Declarations of the Dictatorship of the Poet

[WolfLarsen]

I will now put all of the declarations of the Poet-dictator Wolf Larsen in this thread, instead of cluttering up the section known as "General Writing". You are now entering the land of Wolf Larsen, ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK! Those with a puritanical nature, or who are easily upset, may wish to stop reading now! You have been warned.

The First Declaration of the Poet-Dictator Wolf Larsen
by Wolf Larsen

Wolf Larsen is standing there with a huge knife in his hand wearing a bloody apron. He is standing behind a table which is splattered with blood. Blood is dripping from the table to the floor... and the floor is a sea of blood. There is so much blood because Wolf Larsen is writing a poem.

On the bloody floor bowing before Wolf Larsen are Pablo Picasso, William Shakespeare, Genghis Khan, George Washington, and the king of England. They have all been castrated.

Their castrated penises are on the walls as part of Wolf Larsen's pen collection. There are literally tens of thousands of pen-penises hanging from the walls. This collection of castrated penises are gloriously waiting for the day when they will be used as the pen of the Poet-dictator.

Pablo Picasso, William Shakespeare, Genghis Khan, George Washington, and the King of England have all come to humbly beseech Wolf Larsen to use their own castrated penis as His pen.
But Wolf Larsen's too busy to pay any attention to them. He is chopping away at the english language with his huge knife creating a poem.

From the other side of the steel bars surrounding the room are Wolf Larsen's concubines. They're all begging Wolf to **** them. Wolf Larsen's concubines are the wives & daughters of the former ruling class. Amongst the concubines are also some castrated men dressed up in sexy women's clothing. The rest of the former ruling class have all been drafted as Wolf Larsen slaves to build His giant Temple of Sex & Poetry. Wolf Larsen's Temple of Sex & Poetry is now the largest building the world has ever seen, and getting still BIGGER with each passing day.

Wolf Larsen raises His hand, and all the concubines are suddenly quiet, as the Poet-dictator is about to make a declaration.

"The time has come to destroy the english language with the english language!" declares Wolf Larsen.

All the fish in the sea obediently repeat, "the time has come to destroy the english language with the english language!

All of the men of the world, who have received the honor of being castrated by Wolf Larsen, dutifully declare: "the tiMe hAs cOme to destroY the engLish langUage wiTh the engliSh languaGe!"

All the married women of the world, (who have received the honor of being impregnated by the Poet-dictator while their husbands watched with glee), all declare: "the time has COME to DESTROY the english LANGUAGE with the ENGLISH language!"

Copyright 2014 by Wolf Larsen

Footnote:

The above declaration was in part inspired by some work I did on the Bering Sea of Alaska. When I first began working in Alaska I was on a factory-trawler type of fishing boat. One of my tasks was working at a conveyor belt grabbing live & squiggling fish, and as they impotently struggled against me I chopped their heads off. I would then throw their decapitated squiggling bodies onto one conveyor belt, and their bodies would be slashing about, as if searching for their head. I would throw the decapitated heads onto another conveyor belt, and the mouths of the decapitated heads would keep moving & moving. They seemed to be saying: "**** you *******! **** you *******!" I did this 16 hours a day seven days a week. That was my introduction to Alaska.

I also grew up on the South Side of Chicago. On the South Side Chicago were the famous or infamous stockyards.

The issue of the English language is a complicated one for me, as on one side of the family I am the son of a Québecois immigrant. The Québecois were treated badly by Anglo-Saxon Protestants in New England, where my mother grew up. The other side of my family is Scandinavian and Catholic Irish. The Scandinavian part of me is from Normandy. The Catholic Irish side of me immigrated during the potato famine. Both sides of the family literally fought the Americans of Anglo-Saxon descent on the streets of America.

English is my native tongue.

I personally have no problem with Americans of Anglo-Saxon descent, or with Englishmen. I've been to England, and I liked most of the people.

I also believe that the Poet, Writer, Painter, Sculptor, Architect, Choreographer, etc. should be the gods of their own creations. No one should interfere with creativity. Those with creative talents should be submissive to no one, and answer to no one, except to their own creative imaginations. As far as I'm concerned, each poem or novel or painting or sculpture is the dictatorship of the person who created it.

There will be more declarations on this thread!

[Pope of Eruke]

Interesting!

[WolfLarsen]

My Right Hand & My Penis Having a Conversation Together
A short play by Wolf Larsen

(The reader may choose which speaker is the right hand & which is my penis. The reader may then read the play again switching the roles. Happy reading!)

"That which the sky were to turn around with the mustard."

"But the mustard is what the head bing-bongs with the vagina, my lord."

"I don't ding-dong with my dongy when all the toothbrushes are singing dockity-do."

"Yes of course my lord, but zing-zangs can only explain delirious screwdrivers!"


"Delirious screwdrivers?! Delirious screwdrivers?! Delirious screwdrivers?!"


"But blue is always zinging with my zanging when my Porsche automobile kisses the toothbrush!"

"But toothbrush is the apocalypse of dongy-dingy, no?"

"Yes now and a maybe, but only when fish can jump with space satellites, and the alarm clocks can run with the dune-ding-tunnels, or whatever the plates can sing."

