Month: December 2025

I melt, combust and evaporate every time you bring me keloid lime pie.
I know you know we both know what that means. It doesn’t matter where we are, we’re in Florida and you’re lashing me until I get some color in my sick ass white body.
Sorry, I know we agreed to use code. I luv how you always give me a crop top. You tenderize everything in my upper body, and if people need to see it they do and if they don’t they don’t.
You tell me my midriff is all people should be looking at, and I believe you. You say mid is special and special is mid.
It’s so easy to believe the things you say when I watch your tongue, which reminds me of a ferret wrestling a snake. And I think of how your tongue feels on my body and I know it’s not bestiality but that’s just what excites my imagination nowadays.
Thanks to you, I have several congenial diseases. You taught me that’s the appropriate way to spell it. You smile and say disease is how we feel we’re alive.
Any excuse to bludgeon the one you love. I can still hear you speaking the words of John Donne: “Batter my heart, three-person’d God, as yet but knock, breathe, shine, and seek to mend, that I may rise and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.
When I inquire about the three-person’d part, you whisper that’s why you only beat me on Wednesdays.

The Jester is making people laugh. That is good. He will get to eat tonight. At the royal palace of Versailles, no less.
He rubs his belly. All these signs make the signifiers very happy. He makes unseen things visible, this guy, with his big and little gestures.
All this is a bonus, a serendipitous coinkidink as we might say, because the jester himself is deaf.
As the Jester walks away from where he performed, a courtier stands in his way. Following custom, the courtier makes a sweeping bow, the kind which shows you what “ostentatious” means even if you don’t have a dictionary. The Jester breathes, then gesticulates his way through a bow which is much more involved and probably can’t be topped by the other fellow. In any case, if the courtier tried to do something that gymnastic, his fake-ass wig would likely tumble off his head.
The year is 1788. December. Things are going well for the Jester. He is 18 years old. He was raised in a religious school where, lucky him, French Sign Language was invented and that was only in 1771. He grew up with this shit. Sure, society was not exactly equal, but if someone like him could perform in front of the King, then things must be on their way to equal access and prosperity. Perhaps, at this rate, poverty would be eliminated by, maybe, 1795.
A gentleman sat in the back row, sneering at him. Most of the aristocratic guests had left the performance space to dance a quadrille or other bullshit. This gentleman was still sneering at him, seeming very sad. Then the Jester remembered his name. It was de Sade, the Marquis de Sade. If anyone from the quote unquote normal world were to start using sign language, one would not expect it to be this person.
‘How are you?’ he signed.
‘Living my best life,’ signed the Jester.
‘Glad to hear. So, how about this brouhaha with The Third Estate?’
This guy was very good at sign language. The skill extended to certain abstract terms that take too long to explain in word language.
‘Not really at liberty to talk about it. But, all things being equal.’
‘I’ll tell you about equality,’ whisper-signed the Marquis, as he rose to leave. ‘This is like telling the King FUCK YOU. And if he’s fucked, I’m fucked, we’re all equally fucked.’
The Marquis de Sade, it turned out, had an excellent grasp of how parts are subsumed in the whole. This would someday be referred to as the Gestalt, for those who might live long enough to encounter the term. We would not live that long. We were more fucked than fucked. Don’t forget to make a grand gesture of it.