TREASURE HUNTING

With my pink friend, I follow the Georges, the Gilberts, the Geralds, and the Greys. My clouded mind grows weaker and weaker as I connect the dots through this wild adventure, this blindfolded hunt for treasure. An eel running through and inside my belly and inner thighs, discharging by my spine. I do not have enough fingers, should I care to summarise. I have a pink toy; it is not a substitute, it is the colourful garnish at my disposal, at one arm’s distance on the side. Wise whispering monkeys are welcome to join and cooperate, to explore this soft-sanded land, this private island, this hidden paradise. In the morning, every now and then, after the coffee or the champagne. I am wearing red. Red danger, red passion, red, mercurial red. I look for the soothing shade, put the skull and bones to rest and willingly sail into the pleasurable domain.

Treasure hunting. Short-story from “12 o’clock-tales” (The red table & A scared black cat, book adventure)