Yes you read that correctly; I met God-- THE God with the capital G God. A surprisingly down-to-Earth being, it turns out. I mean really down to Earth. I need to breath.
First, I need a cigarette. There are things about God-- I had no idea.
Right now, during what can best be described as a sweaty pause, I can tell you something about God: the being, or Being, is completely obsessed with sex. I know, right? That would explain a few things wouldn’t it? This goes beyond just an obsession though, it is much more serious than a mere mental habit; God is utterly and completely bonkers about sex, and there is nothing in the whole of creation, throughout all of time that is more critical to God than humping, screaming and groaning sex. Not in the least bit ashamed either, biting and squirming, a quiver of delight, and then a breath, but now more! and on and on.
That was the first thing that I noticed about God, and then always with the music! That hypnotic tune. It really is a catchy rhythm, and the motion is contagious-- quite a few times I found myself grinding along with instinctive pleasure, lost in the beat. Was God masturbating? It sure seemed like it, and God made it look natural, like a poetic dance. I monkeyed the motion, and it felt right to me. Once, out of curiosity, and through a suddenly erotic-feeling quest for knowledge, I panted, and asked God, “You don’t think you can make an orgasm last forever do you?”
In the ensuing silence, I had my answer. Perhaps my eyes could see vague forms during that lapse, but my trusted sight fluttered, I was now pulling along with the deep in-breath, and the physical form that swirled into view was that of an ambi-sexual hermaphrodite, and intertwined with itself was the essence of both masculine power and domination and feminine grace and care. Care for what? More sex, of course, and God is so sure that this is what it’s all about that it, or It -- has actually become both lovers at once, female and male eternally consummating a celestial wedding, with every tendril of awareness rigid and focused, yet relaxed and relieved, forever, and ever.
A pelvis hungrily forcing itself towards another wet, slithering form in sultry starlight is what life is all about, according to God. Everything makes sense now!
When the ocean’s tide is thrust against the shore again and again, as if there was nothing left to create but another primal push of the hips, and each little inlet shivers in open anticipation of the next full immersion, and as if the next one could reach deeper into that insatiable universe of perpetual desire, as if the sensual explosion could reverse inward on itself and grind itself against the ever-willing loins of God for eternity, the brilliant creator of creation that we have all come to love is there, in the dirt, humping itself with grinning pleasure, right in front of everyone. That’s God. Try not to stare.
But it’s captivating isn’t it? As we submit, God is right there in your muff, breathing softly now, and it’s clear once again- the reason for the wind, really the only reason that there is air at all, is so that God can draw it across our tender, swollen parts, longing for a touch,,, a breath,,, a tongue. God, I get it now. We were taught in school that tongues were made for tasting things, but God. This really does explain a lot, now doesn’t it? God, you sneaky devil you!
In the beginning there was the word,
...but when that word is whispered so closely that we can taste the sweat, and the word, whatever it was... who cares about that? That’s the past, and there seems to be a trend lately, a pulse of sorts, perhaps just a passing fad, but now, those aren’t words that are spilling from God’s lips now, that is a primal moan, and the horny thing is humping again, good Lord! Seriously!
I love you too, but now I see what’s up: this is what you say to all the boys, it’s why they follow you from their cradle all the way to the final climax, calling your name, “God, O God!” The good wife’s stray thought, that wasn’t stray after all was it? You lured her away from the comforts of fidelity with that devilish tongue-- you found your way inside of her didn’t you? How clever of you to moisten that area so that your hot breath could actually cool that fire, so selfish was your desire that you became her, so that she would embrace your form, showing it to her musky den with a pitiful sigh of anticipation-- closer and closer, and a salty flavor fills the air again, and again. Reeally, God?
God doesn’t sleep, ever. How could there be sleep though, when the astral world is roaring at night with a droning pitch of the instinctual and perpetual rhythm and motion that we are all feeling now, and there is certainly a funky beat going on in there tonight, what’s up! We know that song, it’s the same one the little birds were belting out all through the spring, and it’s always springtime somewhere on this naughty planet isn’t it? How convenient that really is. No time for sleep, we’re on the astral plane, baby! We got in using the grit that our brows had gathered that day, but our dream bodies are always ready for some sacred union, and God once again is right in the middle of a steamy pile of writhing, humping flesh, plus anything else that God can imagine. It turns out that God has a very good imagination when it comes to rhythmic gyrations of all kinds, and in the dream world, it all happens at once, somehow; God buys a couple of drinks, one thing leads to another, and the next day you can’t really remember a thing. Only the knowing that it happened, and that it went on all night, and now with hips sore, the beat of your very heart is the tempo of love that is faint at first, but it increases in vibration and begins to thump against the eardrums from the inside: That would be God again. I swear.
That motion in the hips of the dream girls, shall we call it a tango then? When we so imitate God and call it a dance, when we heave our pubic tassels into thin sheets of silk in hopes of reaching the ultimate union, that is when we are dancing the dance of life, evidently, and whatever you had going on before can wait. Can I but rest my eyes? And now what’s this? I was sleeping, and while I lay upon my blistered parts, my own hand, under the guise of a medic, has grabbed me in a way that only God knows how to do, and has deemed my worn body to be fit for another dance, another song, another rollicking hump in the dirt of the Earth. God, is that all you ever think about?
I know it’s a trip, that I met the real God, but there’s no way in hell I could make up all of that on my own, without having seen the very animals all over the Earth ritualistically performing this lustful piece of rhythmic theater in the trees, in the air, and under the sea, every minute of every hour grinding against one another trying to be God, and all the while we imaginative humans tap our toes quietly inside of our shoes, pretending that there is something more to life than mindless humping, then finding our own hands privately pawing about on ourselves, just like God does, always imagining a union with Itself over and over, eternally. God is an infinite Being with a one-track mind.
images in this post are mine