"Sing the plates? You might as well ask me to wall the sky! Or sky the around about ding-ding! For how else can you expect to zap the whippity without a rocketship, or at least some soap!"

"Naturally!"

"Naturally the Air Force or all the oranges in the supermarket! How else can alphabets be made to jump through basketball hoops? How else but the bananas of nuclear power plants can you fadoodle with the zumbing electrical toys of your wife?"

"Zumbing electrical toys of your wife? With what? With Baroque-rococo paintings of your favorite soup?"

"No, but faddidle! That's exactly how the zumbing electrical toys of your wife will become all of the rhinoceroses that even the dogs on a leash could bear! For how could bear and electrical zumbing toys of your wife be incoherent to bourgeois democracy? For how else with bourgeois democracy can the toilets sing! Can't you hear the toilets sing?"

"Toilets sing? But what with the panicking streets of my hemorrhoids! For how else with my hemorrhoids can a Penelope pash zing with all the beer? For beer is the zongy-ding!"

"But zongy-ding is the McDonald's value meal of my Shakespearean material dialectics in a soup can! For how else can the fwippity do the schnippity with as many alcoholic house cats as a street sweeper can find?"

Copyright 2014 by Wolf Larsen

Footnote: Obviously this is influenced by Shakespeare. And obviously I'm better than Shakespeare. I've seen others on the Internet better than Shakespeare too. If you want, you too can be better than Shakespeare, why not?

[Pope of Eruke]

Wolf, have you read Tarantula, by Bob Dylan? You should if you haven't, youd probably like it.

Here is an excerpt

Guns, the Falcon’s Mouthbook & Gashcat Unpunished

aretha/ crystal jukebox queen of hymn & him diffused in drunk transfusion would would heed sweet woundwave crippled & cry salute to oh great particular el dorado reel & ye battered personal god but she cannot she the leader of whom when ye flow, she cannot she has no back she cannot… beneath black flowery railroad fans & fig leaf shades & dogs of all nite joes, grow like arches & cures the harmonica battalions of bitter cowards, bones & bygones while what steadier louder the moans & arms of funeral landlord with one passionate kiss rehearse from dusk & climbing into the bushes with some favorite enemy ripping the postage stamps & crazy mailmen & waving all rank & familiar ambition than that itself, is needed to know that mother is not a lady… aretha with no goals, eternally single & one step soft of heaven/ let if be understood that she owns this melody along with her emotional diplomets & her earth & her musical secrets

the censor in a twelve wheel drive semi stopping in for donuts & pinching the waitress/ he likes his women raw & with syrup/ he has his mind set on becoming a famous soldier

manuscript nitemare of cut throat high & low & behold the prophesying blind allegiance to law fox, monthly cupid & the intoxicating ghosts of dogma… nay & may the boatmen in bathrobes be banished forever & anointed into the shelves of alive hell, the unimaginative sleep, repetition without change & fat sheriffs who watch for doom in the mattress.. hallaluyah & bossman of the hobos cometh & ordaining the spiritual gypsy davy camp now being infiltrated by foreign dictator, the pink FBI & the interrogating unknown failures of peacetime as holy & silver & blessed with the texture of kaleidoscope & the sandal girl… to dream of dancing pillhead virgins & wandering Apollo at the pipe organ/ unscientific ramblers & the pretty things lucky & lifting their lips & handing down looks & regards from the shoulders of adam & eve’s minstrel peekaboo…

[Pope of Eruke]

Yo wolf

[WolfLarsen]

Interesting stuff!

You know who also wrote some pretty interesting stuff: Salvador Dali. People think he was only a painter.

I'll have to read more of that Bob Dylan thing sometime.

[WolfLarsen]

A Neo-Grammatical-Errorist Manifesto

1) !Goo Gaaaaajaaaa- raaaaooooop!, - ,

2) ,,,//,!ooooooOOOO! PuuuuL-L-LL-L-L-LL!

3) !UuuUUjjob!,, Looooowwwqquu/,-? ??!,/.,

4) !Abstractionism is the yes my of u N de Rwear,, off! Good is sex! Censorship-ism is a garbage-ism!

5)? Invent new WoRds, wOrds worDs! Yes to words new yeS-yes! Slaughter slaughter the grammar & rules traditional yes yes! Due 2 the words whaT the butcher does too the meet! Filet the sentences like butchering an animal 4 slaughter- ! - The, pen. is/ your, knife!

6) !Peanut buTter-iSm now,! !Now-ism now! !Violate - everything - until - grammar - is - no - moreeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

7) ,Corr, eCt graMmatical str-ucturE i/s now again,st the la.Ws of crEativity - creatiVity - creativitY! And down with gravity to !Violators will be e-aten by fluoreScent-cannibaL-woRms on every Tuesday of GREEN & PURPLE years!

8)??? GREEN & PURPLE years ! GREEN & PURPLE years ! & Submarines too! -Too-ism 2! Submarining shall be flippy-floppity-bunny-bunny-salesman-ism tomorrows & yesterday & todays! No mOre yesterdayism !

9)! Happy to the songs of beach blue skyism, and also tomorrowism as well! Evolution & revolution is our alwaysism!

10)/, Catch breath you song sing you?

