Pussy, King of the Pirates. Кэти Акер

be rich and white is to be vulnerable. So when the revolutionaries returned to him to ask for more funds he refused.

      They started to beat him up. They almost killed him.

      As soon as I learned what had taken place, I stopped hating W for not returning my love.

      In a skirmish prior to the explosion of the English Embassy, a young boy who had run guns for the revolutionaries had one of his arms severely injured.

      With the other hand holding the money that he had earned by working for the terrorists, he walked into the brothel. He found the Madam and gave her the amount she had requested as the price of my purchase.

      I knew nothing about the purchase of my freedom.

      Behind my bedroom door, Artaud told me that he had come back for me.

      “I’m still sick. I don’t want to see anyone.”

      He forced himself into my room, so I hit him. He fell down to the floor on the arm that had been broken. When he cried out, I was surprised.

      “You’re just a boy, so how could you be hurting so badly?”

      His arm was bent the wrong way for a human.

      Now I understood that someone could hurt more than me. Reaching down, I lifted up his body, on to my thigh, as much as I was able. I only wanted to fuck with him. Pain, for him at that moment, was the same as sexual pleasure. For me, every area of my skin was an orifice; therefore, each part of his body could do and did everything to mine.

      We wondered at our bodies.

      Artaud Rewrites His Letter:

      When I saw O, I wanted to protect her because she worships her cunt.

      O Speaks:

      1 never saw Artaud again.

      Weakened not only by the beating but also by the desertion of his rich girlfriend, W began to go mad.

      He learned that the young boy and I had fallen in love. He began to follow Artaud through the slum’s streets, which now reeked of more and more revolutionaries, and into alleyways which were blind. In one of those, he shot the young poet and left him for dead.

      In those days, there were too many bodies for there to be such a thing as murder.

      When I heard this, I no longer cared what happened to W. I quit that whorehouse. For me, there were no more men left in the world.

      I had been searching for my father, in a dream, and found a young and insane boy, who was then killed.

      I stood on the edge of a new world.

      in the Days of Dreaming