The Alan Sondheim Mail Archive

December 24, 2004

Credo or The Writing in Quantity

The texts are written by a dead man.
To miss or waste a single day or hour, is to succumb to death.
Every text is an epitaph.
The body of writing is a collocation of epitaphs.
The body of writing is the epitaphic written body.
Writing decays into the semblance of a corpse.
Quantity topples quantity.
Of the talisman, there is nothing to be said.


theyre back

doctor leopold konninger and nikuko are on the floor of the theater. theyre 
naked, theyre always naked. theyre dirty, filthy, rolling around on the boards, 
slight cuts, abrasions. theyre impossibly drunk, drugged, theres an audience. 
theyre fucking but not cumming. doctor leopold konningers cock is hard, nikukos 
labia are swollen. theyre fingering each other, sucking everything in sight, 
the site, theyre mouths. they spread each others asses for the audience, pure 
exhibition, perfect theater. you can smell them, anyone can smell them. the 
dancer comes out then. the dancers also naked or maybe wears a leotard which he 
tears off. he dances around them, circles in on them, takes them over. hes 
getting erect, his cock is harder and harder. hes watching them, hes brushing 
against them. theyre taking over by not taking over. theyre paying no 
attention, theyre the ground, the foundation, the material substrate of the 
world, background radiation of the universe. theyre sweaty, slippery, between 
solid and liquid, their faces flushed, their limbs groping. the dancers over 
them, they're beneath him, incredibly beneath him, all the way down, the end of 
the tunnel or funnel. he begins touching himself, hes pirouetting, theyre 
circular moving. his cock begins to drip, its swollen, hes moving faster and 
faster, hes shuddering, theyre shuddering beneath him, his feet against them, 
in between them, around them. his toes enter them, hes dancing furiously, 
theyre oblivious, theyre in their own world, their mouths wider and wider, 
sucking, inhaling, eating, drinking, every hole, every limb. hes cumming now, 
hes cumming on them, he aims his cock down at them, theyre coated in him, they 
rub the cum in, rub it around them, between them, in their mouths, eyes, holes, 
the cock of doctor leopold konninger, the cunt of nikuko. the dancer might 
shudder and halt, he might leave, he might stay to see what happens, he might 
remain above them, he might move to the side. nikukos cunt is spread wide and 
open for the audience, she spreads doctor leopold konningers asshole for the 
audience, she puts some of the dancers cum inside her, doctor leopold konninger 
licks it out, places some in his asshole. theyre moving faster and faster, the 
dancer is forgotten, the dancer disappears, theyre bruised, abrasions, then 
also where the dancer pressed against them, where his feet entered them. theyre 
feeling nothing and everything, the floors slippery with their skin, with cum, 
feces, urine, saliva, sweat, theyre the color of earth, color of the floor, 
hysteric, delirious, theyre out of their minds. the lights go down, theyve cum 
or not cum, theyve finished or not finished, the smells thick with the 
audience, they love the dancing, love the dancer, his movement they think was 
masterful, theyd never seen such good dancing, it was most wonderful dancing, 
incredible, amazing. theyre wet, theyve cum in their seats, their minds 
remembering the perfect evening, they leave, doctor leopold konninger and 
nikuko are swollen, theyre biting each other, theres blood, theres no one 
around, theyre at it, they continue at it, theyre in the dark, theyre on the 
other side of the curtain, theyre on the other side of the world, theyre doing 
it, theyre never stopping, theyre chafed, theyre torn, theyre bleeding, theyre 
going on.


star and planet


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