11) RIP grammar correct structerism and spelling correctism yes RIP to all that do/do do/do do/do! Yes yes yeS yEs yes Yes yes yes to sentences incorrect-ism!!!

12) eat a deMopubLicaN-rePubliCraT-pOliticiaN or billioNaiRe for brEakfast every day every, Yum Yum,!

Copyright 2012 by Wolf Larsen

[Oedipus]

Pope, that looks like some kind of beat-generation Finnegans Wake. Interesting. Wolf, what do you think about the negative reviews of your work on Amazon? Are they just regressive artifacts of a less-free time? Or do you think errorism still has some ground to make before producing a real masterpiece?

[WolfLarsen]

The reviews are not negative – the reviews are positive! The are positively passionate in their hatred of my work! Ha ha! Puritans & traditionalists have always passionately hated my work. I nearly caused a riot at the Green Mill Tavern poetry slam (the place where the poetry slam was supposedly born). My biggest mistake was that I stopped reading the poem. If I kept reading there may very well been a full-scale riot! I thus would've been honored in the same manner as Mahler & Stravinsky!

I've also been honored by receiving the lowest scores in the history of the Green Mill Tavern & Nuyorican Poetry Café slams. Those are some of the most famous poetry slams anywhere in the country – and perhaps the world! Something wonderful is happening when people passionately hate your work like that!

Errorism is just one branch of endless branches of a tree called creativity in literature. Long live creativity! Long live individualism! And when I moon the audience at poetry readings it is only so that the literary world can kiss my derrière!

[WolfLarsen]

WARNING: THIS THREAD IS NOT FOR RELIGIOUS PURITANS WHO ARE EASILY OFFENDED. IF YOU ARE A RELIGIOUS PURITANICAL PERSON THEN PLEASE STOP READING IMMEDIATELY AND GET OFF THIS THREAD. Thank you for your understanding.

Declaration: Wolf Larsenism Conquers the Universe!
A tangerine declaration by the Poet-god Wolf Larsen (who is the undisputed god of all tangerines!)

The waves were crashing into the present year and the wind was howling a thousand adjectives and the Poet was walking along the seashore and screaming his commands at all the seagulls & ducks –
"I demand that the tangerines become planets!" screamed the Poet with his fist in the air. The storm clouds applauded this declaration of the Poet-god.

"I demand that all our penises become exclamation points in a sky made out of human flesh!" declared the Poet-dictator.

A seagull squawked its agreement.

"I demand that tornadoes become the new expression of poetry! I demand that we write poetry with our diarrhea all over the walls of City Hall!" continued the Poet-dictator.
Many of the seagulls squawked agreement. A duck flew away to spread the message of the Poet's declarations.

"There's more!" screamed the Poet at the moon. The full moon was listening intently as the Poet screamed, "no more commas or periods in our literature! From now on we must put commas and periods in all the wrong places!"

A mermaid came out of the sea and clapped & clapped. She was all adoration of the Poet-god!

The Poet continued as he walked, "all poets should inhabit outer space! Poetry IS outer space! Helicopters are the antithesis of poetry, because incorrect grammatical structures would never be neon fauvist when all the helicopters are flying overhead!"

Now thousands of mermaids were all swimming in from the sea to listen to the great speech of the great Poet-dictator of the beach.

"Now is the time to take our bazookas and blast literature into the walls of Mars! Soon, Mars will be invaded with correct grammatical structures! And that is why we must write poetry with the blood of goats & young bulls sacrificed on the altars of the literary temples. We must build giant literary temples out of all the orgies of our naked bodies! Our naked bodies will create a grand poetry of immaculate conception together throughout a universe of naked black bodies fornicating on the white skin of the page – because interracial orgies are what poetry is made of!"

All of the seagulls & mermaids were applauding. Then, a naked Virgin Mary began floating down the sky to bless the Atheist-Catholic Poet.

The Poet-dictator fell to his knees before the naked Virgin Mary. And all of the seagulls & mermaids did witness the Grand Ceremony of Immaculate Conception between the Poet-dictator Wolf Larsen and the naked Virgin Mary.

After the Grand Ceremony of Immaculate Conception was completed the Virgin Mary told the Poet-dictator Wolf Larsen, "you must now conquer the Earth for us and our unborn child. Our child shall be the son of god, because all Poets are gods, and you are the God of Immaculate Conception, and I am the Goddess of Immaculate Conception, and an Atheist Catholic poetry shall create a great new religion of sin that shall be borne from your phallus pen!"

And Wolf Larsen gathered his sword and made a shield with the image of the naked Virgin Mary. And then Wolf Larsen began his journey to conquer the universe for the grand new poetry of immaculate conception.

Copyright 2014 by Wolf Larsen

[WolfLarsen]

WARNING: what you eat goes in one hole and out the other. IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH THIS REALITY FEEL FREE TO STOP READING NOW. Thank you for your understanding.

Five Thousand Wolf Larsens in a Public Toilet Saving the Day for Democracy
(A Declaration of Poetry Written on the Bathroom Wall of Every Public Toilet in the World)

His Majesty the Poet-dictator Wolf Larsen is sitting on a throne in a filthy public bathroom. He begins, "sunshine is what we write poetry with!"

