even when the beer is wrong

london at its ugliest so fucking ass on a friday in taurus season with pigeons in victoria station nibbling dropped triangles of bread no paper in the loo gen x from texas gets shit done grab a sheet of paper from the psychedelic panther backpack crumple it up wipe that healthy creole mixed with euro trash ass this world is insane civilization is a color coded lie that looks kind of pretty in certain light but yes baby we are beasts dripping sweat and jizz and this is enough so even when the beer is all wrong in a hammersmith steakhouse with a nothing menu and nothing music we are lit up brighter than waterford ornaments on a kensington xmas tree jingling baby all the way to purring kitty cat heaven

TAURUS SEASON 2026

chocolate or cacao or caramel or clay inconsequential the only real currency is your healthy mars in aquarius cock ramming inside my tender yet wild venus in aquarius cunt as the paris hotel room playlist blasts from the speakers and the breeze blows blossoms from left bank trees tourists from thailand italy spain connecticut venezuela gawking belching fake smiling snapping those instagram look at me look at me shots we are this goddamn we are this holiest most sacred now kissing caressing laughing at the absurdity of this ignoble human experience your cum deep inside me glazing me is the gold we can carry all the way to nothing grave because we go beyond that glittering showing off our celestial carousel we spin we spin we spin again better than angelic in the cosmic spit shine carnival of oh fuck yes
 

stonehenge through bus window

excruciating garbage but ecstatically the trash of time thick dense distance april gobbled dots fruit ghosts blink & it's 1982 then again it's 2026 & out the smudged coach window ancient stones arranged exactly the replica in texas such a frat boy joke everything is bigger in texas as the saying goes except for brains and cocks transmissions a plethora of transmissions slapped across blank yawn screen sent with skulled kisses from dearest daddy saturn promises plangent & plum dumb blood pudding colorless manuka honey thicker than kerrville and yeovil combined spooned onto wriggling pink tongue until yum like us is the only syllable

my business if i suck a bitch's toes

Really, it's not even slightly perverse like a lot of other shit we do is ... I can't be feral, I've never been tamed.

 

kitten shuffles cards

 Two more because we need to catch up. STUNT COCK is getting bigger, but my dick is the gift that keeps on giving.  Fucking tourist t-shirts. I think it's fairly obvious that we have no shame.

 

PARIS APPLE NOISE

 

frank sinatra bleeds the uranus in gemini paris taxi to orly radio bitch we is goin' places
because we try try try with all of our fucking might walking in retarded circles around pere lachaise
donde esta the grave of gertrude stein fuck the lizard king we don't wake up in the morning and grab ourselves a beer we aren't here for the next little girl in the next whiskey bar here ain't nothin' soft about our parade and who dies in a bathtub seriously who the fuck does that so onward to the graves of oscar wilde chopin proust piaf modigliani heloise & abelard we're alive like the ants and the trees and the wasps and the dandelions donde esta dairy queen because april in paris is all about slurping white cream gravy from aries daddy cock french fries up the ass one hand on the peanut buster parfait spoon the other on the fat left tit jesus says go for it you special wankers in the hotel le daum lift or somewhere in the vicinity of that big deal iron tower with the mime in silver paint on the sidewalk working his honest job while tourists jabber in various languages about nada nada nada hungry for an asian lunch we stumble into a cafe en route to another big deal photo op feast on chicken so hot it makes our noses run we don't give a flying fuck about listening to a tour guide on a boat drone on about historical points of interest along the seine if you can't tell us where henry miller jizzed on anais nin's tits fuck all the way off there are tarot cards and amazonite bracelets and matching I LOVE PARIS t-shirts to purchase and one more parisian apple before flying over the english channel to heathrow where everyone is ugly and brutally stupid and there is no hello kitty in sight where's waldo where's basquiat where's my little pony beauty is raped from the pedestal hurled down into matrix mud where worms writhe with all the necessary numbers that keep a bitch in place and there is nothing for it but a no sleep till hammersmith blow job on the tube no one watching because everyone is dead and on facebook caught up in the politics of who raped whom the hardest

no nemesis

 We didn't drink alcohol in Paris, I don't know why. Misti laughed until she pissed herself though. "We don't drink champagne, we drink jizz, bitch"

 

fuck these transits

Back from Paris, we are back on our bullshit hard. We did the Henry Miller tit jizzing, but I also ate arse big time, which I don't believe Miller & Nin did. I don't know why they didn't mention it otherwise. Misti bought me a Kuromi stuffy, & we bought typical tourist t-shirts & the arcane Orly tarot deck.  Paris makes London look like a complete pile of shit, & the people are better too.  Stella Rainwater had a tremendous time though Kuromi told her she looked like a slut. Otherwise they got on very well.

 

 

everything inconsequential

We are fucking off to Paris in one hour to see Gertrude's grave & the monument to Heloise & Abelard. She is sleeping beside me & we both stink of posh perfume.  I am bold enough to post this without baby's approval & to select a picture myself. Mars is in Aries & I'll fucking do it.

 

 

this is innocent

This is Misti's absolute favourite poem that I have written. "Oh Dada, it's your Wasteland," she claimed. The picture shows Stella Rainwater.

 "Oh my god, the keyboard is resting on your cock," exclaimed Lil Misti. "Publish that bitch, this is as good as it gets."

 

 

 

 

 

SALT IN MY STELLA

Precision does kiss does swirl does taste with bubbled gold and sun slants abundance on glassed adjacent to poppies to raspberries to stained glass cherried corazon. My rubied my sangre my bricked hell yes. Salud each shakti engine the shadowed the shining the cherished hallucinogenic catharsis swollen 1977 Brazos ghosts screaming for salt for sugar for cerveza for mercy. Mercy is not a nest. Mercy is not an attic. Mercy is not a raft. Mercy is not here surrounded by cotton and copperheads and clouds pissing precarious. Snake trust. Slithered redemption. The toy of memory. Memorized fuck hex. Here is charmed cereal cookied calm and the storm seeks straw so much lack conceptualized capital. Come my deliberate come my liberated come my carnival come my orbed chaos twin my chosen flavor. Flavored home chocolate savored now smashed bell jar crashed bone china saucer flashed the sky en route to honey. Honeyed here honeyed mine honeyed eternal. Serpentine streets cobbled medieval but also New Orleans bloated flores with Brando bellow. Donde esta mi cielo, papi? Oh cielo. Sweetest. Here. Here. Here. This. This. Us.

 

 

EDIT by David Rainwater: I am so fucking proud of Kitten because we had just been shopping & to get her hair done & had beers in Spoons & a curry then when we got home she wrote this. I do the editing & housework & she writes & shuffles the cards. Baby is best. 

BEAUTY MONSTER

Obvious mathematics obviously a mouthful and there is no mustard in remembering. Oh daddy oh dada oh darling the beauty monster comes to stay and nothing else is pizza. The proper function is tremble is crumble is squirm is melt is convulse is whimper is more more y mucho mas. This creates thrum. Thrumming to jesus thrumming to muerte thrumming to electric light orchestra. Medusa juice is chupacabra disco. Carve it in stone with candy apple red screwdriver because no one not even the rain does it better.