Author: Julia Long

Lincoln Log Smoke Signal.

America was downright dirty.

So was an American named Shem.

Shem was at the CVS Pharmacy. He found whitening toothpaste and went for the least attractive cashier.

Shem got what he deserved, a shitty cashier. She didn’t ask how Shem was doing, but actually, Shem asked the cashier how she was doing! It was chaos, it was like Shem was the employee.

The cashier said the word Working.

How you doing? Working.

What the fuck, thought Shem.

Shem didn’t make a $5 donation to the Special Olympics (downright dirty).

Shem let everything he saw on the walk home go in his eyes. Most of it evaporated and some vague tracing of it went to his crackly God Sized Hole. When that happened, Shem pushed it back away. He was preoccupied, thinking about more important things than what he was seeing. Light, events, nature, buildings and random people, this stuff didn’t affect him. Maybe made a little wiggling insect leg shift in his God Sized Hole but would not affect his life. Could not would not harm him.

Shem was thinking about his genitals. The world revolved around them. The last time Shem touched his genitals was in the morning. No porn, not even using thoughts. His brain and body always seemed to come back to this, this directionless lust, this vague but screaming force field around his genitals.

Elsewhere on Shem’s body there was this dual itch, meaning it was the same itch happening on two body parts at the same time. Shem trusted the itch. It was just there, not to be judged or scratched (killed). He stared into the sun.

Shem was home. He was at the front of the house, taking his socks and shoes off. There was a spider on the wall. Shem smiled. A vague thing wrong with his genitals changed.

Shem stuck his hand down his shorts and rubbed his genitals. He was thinking about something really solid as a feeling but unnecessary—maybe impossible—to put into language in his God Sized Hole. Not that he wanted to—he didn’t. He liked it just as a heavy, thing. Some vague notion of rhythm, some consistent vibration of sights. Some, thing.

Shem’s genitals gushed. His God Sized Hole throbbed with pleasure.

The big bad thing inherently wrong with the world bounced forever down the sidewalk.

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Gone Finishin’.

Clementine was on her back masturbating in her room. Her room was next to her dad’s. Yeah.

And yeah she was silent.

And yeah,

Somewhere it occurred to her that they were masturbating at the same time.

Clementine pictured nude men. She gave them the faces of the men on the poster on her door called The Rise And Fall Of Peoples And Nations For 4,000 Years. It was a timeline of world history with little portraits of the greats. Yes.

All the world’s leaders, all monsters, all heroes. Men.


On the other side of the wall Clementine could hear her dad.

She pictured her nipple as a little door her dad opened and stuck his finger in, doing a come-hither motion.

Clementine finished.

This was all over. Gone.

Clementine got out of bed and stood naked in front of the mirror. Behind her eyes there was a little picture of her dad’s head.

She felt like a dog.

To the reflection she was saying, “You wanna piece of me kid? Huh? Yeah okay I fuck you up good!”

Clementine could hear her dad going downstairs.

Clementine ran her tongue along her bottom teeth and lingered on the crooked ones. Then she rubbed the special teeth with a finger. It hurt. Clementine smiled.

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