His other Majesty the other Poet-dictator Wolf Larsen II – who was sitting on his own throne upside down on the ceiling (because Wolf Larsen can defy gravity!) stated, "I disagree with you Wolf Larsen I, the space comets are the poetry spermatozoa of the space aliens – you know, the space aliens that live in the public housing projects!"

His yet other Majesty the yet other Poet-dictator Wolf Larsen III who sat in defiance of gravity on the toilet-throne bolted vertically to the south wall of the public bathroom yelled out: "YOU'RE BOTH WRONG! ALL THE SPACE ALIENS IN OUR TESTICLES ARE WRITING THE WORLD'S GREATEST POETRY RIGHT NOW AS WE SPEAK!"

"The world's greatest poetry?!" sang his other Royal Majesty the Poet-dictator Wolf Larsen IV, who sat on the toilet-throne bolted vertically to the north wall of the public bathroom. He continued singing, "the world's greatest poetry is being sung by all of the frogs in the Amazon rain forest! Only the frogs in the Amazon rain forest have found the true outer space of poetry! And it is only with the true outer space of poetry that our testicles can ferment the greatest poetry known to all the baboons in our brains!"

His other Royal Majesty the Poet-dictator Wolf Larsen V, who was sitting on his toilet-throne that was bolted to the east wall whispered, "I wish I had the thousand ears of a tree! Because only a tree can understand paper, and only paper can understand poetry, and only poetry can understand World War III."

All of the other Poet-dictator Wolf Larsens applauded.

One of the audience members, who was washing his hands in the sink, SCREAMED: "YOU'RE CRAZY!"

Another audience member, who was waiting in line to wash his hands, said nothing. But his silence had a secret message to all of the Wolf Larsens sitting on their thrones that were bolted to the floor & the ceiling & all the walls... One of the spiders spinning a web by the window understood the secret message of the silent audience member waiting in line to wash his hands.

That's when Wolf Larsen I, who was sitting on the toilet-throne bolted to the floor, said to the spider: "you see all we Wolf Larsens are not really sitting in a public bathroom here. We are each of us sitting in a different universe – a multidimensional universe of endless walls and mirrors – and there are really thousands of Wolf Larsens amongst us! Soon there will be millions! Soon there will be trillions! Trillions & trillions of Wolf Larsens!"

The man who had been washing his hands yelled out as he was leaving: "YOU'RE A REAL NUT CASE!"

The Wolf Larsen sitting upside down on the throne bolted to the ceiling responded: "only the cans of sliced peaches in the supermarket are crazy! Because all the lakes are really swimming in the poetry of nouns & adjectives! And all the planes & automobiles & trains are zipping verbs! And the clouds passing by are laughing & laughing at us – but all we Wolf Larsens are as immortal as our words! And our words are masturbating now a new multidimensional painting of thousands of poetry-graffiti-bathroom-walls into existence! And from these poetry-graffiti-bathroom-walls dribble spermatozoa-poetry into the minds of the audience – and thus the minds of the audience members become pregnant with poetry! And their minds impregnate the black universe with all the white letters written upon it by all of us trillions & trillions of Wolf Larsens!"

But there are now no audience members to listen to the endless pontificating-SCREAMING-whispering-singing Wolf Larsens all sitting on their endless toilet-thrones that were upside down on the ceiling and vertical on all the walls. Only the spider was listening. And the spider understood everything.

Copyright 2014 by Wolf Larsen

[WolfLarsen]

WARNING: THERE IS SOME HOMOEROTICISM IN THIS POST OF CREATIVE LITERATURE. IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH HOMOEROTICISM OR ANYTHING SEXUAL IN LITERATURE THEN STOP READING AND CLICK OFF OF THIS POST IMMEDIATELY. Thank you for your understanding.


The Wolf Larsen Bisexual Pride Parade
a poetry parade by Wolf Larsen

Everyone in the crowd is nearly-naked or completely naked! And everyone – all the hundreds of thousands of attendees – are all clones of Wolf Larsen. Some of the Wolf Larsen clones are men and others are women and some are white and some are black. Most are very attractive!

One of the hosts on a passing float says over the microphone: "the clouds are our bisexual happiness! When all hundreds of thousands of us look in the mirror of what is us we feel the happiness of endless blue skies upon our naked bodies! Long live bisexuality! Long live sex! Long live poetry!"

The crowd cheeeeers!! The crowd is drinking & smoking marijuana & eating delicious roasted meat. (On every block of the parade route dogs & pigs & cats & politicians are being roasted over open fires.)

Sharing the passing float with the host are endless Wolf Larsen clones bare from the chest up. Some are women and some are men and some are black and some are white – but all have great bodies! They are all dancing & dancing and smiling & smiling! Even the birds in the sky are smiling – because it's the annual Wolf Larsen bisexual pride parade!

Other Wolf Larsen clones are walking down the streets carrying banners. One banner says:
POETRY HAS NO GRAMMAR! POETRY HAS PENISES!
Another banner says:
WE ARE THE PENISES & ANUSES OF POETRY!
And yet another banner says:
MUSIC & POETRY & BISEXUALITY FOREVER! LET'S ALL HAVE SEX & POETRY WITH EACH OTHER!

