Yellow Brick Road

I am taken up into seventh heaven and dumped on my head in a wonderland. I don tragic heels, am transvestite, am forced to take the yellow path through the countryside of desire. I carry beside me on a leash a bitch named Total, whom I do not love but loves me, who is lovely but unlovable. She slobbers I want you I want you I want you and pisses beside the beautiful yellow brick road. Along the way I meet a tin woman without a heart, hard body with beautiful breasts, so hard you cannot hurt them by pinching slapping or groping them. She wants a heart so that she can feel men.

Along the way I meet (Total slobbers I want you I want you I want you) a woman on all fours, on a leash, a cowardly woman with a rich mane of hair around what counts. You can always tell how brave a woman is by the hair around what counts. A complete pussy, all dry and cowardly. I smile at her, a cruel debonair I know what you want bitch kind of smile and, afraid, she crawls to me on all fours, the stupid pussy. Object of all my misogynistic dreams, object of what counts.

Along the way I meet (shut up Total shut up shut up) a woman without a brain, an unthinking sort of babe, blonde, brunette, athletic, long legs, great smile, whatever. The Perfect Dream, a cumbucket without a brain. She has packed her body with straw: education, good books, boobs, a great smile, whatever. She tries but can’t shoo all the crow-men away, they land on the great farm of her independence but she just cannot shoo them away, the Perfect Fuck. Shut up Total shut up shut up I want you I want you I want you

And finally we end up at the Castle, tall and beautiful and ivory as a woman tall and beautiful factory of dreams tall and beautiful repository of what counts. We enter, strange company of transvestite and four chicks, my beautiful high stilettos clack clack clacking on the strange emerald floor, green as the eye of a European whore, the best in all Denmark! We smell the brave scent of copulation and there (we peep first, of course, us courteous visitors) of course the Wizard of Course, a real witch playing with herself in front of the mirror.

Fact is, we’d come in through the back door. Sodomized the Castle, so to speak. And we were back-stage. The Witch was putting on a show for us, only she thought we would come in through the grand entrance, not see her fucking herself with bright red fingernails behind a screen. If only we had come in through the front, I wailed, if only we’d given her a chance to fool us—we’d have heard the moaning the grinding the whatever and we’d have thought: here is a Woman Indeed, a fine copulating cunt of a Woman, the real deal. But now we’d seen the back of it all and I couldn’t bear to watch so I left I left the throne room and descended back to the Land of the Real, back here back outside the trance of the ecstatic desire, back into my boots and books and impossible women.