver, collapse into yourself again. Spent. And you did not even ejaculate. The call comes again. Seduces. And you realise your eyes are closed, so you open them and stare. And the black green yellow red stars exploding behind your eyelids retreat. You flop down defeated.