And now the Wolf Larsen transvestite troop begins marching & dancing on by to the beats of samba. They all have beards & unshaved legs & unshaved everything! And some are dressed in miniskirts so high that their big long ding-dongs hang out! Other transvestites are wearing low-cut dresses that show off their hairy chests. And still others where sexy see-through négligée showing off the big muscles of all the Wolf Larsen transvestites. As they march & dance on by the hundred members of the Wolf Larsen transvestite troop chant & sing:
"WE ARE THE UGLIEST TRANSVESTITES EVER! AND UGLINESS IS POETRY!"
"WE WRITE POETRY WITH OUR PENISES! AND OUR PENISES ARE THE GREATEST PENS EVER TO WRITE SEX & POETRY WITH!"

And then the Wolf Larsen float of the 44 presidents slowly ambles by to the sensual beats of house music. All the 44 presidents – from George Washington to Barack Obama – are all bisexual clones of Wolf Larsen! Some are naked from the waist up. Some are naked from the waist down. Some are dressed in men's clothes. Some are dressed as transvestites. And all of the presidential Wolf Larsen clones are dancing & chanting & singing & having sex with each other as the float slowly drives by...

The presidential float is followed by the Afro-Brazilian Wolf Larsen Drumming Band. A dozen black Wolf Larsens are beating & beating on huge drums that can be heard for blocks around! The rhythm is hypnotic – the rhythm is everything – the rhythm creates spontaneous poetry – the rhythm induces the crowds to dance poetry forever & ever – the rhythm is a contagion that infects the whole festival & the whole city & the sky above with rhythm & rhythm & rhythm...

And then the sky above spontaneously lights up with poetry – brightly colored poetry falling from all the up! All the naked & near-naked Wolf Larsens in the crowd ooooooooooo & aaaaaaaaaaa.

Then the world's most Butch lesbian (who of course is a Wolf Larsen clone) begins singing from a passing float:
"I sit on your face and you feel the juices of my poetry spilling all over your face! And your tongue creating poetry in my pussy is like a skyscraper ****ing the sky with creative literature! And when I strap on a dildo and **** you in all your holes you feel all my literary proclamations creating a new world of sin & sex & poetry! Because sin & sex & poetry is the greatest menage-a-trois!"

After the float with the singing super Butch lesbian passes by comes the float of the Wolf Larsen advant-garde jazz band. A big black Wolf Larsen clone is playing a tenor saxophone that's blurting out phrases of poetry that fly all over the universe from the Earth. And the drums are crashing correct grammar into millions of pieces – and the bass (double cello) is turning all of the millions of pieces of the crashing everything into abstract sculptures – and the piano player is turning the abstract sculptures into phrases of poetry...

And then a float goes by with the Wolf Larsen clones who hold the Guinness Book of World Record titles for the largest penises in the world! An announcer on the float says over the microphone:
"These are the phallus-pens with which we write poetry with! Only those who understand that sex oozes out of everything will write the greatest poetry of the sexual animal known as man! Only poems dripping in sex will create a great new dawn of poetry with the love juices of our genitals!"

The crowd goes ecstatic! And the orgy of the ten thousand Wolf Larsen clones begins. Nine months later the greatest poetry on Earth is born...

Copyright 2014 by Wolf Larsen

[WolfLarsen]

This is an all-time favorite of mine. For that reason I am posting it again in this thread.

WARNING: THOSE WITH A MORE SENSITIVE OR PURITANICAL DISPOSITION MIGHT FIND THIS READING TO BE DISCOMFORTING. IF YOU ARE OVERLY SENSITIVE OR PURITANICAL PLEASE STOP READING NOW AND CLICK OFF THIS THREAD. THANK YOU FOR YOUR UNDERSTANDING.


The Dictatorship of the Poet: Orgies, Cannabilism, Castration


More from the monologue BLOOD & SEMEN
By Wolf Larsen

I kiss you a roar, I wrap you up in the kisses of all the men in the world breathing and chasing all over your body, you and I will make love on top of the dead corpses of the audience, the corpses will all sing us a sweet machete opera as they feel our bodies happily making sunlight on top of them, and as the world feels the happiness of my spermatozoa in your pussy the sun will shine a big electric peace over the earth

I will conquer the world and give it to you, every morning we will bath naked in human blood, we will use the skulls of our enemies as our toilet bowls and we will never use the same toilet bowl twice

You will be the princess of the human race and I will be the Poet-emperor of the world, I will castrate every man that comes within a 100 feet of you and I will use his castrated penis as a pen until the next castrated penis is handed to me on a silver platter. And the men will smile knowing I am using his castrated penis to write poetry

I will let you sit on the faces of the castrated men so that they may feel the wetness of your beautiful poetry melting all over their faces, all the men of the earth will love you, your naked body will delight on the sides of buildings everywhere, pornographic movies of our endless lovemaking will be broadcast across all the television channels 24 hours a day

Our child shall be worshipped as the second coming of christ – the child of the Poet – the One and only true god. And you shall be the princess of the human race, the mother of the son of god. For dinner, we shall eat the tongues of anyone who speaks otherwise

I shall be the father of the earth’s children. All men will send me their wives with all the happiness that this great privilege bears. You will sit on their faces as the Penis of the god-Poet gives them the ecstasy of immaculate conception. When their wives return home the husbands may taste all the creative literature secreting inside their wives pussies.

