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Identity Politics: Failure

Just because of love? Identity is about being born again and again.

Identity was born on the first of April. This was long before the creation of that of a dog lying backwards who died for love in vain. As death has constructed its deconstruction of what is gender and how sexuality plays a role in the politics of sexuality, like waves of time transcending the depths of grass and groin. What has been constructed of this place that has been constructed by the death of desire to love and understanding in only another self like identity, the fragmentation of society and ideology and death died for death. Die daily. And the horror of the travesty of our identity and revolution and meaning of it's implications of what of that? That was what? Daily. And the horror of what is of his death that human beings die daily and would understand love in the back fields of butt fuck and straight guys (more than one sex) tight muscle rippled drunk and disorderly murdered wild and kinky because of love and world order, NATO. Identity creates it's own image. His name. His commodity. His death and the economic implications of their sanctions. What was his identity? What was his three thousand years gone by, super-star fuck? Flicker. Flicker. Fucker. White and proud and pure and god hates you. God hates identity. Pseudonymonic misnomer, identity's gospel: A name by any other name is still. The phone rings:

"Hello?"

Hi

"Hi. What's up?"

Nuthing. You wanna get into my truck with my friend who you don't know and suck our cocks and let us fuck you up the ass?

"And that big fat cock between my lips to suck the cum called AIDS from the disease?"

Sure. Let me get my coat.

The Chinese transvestite hangs up the phone and gets into the car with identity, who has surgery to become equality. They have a conversation:

who are you talking to.com?

http://you@responsibility for AIDS

Born again by my father's bible belt and our father's father's stain of whom I received my seed of life from those tribals_34

Martyr: Identity becomes Christ. Identity becomes homosexual, twelve apostles. Identity becomes the son of god, born again from father's bible whip, and it is called as such. The phone rings:

"Hello?"

Hi.

"Hi. What's up?"

I am. I have an eight-inch uncut rock-hard cock and I was wondering--

"Sure."

Translation: I want to fuck you but I don't know how to ask you. I am afraid that you have AIDS (This disease is so boring now), and if you ask to fuck me, I know that a condom might break and death (This identity is so will and grace now) will be my friend and I don't want to have any friends like enemies. I don't think you what to have sex with me and I'm afraid (This commodity is the touch of my skin) to ask if you do say no and I will become nothingness (This disease do will and touch boring my grace now skin). Who are you anyway?

They arrive. The Chinese transvestite takes him and pulls down his pants. I want you to lick my pussy, she hears as he rims the transvestites ass with his tongue, licking up the semen encrusted between its lips. From behind, the other takes him up the fudge tunnel and rams, not flesh but machine into his soft law. She moans softly before the hammer pounds down on his face, dragging him to a post in the middle of nowhere and tying him naked and beaten with hard cock god of S and M. He becomes born again for the first time ever the judges condemn this kind of salvation because god hates. He moans softly in god's name and asks. The Chinese transvestite shits on his face, projectile like and calls him a good boy. It knows that her fame is as sure as death knocks on god's kingdom. Her final thoughts relinquish his hold on the meaning of life:

(I have murdered because Identity. I have constructed this act of sexuality because it is not equality by definition a fine line between epiphany and apparel. I would tell the world this: that I have sexual desire and must pay taxes, NATO. In the bones of my law, machine is still up my glory hole tight and in light of the truth that pleasure is only skin deep and moments in time is worth a life. I thank you for what I have done.)

A flock of flies (Angels) appears at this time. He is taking in his final breaths as the pick up of a beat up old truck and drunks that into distance of abandonment. The flies sing: We the people.

The flies do not sing, nor do they move. The hover in hoverance above the head. The flies do not move, but form a crown. It is attracted to the feces encrusted between its lips.

The flies do not speak, but communicate through symbols that are not language, but meaning. And before the flies are finished, he is gone. Only his cock, forever spurting ejaculate into the mouths of cherubs and rigormortis.

He is gone!!!! The flies moan.

Look, points the Chinese transvestite from another time and place: The flies have loved you and you have not loved them back. Look, points the Chinese transvestite to her cock.

He is gone!!! The flies moan.

Look, points identity: He has risen and glory. Glory in the highest.

He is gone!!! The flies moan.

Look, points himself: I have been christed with god hates.

He is gone!!! The flies moan.

INSERT TEXT ABOUT MURDER HERE

as before, this is only story. It is true, it did sleep with other men, but that is natural because he is homosexual (another word for politics). Homosexuality is a politician. He is not the kind of skin you would have him believe he was in visible because he never had to think about the color of his skin. But sex is politics for everyone, as he was birthed from the womb and it took him a while to figure out that he was not part of his mother in whole or fragmented self, identity. He knew, before his history was being made that he was creating a world because the air in here is dank and this place, it stinks and every time his mouth opens, judge, he can smell the stench of that stink on himself. Identity becomes suddenly afraid. He has entered into this world with no money and doesn't know how to pay his taxes this year because his mother's womb was an impoverished country ruled by the exploitation of america. This is his history. The rest's another story about sex.

This is a story about sex. Well, it's a story about sex. If it’s not sex, then it's AIDS. This is a story about AIDS. Well, it's a story about AIDS. Therefore, this story’s about boredom and that's about sex and not murder or love, what this story's really about is plague. This is a story about plague and murder, forgiveness. This is a story about disease. Well, it's a story about disease. Cock destroys the moral fiber of social politics and identity, like this act. This is a story. It is a story about sex only happens as happily ever after. Well, orgasm only happens as happily ever after (it is a politician). Tremble of delight wave and wave and drown in the pool of forever's never is forever ever, and ecstasy is a plane where few have gone to taste and drink deep droughts of AIDS. This is a story about; well it is a story about.

This is a story about sex. Well, it's a story about sex. And what is AIDS? It is a hieroglyph. It is a myth. It is a song and legend. It is like the grass, advertising and economics. It is this plot, from outer space. This crack cocaine has addicted. Brand mark. Tattoo. Christian death; not disease, but diseased. AIDS cures fags. Television cures god. Forever and ever together, happily orgasm the devil who is not about sex, but has something to do about how love.

INSERT TEXT ABOUT MURDER ABOVE

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