/lit/ - Literature

>>15331075
Tugging at my penis, its hard to consider it a foreign sexual object.
The absurdity of the penis strikes me at once, skin wrapped in blood.

The handshake is uniformly seen as normal yet the penis is the bastion of psychoanalysis and politics, even.

A fleeting though, driven by me or an evil spirit.
Figments of incestuous, absurd imagination. Figments of perverted acts of pansexuality.

Are people good at hiding this supremely obscene experience, or is the worst others can think of truly that which could be shown on national television?

I recoil at my illness before moving on. I'm the eternal wanderer passing by thoughts now of Sodom and Gomorrah, then of the garden of Eden.

Is it not language, the supreme conveyor of evil? Instinct quelled, it's deserving of death yet the animal kingdom has the lion mating with his own mother.

I recall my late grandfather watching nature documentaries with me as this obscenity was revealed.

Is the animal or the human the true savage? What goes through the lioness as her son, in heat, seeks the utilisation of her fecundity?

The world is ugly.