The word god slowly dies and is replaced with the greatest word that has ever been spoken: Poet.

Copyright 2006 by Wolf Larsen

[WolfLarsen]

Let's Destroy English with English!
A Proclamation by the Husband-of-the-Devil Wolf Larsen

The Normans begin to assemble on the channel facing England. They are holding swords & shields and banging them against each other and they are all chanting:

"LET'S ALL DESTROY ENGLISH WITH ENGLISH!"
"LET'S ALL DESTROY ENGLISH WITH ENGLISH!"

And now the Normans on the coast of Normandy facing England are being joined by black men from all of the English-speaking former colonies of Africa. And they have pens & computers & spears & swords & shields in their hands and they join the Normans in chanting:

"LET'S ALL DESTROY ENGLISH WITH ENGLISH!"
"LET'S ALL DESTROY ENGLISH WITH ENGLISH!"

And then the Hindus & Muslims from India join them in facing England. And everyone is banging their swords against their shields and they're all chanting:

"LET'S ALL DESTROY ENGLISH WITH ENGLISH!"
"LET'S ALL DESTROY ENGLISH WITH ENGLISH!"

And then everyone from gay pride parades from all over the world join the Normans & Africans & Indians on the Normandy coast and everyone from the gay pride parades from around the world are dancing nearly naked or completely naked as they join the chants:

"LET'S ALL DESTROY ENGLISH WITH ENGLISH!"
"LET'S ALL DESTROY ENGLISH WITH ENGLISH!"

And then all of the blacks from the former English colonies in the Caribbean join the multitude on the shore and the Caribbean blacks play the drums – they play & play the drums to the rhythms of the chants – they play & play the drums to the rhythms of centuries of frustration & anger – and it all sounds like:

"LET'S ALL DESTROY ENGLISH WITH ENGLISH!"
BOOM-dade-BOOM-BOOM! BOOM-dade-BOOM-BOOM!
"LET'S ALL DESTROY ENGLISH WITH ENGLISH!"
BOOM-dade-BOOM-BOOM! BOOM-dade-BOOM-BOOM!

And then all the Irishmen assembled on the Eastern shore of Ireland. They are facing England. And the Irishmen with bottles of whiskey in their hands and pens in their hands are having a grand old drunken time as they chant. And the Caribbean drum players join the Irishmen and it sounds like:

"LET'S ALL DESTROY ENGLISH WITH ENGLISH!"
BOOM-dade-BOOM-BOOM! BOOM-dade-BOOM-BOOM!
"LET'S ALL DESTROY ENGLISH WITH ENGLISH!"
BOOM-dade-BOOM-BOOM! BOOM-dade-BOOM-BOOM!

And then all the Scotsman assemble on the southern border of Scotland. And they are all smiling & laughing & chanting as they stand in their kilts. And some play the bagpipes as they chant:

"LET'S ALL DESTROY ENGLISH WITH ENGLISH!"
"LET'S ALL DESTROY ENGLISH WITH ENGLISH!"

And then all the unemployed in England and all those who work long hours for stingy wages in England and many rebellious English youth join in the fun and they all began chanting:

"LET'S ALL DESTROY ENGLISH WITH ENGLISH!"
"LET'S ALL DESTROY ENGLISH WITH ENGLISH!"

And then writers throughout the world hear the chants and they themselves begin chanting:

"LET'S ALL DESTROY ENGLISH WITH ENGLISH!"
"LET'S ALL DESTROY ENGLISH WITH ENGLISH!"

Copyright 2014 by Wolf Larsen

[WolfLarsen]

WARNING: PERSONS OF A PURITANICAL OR VERY RELIGIOUS ORIENTATION OR OTHERWISE EASILY UPSET MAY WISH TO STOP READING IMMEDIATELY AND CLICK OFF OF THIS THREAD. Thank you for your understanding.

Hear Ye! Hear Ye! The Poet Has Three Penises, Two Vaginas, & One Anus!
A Declaration of the Creator-of-the-Universe Wolf Larsen (The Almighty & Hiiiiiiiiiigh God of Words)

The Poet is on stage. The Poet is a he-she. The Poet has three penises, two vaginas, but only one anus.

The Poet speaks:
"My pen writes a thousand skies! My pen is a horde of violent angry poetry crossing the channel in 1066! My pen is endless words that turn into wild beasts of colors dancing on all the canvases! My pen turns into a knife and I fillet the English language – I turn the English language into my *****, my servant – and my words fly across the sky like a thousand arrows headed towards the page!"

The Poet is joined by the trumpet. The trumpet plays giant vowels falling everywhere...

The Poet again speaks:
"My words are made out of human skin & blood! My words fill the pages with the emotions of a beast called Man! My words dance with the modern dancers! My words sculpt marble into human greatness – and my words march through the Renaissance and into the Baroque & Rococo... And my words smash neo-classism into the dust because my pen is an almighty sledgehammer! I create poetry with a sledgehammer & an anvil! I am a Blue-Collar god!"

