With my pink friend I follow the Georges, the Gilberts, the Geralds and the Greys. My clouded mind goes weaker and weaker as I’m connecting the dots through this wild adventure, this blind folded hunting for a treasure. An eel running through and inside my belly, my inner thighs and discharges by my spine. I have not enough fingers, should I care to summarise. I have a pink toy, it is not a substitute it’s the colourful garnish on the side. Wise whispering monkeys allowed and welcomed 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’m wearing red. Red danger, red passion, red, mercurial red. I look for the soothing shade, put the skull and bones to rest and willingly I sail into the pleasurable domain.
Treasure hunting. Short-story from “12 o’clock-tales” (The red table & A scared black cat, book adventure)
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