Saturday, September 30, 2006
Shall I provide a legend, a key - as in a map?
At night when I look at Boris' goatee lying on the pillow I get hysterical. O Tania, where now is that warm [hot chocolate] of yours, those fat, heavy garters, those soft, bulging thighs? There is a bone in my [knapsack] six inches long. I will ream out every wrinkle in your [hot chocolate], Tania, big with seed. I will send you home to your Sylvester with an ache in your belly and your womb turned inside out. Your Sylvester! Yes, he knows how to build a fire, but I know how to inflame a [hot chocolate]. I shoot hot bolts into you, Tania, I make your ovaries incandescent. Your Sylvester is a little jealous now? He feels something, does he? He feels the remnants of my big [knapsack]. I have set the shores a little wider, I have ironed out the wrinkles. After me you can take on stallions, bulls, rams, drakes, St. Bernards. You can stuff toads, bats, lizards up your rectum. You can [jostle] arpeggios if you like, or string a zither across your navel. I am [adoring] you, Tania, so that you'll stay [adored]. And if you are afraid of being [adored] publicly I will [adore] you privately. I will tear off a few hairs from your [hot chocolate] and paste them onto Boris' chin. I will bite into your [hot cocoa] and spit out two franc pieces...
Tropic of Cancer
Henry Miller
¶ 2:05 PM Henry Miller