The black female choir sings:
"We are all Blue-Collar gods! We are all the sun & the rain! Our mighty arms built these skyscrapers! Our sweat & blood paved these roads! Our stress & tension & anger rises up into tidal waves of rebellion! Each generation is a wave of revolution! All our voices combine together as one voice – all our voices together combine as one hurricane that will decapitate the aristocracy & bourgeoisie and create a new ruling class of workers!"

The trumpet screeches. The saxophone plays the Civil War backwards. The drums begin banging & booming the sea & the sky together...

The Poet sings:
I am the creator of the earth and the sky and the land and the sea! There is no god! There is only the Poet! The Poet's pen is the great paintbrush that has created all the universe! The Poet's words dance with each other across the page and create miracles! The Poet's voice roars with all the waves of the ocean! The reader swims in the words of the Poet! It is poetry that is the giver of life – not god! The Poet has killed god! The phallus-pen of the Poet is the sword that has decapitated god! I hold god's decapitated head in my hand because I am the Poet and I sit on the throne of a dead god!"

The black female choir sings:
The Poet has killed god! Hallelujah! We have all killed god! Hallelujah! We are all Humans! We are all gods!"

The violins begin thrashing back-&-forth with a monsoon of imagery drowning the audience. It feels like an army of Arnold Schoenburgs and Anton Weberns all attacking the audience with spears & daggers...

The Poet shouts:
"I AM A GOD OF WORDS! I AM THE CREATOR OF PHRASES OF POETRY THAT DANCE ACROSS THE EARTH LIKE GREAT RIVERS! EACH ONE OF MY WORDS KISSES THE EYES OF THE READER! EACH ONE OF MY POEMS ARE A PAINTING! MY WORDS MAKE LOVE TO EACH OTHER, AND THE PHRASES OF POETRY ARE ORGIES OF VOWELS & CONSONANTS!"

The black female choir sings:
"Orgies of vowels & consonants! poetry is an orgy! All the words have phalluses & vaginas & mouths & anuses! Poetry is the most sexual music – because poetry is born from the phallus-pen of the Poet – and the Poet is a sex god! And all of the Poet's words are spermatozoa! Poetry is made from spermatozoa!"

Then the blues guitar plays centuries of suffering, the blues guitar plays the steel mills and the stockyards, the blues guitar plays great depressions & wars...

And the orchestra plays great depressions & wars...

And the black female church choir sings:
"Let poetry sing with human sexuality across the centuries of orgies & sin & sex! Let poetry sing with the violence of the human condition! Let poetry sing with suffering! Let poetry be as vulgar as all the sea of desires found within each primate called man!"

And the Poet speaks:
"I BUILD BUILDINGS OUT OF POETRY! MY ERECT PENIS IS A PHALLUS THAT'S 100 STORIES TALL AND I CALL IT A SKYSCRAPER! WELDERS & LABORERS & ARCHITECTS BUILD MY POETRY INTO SWELLING PHRASES OF POETRY CALLED BUILDINGS THAT DOMINATE THE SKYLINES OF THE WORLD! THE WORDS ARE GALLOPING OUT OF MY GENITALS! BECAUSE THE FESTERING MADNESS OF MY GENITALS IS WHERE ALL POETRY COMES FROM!"

The saxophone spurts an orgasm all over the audience, and then all the readers feel poetry inside of them swelling up in their wombs. In nine months all of the readers will give birth to a universe called poetry...

Copyright 2014 by Wolf Larsen

[YesNo]

I noticed from your amazon link that you have many publications available. I just want to congratulate you on getting you work assembled into various products. That's something I haven't done.

[WolfLarsen]

I noticed from your amazon link that you have many publications available. I just want to congratulate you on getting you work assembled into various products. That's something I haven't done.

The work on Amazon represents only half the work I've written.

I'm thinking of making the other half available without self publishers and without Amazon. Maybe I'll just make it available on PDF file or something else via my website, have a PayPal button, and charge the reader only two dollars per "book". Bypass everybody – cut out all the middlemen – give the readers – what few there are – a big bang for their two bucks.

I'm not trying to advertise. I want to start a revolution. Let the writer be independent and free! But then again, perhaps other writers have already started this revolution. But we can talk about that on a different thread.

[YesNo]

A thread discussing publishing sounds like a good idea. I've been thinking of a couple collections to put into ebook format as well. I'm still trying to get off my butt and do it.

[WolfLarsen]

Check out what others have said about Wolf Larsen's writing:

www.WolfLarsen.org/Wolf_Larsen_comments.htm

[WolfLarsen]

WARNING: READERS WHO ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH CANNIBALISTIC THEMES MAY WISH TO STOP READING IMMEDIATELY AND CLICK OFF OF THIS THREAD. Thank you for your understanding.

The Wolf Larsen Café
A Neo-reality by Wolf Larsen

You're walking down the street. You see a street sign. It says:
THE WOLF LARSEN CAFÉ

You enter. There are self-portraits of Wolf Larsen in every art style imaginable all along the walls. Each self-portrait is in a different art style: Cubist and Impressionist and fauvist and futurist and realist and expressionist and a dozen other art styles you couldn't even begin to determine.

