Status Updates From The Orange Eats Creeps

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Seth and I sat on the low narrow couch at the rear of our trailer in the woods so long ago. The space heater in the corner sputtered bad breath out into the small room. I reached over and tickled the roof of his mouth with my index finger. He laughed and did the same to me. We were drunk. We fucked with my hands over his face.

You held me up while I slumped and my knees buckled. Stay here. I fought, passing out; my face fell from your grasp. All I remember from that strange night: crying coming crying coming crying coming, locked in a horrible embrace.

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To pass the time I dreamed up a make-believe coat of arms for myself consisting of a lichen-covered pepper tree flanked by mating deer.

Some of my hair got pulled out by an over-zealous fan while he was fucking me in the ass. My pussy cracked in half.

It was possible that the accumulation of past expired caresses clinging to my skin meant that all the men really wanted was just a giant fuckgrab with each other. I was simply the conduit for their wild desire. I was the gift from God that made their wishes come true.

...me, following me like the shadow on the glass.
Whispers in the hissing rain. It needs to rain to feed what has sprung up in the wake of this generosity. Greedy, greedy forest.

The abortion that non-decision now but a seeping memory; it disgusts me more with each passing day. Now I know differently, that there are no accidents. There is only that new life coaxed out of not knowing, or forgetting to care. There is rape. But barring the latter, what if you did know? And what if you did care? Would things turn out differently? Would the world be a different place?
I ran away, but you hunted...

Sleeping on an offramp with the rain falling around me. Baby, sometimes I'm so carefree, with a joy that's hard to bide some hubby vomits into my ear.

That autumn it went like this: We? No: I.
I walk alone and I am the last one.

...down and went to sleep on top of him.

I dug deeper into the back of the shelves and found one of the clerk boys on his side with dirty blood caked all over his chest. I dragged him out; he groaned and pawed for my face, staring at me with shiny pink tears coming out of his eyes, saying things I could barely hear and didn't understand. I noticed he had a huge hard on but pants that wouldn't open. Looking around aimlessly I became very sleepy and lay...

I thought of the dude from Monmouth and how it was nice to be looked after, gazed upon, even by somebody who was just smoking a cigarette. And yet I'd been curt.

It took this long to find a female Georges Bataille...

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