This is a little snippet from a novel I wrote a few years back. Reflecting back on these vile and disgusting passages is somewhat unnerving. To think these words came tumbling out of the black recesses of my mind onto/into an unblemished word document in the process seems almost fantastical. I guess they just needed to come out.
Kneeling in anguish, stretching on for an unutterable amount of miles, runs an assemblage of women doing Lucifer’s carrion deeds. Out of their vaginal cavities lunges acrid tentacles composed of sheer and solidified venom. The rubbery tentacles oscillate upwards towards Lucifer’s pulpy brain; and it is in this brain where they attach themselves to Lucifer’s synaptic discord. Defenseless and paralyzed by fear, the massive assemblage of women symbiotically exists to fulfill the proclivities of Lucifer’s infernality. When the magnum beast decides to inflict harm upon the maternal slaves, a tour de force of repugnant juice is sent flying down the tentacles fused to their vaginas.
The noxious juice has a two-pronged effect. Firstly, every woman becomes a gyrating slave to Lucifer’s pungent intoxicant. Secondly, every woman violently throws up the acerbic fluid immediately after the fluid reaches the stomach lining. Lucifer ensures that the anatomical enema sometimes stultifies the women, and in more pleasing cases, makes them moan and groan in despair. When a maternal cell of the maternal consortium perishes due to an overabundance of fluid, the tentacle retracts from the vaginal cavity with a venomous affliction to find another host. The tentacle searches the coliseum endlessly for another maternal cell. In some cases, to replace the obsolete cell, the acrid tentacle grabs a prepubescent girl. Violently slamming her innocent body down in the appropriate spot, the tentacle intrusively plunges into her tight vaginal slit; causing her to naively weep; causing her to rapidly fill up with a noxious elixir of spite and fierce pathogens.
Violation of the innocent doesn’t encumber against Lucifer’s devious assembly line of exploitation in Damien’s virtual hell. The androgynous, charred archangel wants only to build a machine to tinker and tamper with. An imperious machine Lucifer is. You could say definitely perversion thirsty and out of control.
............
The field, a parched wasteland for solitary men, exists behind the misogynistic assembly line. For experimental purposes, some men are placed in rectangular cocoons. A very insignificant amount of oxygen can seep into the cocoon. A very insignificant amount of external stimulation can be cerebrally or viscerally sucked in through the senses. For the most part, the cocoon is sealed off from the rest of existence. When a man is left inside the titanium, rectangular cocoon for an extensive length of time, only the innate madness that broils inside has to rise to the surface. Usually when a man reaches his boiling point, he sticks his two thumbs into his eyeballs and releases a cyclone of pressure to abrogate his own solitary malaise.
Every male’s virile body is covered in bizarre cyber optic tubes running from one orifice to the next. Magically, the dystopian soil beneath their feet gives birth to these contemptuous wires. One wire runs up a man’s urethra, entangles itself in the testes, and then finally runs into the kidneys, where it releases succinct electric shocks. Another cyber optic wire is mysteriously forced into the anal cavity. Other wires go around the spinal column like a double helix, and others collect in a knot in the intestines. Here, in the intestines, the cyber optic wires methodically release a carcinogenic and unrelenting tar. A final cyber optic wire comes in through the skullcap—through a trepanned hole—where a translucent gunk compounds with the serotonin in the pineal gland. The combined effort of these wires produces a debilitating effect on the man’s nervous, digestive, and motor systems.
No comments:
Post a Comment