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Only the pussy can guide you in the right direction, though usually you are
sleeping or don't seem to notice.
The metaphor for your life? Getting stuck in city elevators, riding up and down
for hours. The pussy takes no responsibility for this.
You are but a single heart beat, a mere flicker or tail wag in the vast body of
the pussy whose measure and limit has not been established, for the pussy seeks
the boundless, the eternal, the blouseless. One day you, too, could be one with
the pussy.
You must take notes and observe the pussy carefully.
Once you have learned to recognize the pussy, you will know that the pussy
always abandons you by enveloping you.
Sometimes the pussy mistakes a nude buttocks for a loaf of bread and takes a
swift bite from the soft, sweet flesh, leaving tiny teeth marks.
The pussy can become more desirable in absentia, sort of like the items in a
catalog of sunsets in a travel brochure.
When the pussy leaves for its annual seaside vacation, it rarely takes more than
7-8 days to return. During its absence, you will feel as if water is filling
your ears. At night you will dream of whale songs.
Neither your family nor your culture gave birth to the pussy. The pussy comes
from beyond and prefers to remain invisible, though sometimes it can be seen
crawling across your skin like a small, red wave.
Few have ever witnessed the sudden and inexplicable flight of the pussy.
Pussies can never be reduced or repealed. Each pussy is as unique as a
fingerprint with its many whorls.
Even now the pussy is working in your life. A shadowy stranger, an afterimage
of you, it leaves wet footprints on the tile floor. You must learn to
distinguish which footprints are your own, and which are those of the pussy.
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©2000
Nin Andrews and Nerve.com
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