tighter, you know; and hurt more, you know; and are so
confused, you know; and love you anyway, you know. All
the worshippers will be tolerant o f each other; and they’ll pass
the little ones on, down the line, so everyone can pray; and the
courts will let them; because the courts have always let them;
it’s just big daddy in a dress, the appearance o f neutrality. I
been living in Times Square, on the sidewalks, I seen all the
marquees, I studied them, I have two questions all the time,
w hy ain’t she dead is one and w hy would anyone, even a man,
think it’s true— her all strung out, all painted, all glossy,
proclaiming being peed on is what she wants; I do not get how
the lie flies; or ain’t they ever made love; or ever seen no one
real; and maybe she’s dead by now; they must think it’s like
you are born a porn thing; in the hospital they take the baby
and they say take it to the warehouse, it’s a porn thing. They
must think it’s a special species; with purple genitals and skin
made from a pale steel that don’t even feel no pain; or they
think every girl is one, underneath, and they wait, until we
turn purple, from cold, or a thin patina o f blood, dried so it’s
an encasement, like an insect’s carapace. And they get hard
from it, the porn thing, flat and glossy, dead and slick, and
after they find something resembling the specimen from
under the glass and they stick it in; a girl in the rain; five
infants; some girl. It’s like how Plato tried to explain; the thing
pure, ideal, as if you went through some magical fog and came
to a whole world o f perfect ideas and there’s Linda taking it
whole; and they wander through the pure world putting fifty
cents down there to cop a feel and five dollars down there, and
for a hundred you see a little girl buggered, and for fifty you do
something perfect and ideal to a perfect whore or some perfect
blow -up doll with a deep silk throat and a deep silk vagina and
a rough, tight rectum, and you come back through the fog and
there’s the girl, not quite so purple, and you do it to her; yeah,
she cries if you hang her or brand her or maim her or even
probably if you fuck her in the ass, she don’t smile, but you can
hurt her enough to make her smile because she has to smile
because if she don’t she gets hurt more, or she’ll try, and you
can paint her more purple, or do anything really; put things in
her; even glass or broken glass and make her bleed, you can get
the color you want; you strive for the ideal. I fuck it up, I say
the girl’s real, but it don’t stop them; and we got to stop them;
so I take the necessary supplies, some porn magazines where
they laminate the women, and I take the stones for breaking
the glass, I will not have women under glass, and I take signs
that say “ Free the Women, Free O urselves” and “ Porn Hates
W omen” and I take a sign that says “ Free Linda” and I have a
sign that says “ Porn Is Rape” and I take a letter I wrote m yself
