Back in 1970 a fellow adventurer and I wrote this experimental piece, whereby I would write a line or two then pass the typewriter to him to write a line or two, and so on.
We never knew where the story was going or how it would end but the creative process was actually very revealing in the fact that it has a plot, deep meaning, humor, conflict, resolution and an ending that surprised us both!
Needless to say we were high all day every day back then, but the creativity was within us regardless of the psychotropics and the energy flow took hold.
If you choose to stick with it, there's a payoff and remember we didn't discuss the progression, just wrote what felt right and passed it back. Funtimes!
So, sit back and enjoy this image-rich, experimental, free-form, sex, drugs and rock 'n' roll vampiric tale involving God, Lucifer and Manual the Gardner.
(This was transcribed as written; see accompaning typewritten 38 year old heavy stock paper original!)
The Legend of Manual’s Labor
by
John Good and Terry Lattimer
Manual the gardener slipped his mutated member in her quivering quim….theirs was the joy of the crusty fetid death lover……..agony, joy….and the pomp and circumcise of life.
Throughout the time and space of his pathetic existence on this bizarre and brutal sphere in the barbaric times of the post-mutant age, his quest for the inebriated phosphorous soldier of the fourth
order of the purple nuzz- nuzz, left him in a rather slobbery state.
Poor pathetic Manual could barely grasp at what was reality, what with crusty quims and all. Lord Lucifer! Why do you forsake
me now?....when all but the memories of an amnesia-dominated past have beckoned me with an elusive hand, inviting and inticing me to rise. I shall rise, I shall….tomorrow I shall go to the priest
of the one they used to call Christ. If I can gain his confidence and his magic perhaps the emergence of a pseudo-spiritual redeemer will render the apathetic doldrums to a state of total recall.
Its so hard and getting worse daily. As my brain rots ever so routinely, it is hard for me to keep it all together….fuzzy-wuzzys and nuzzy-nuzzys….I will no longer honor my false brazen
God. He shall have no more of my life giving blood, but be the unwilling donor of sacrifice over and over again for the fair and virginal flower of the tainted forest of eternity. Rainbow spider webs….autumn leaves….lustful fall….what does it all mean?
The esscense goo that they call me is no more than a manic struggle between two blood-lusting souls searching for sanity.
Along with the equally demanding urges of the eye…the optical telescope of non-reality. The conflict, the pull, the never-ending decision of whether that today is really tomorrow yesterday.
Yes, yes the urge is to acknowledge this as real, yet, yet, how can this whore of carnal delight be anymore than that delectable taste of her love goo.
The tought of approaching this madness, this conflicting bridge of threadbare thoughts leaves me no way out but that of temporary reconciliation with my inner God. Yet who is that forsaking bastard? My friend, My foe?.....
I believe I shall now go about thine destruction. Thine destruction, let me count the ways: whether it be nobler to drain the life giving blood in second to eternity lapses or send my soul-self into
oblivion via a celestial narcotic drug,….that sweet release.
I have reached my decision…not an easy one for sure. It’s a delight though to suck her life thrusting juices even if it does mean her demise. The thought spirals into an intense overbearing climactic explosion of every molecule in me as the last drop is suckled from the now non-existent whore of carnal delight…..
that is me.
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