apocalypse teenage wet dream #35

oh sweet jeebus the endtimes are a-knocking at my door, sordid and well hung, stinking of semen and ozone.  i’m wet, on scabbed knees, praying for that big fucking bang.  i want those cern bastards smashing particle beams like porno supersymmetryists, and i want the minibigminibang, and i want the higgs boson, the god particle, the mass mass mass destruction nervous and trembling and slick with dark matter, slick like sperm on gold teeth, at my gaping mouth.  pray ladies and gentlemen to whatever non-god or humanist cunt you pray to each and every rainy day, ugly and unblessed, pray for the black hole worm hole, pray for that gravity bitch intense and unthinkingly cruel to tease us with her giant apocalyptic lips before vaccuuming all to oblivious fuck.  it’s all i(we)’ve got to cling to but the embarrased fart at the end of all this nonsensical muttering and lemming cliff building and catalogueing of pointless accomplishmentisms and bugger allness.  hawkings slide off yr wheelchair and come see me in my most engorged erect dreams and tell me it ain’t, tell me it is, tell me the true truth.  tell me the fiction, that everything’s cool and everythings hairless smooth and then rub me sensually with yr grim knowledge, the tragedy of inevitability and selfawareness.  tell me it’s all gloriously fucked and i can sleep better through all of it undoing.  tell me, please, that there is no light at the end of the tunnel.  there is no light at the end of the tunnel.

• white magic: apocalypse
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