Oh yes, oh yes says the man below Alex and jerks his cock with frenetic strokes and soaks it now and then with his mouth. There's a vague tingling in Alex crotch, he’s leaning on a grave stone in the English garden of Uppsala, it's the last of May. He's thinking of his grandfather that died just an hour ago. He used to visit him and they went to a gigantic army surplus store, they were never close but one time he sang a 60's pop song to him in his car which he never did to Alex father.
A singing blue bird is sitting in the tree above Alex and makes him dream, the bird seems like a perfect lover, beautiful, sensitive and with an incredible voice. The bird is tearing a rift in reality, far away from the sheer hell our sexless maiden has gotten him into. Alex is the smell of chewing gum, sloppy red-painted nails and armpits like opened crypts, forever our whore. He hears a voice speak to him, inside of him that must belong to God or something:
Because you're not lovable Alex, one doesn't love your clumsy swinging hips, your smeared lipstick, you look like a whore.
You have to be pruned like an overgrown tree, you are too much, you don't fit in your starving body, your lungs can't breath properly, you can't get any air in them, you suck cock like testicles were filled with oxygen.
You have to be pruned and then resurrect.
Then you’ll finally see you're a...
Then you’ll finally know you're a...
Then you’ll finally discover you're a... seal girl, a seal chick, a seal bride.
You shall jump out of your head fully clad in armor, always close to the knives, your never ceasing schizo laughter, you're a black shining sun.