In addition, sitting at the tables are a hundred clones of Wolf Larsen. They are having conversations about masturbation and the cosmos and the upcoming human extinction. Half of the Wolf Larsens are transvestites – with beards. Some of the Wolf Larsens are black, others are white, and others are Latino or Arabic. All of the hundred clones of Wolf Larsen are speaking the Wolf Larsenist language – a language that only the 100 clones of Wolf Larsen understand.

You feel somebody staring at you. You turn and you see one of the Wolf Larsen self-portraits leering at you. And then you look around you – and you realize that all the endless Wolf Larsen self-portraits along the walls are all staring at you & leering at you & pointing at you. And then all of a sudden the thousands & thousands of Wolf Larsen self-portraits along the walls begin repeating:

"Olla-dulla-pulla! Olla-dulla-pulla! Olla-dulla-pulla!"

You walk up to the counter. It's a cafeteria. You look at the menu choices on the wall:
Bourgeoisie served with an apple in its mouth – delicious... $9.99
Aristocratic royalty served in its own blood – truly divine... $12.99
White supremacist served on a bed of rice – all white meat... $7. 99
Black nationalist who incessantly whined about white men dating black woman, served in red wine sauce... $6. 99
Puritanical born-again Christian that preached the word of god to you for 12 hours straight on the Amtrak train... $8. 99

"What you want, sir?!"

– It's the real Wolf Larsen. He's behind the counter. He has a hatchet in his hand, he's ready to decapitate one of the dishes you're going to eat.

Wolf Larsen has six eyes and two heads. There is a flying saucer flying around and around his head.

"Good evening! Welcome to my Café! May I help you?" Wolf asks in a friendly voice.

"Uh... I think there's been a mistake," you stammer. Then you start trying to leave as quickly as you can. You look back to make sure you're not being followed.

But suddenly the hallway becomes a hundred times as long as it was before. And all of the Wolf Larsen self-portraits are repeating over & over again:

"Olla-dulla-pulla! Olla-dulla-pulla! Olla-dulla-pulla!"

And the 100 Wolf Larsen clones sitting at the tables are all staring at you. And then suddenly there's hundreds of doors. Some of the doors are in the ceiling, others are on the floor. There's no doors in the walls anymore.

You SCREEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAM!

All of the Wolf Larsen self-portraits keep repeating:
"Olla-dulla-pulla! Olla-dulla-pulla! Olla-dulla-pulla!"

You feel a tap on your shoulder. You jump. You look behind you.
It's Wolf Larsen. He's holding that hatchet.

"Is something wrong?" he asks. He has a smile on his face. His apron is very bloody.
You start running away...

"I'm just trying to help!" says Wolf Larsen in a friendly voice behind you.

You keep running and running. But the hallway never ends. You can't reach any of the doors. All of the doors are in the ceiling now. The doors in the floor & the walls have all disappeared.
All of the Wolf Larsen self-portraits keep repeating:

"Olla-dulla-pulla! Olla-dulla-pulla! Olla-dulla-pulla!"

And as you keep running & running you realize that suddenly there's hundreds & hundreds of different hallways all leading one from the other into an endless mind-boggling infinity of other hallways and all the endless hallways have an endless variety of Wolf Larsen self-portraits in an endless variety of art styles you never dreamed of and all of the endless Wolf Larsen self-portraits are repeating & repeating over & over again:

"Olla-dulla-pulla! Olla-dulla-pulla! Olla-dulla-pulla!"

And as you run through the hallways Wolf Larsen with the hatchet in his hands is chasing after you and repeating in a concerned polite voice over & over again:
"Are you okay, sir?! Can I help you sir?!"

And then suddenly there's a door. You open the door. And there you see the city again. The city! You're so relieved! You run out into the city –

"OH MY GOD!!"

– you scream. Everywhere in the streets are endless Wolf Larsen clones. There's nobody else! And all the endless Wolf Larsen clones in the streets and in the windows above are all repeating & repeating:

"Olla-dulla-pulla! Olla-dulla-pulla! Olla-dulla-pulla!"

You start running again! You run & run & run! You flag down a bus. You jump on to escape. But the bus driver is Wolf Larsen. He says to you in a nice polite voice –

"Good evening sir!"

And you look and everybody on the bus is a clone of Wolf Larsen! They're all smiling at you. You rush off the bus. You flag down a police car. The cop car stops. But instead of a face that's human the cop has a face of a Doberman pinscher. The cop in the other seat has the face of a German Shepherd.

You SCREEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAM!

You begin running away again. Suddenly you hear a familiar voice behind you.

"Are you okay, sir?! Are you okay?? Can I help you, sir?!"

You know without looking it's Wolf Larsen with the hatchet in his hand chasing after you...

Copyright 2014 by Wolf Larsen

[WolfLarsen]

Wolf Larsen Sucks!

An Essay by Wolf Larsen

Wolf Larsen sucks! The reason that Wolf Larsen sucks is that he is a tree growing out of the ground. In addition, his arrows do not appear to shoot straight. Finally, Wolf Larsen does not even exist. And that is why Wolf Larsen sucks.

I will prove that Wolf Larsen is a tree growing out of the ground. One need only look at his own belly button to realize that there is no planet Earth, and that there are no trees, and that is why Wolf Larsen is a tree growing out of the ground. Do you like marshmallows?

Marshmallows and Wolf Larsen's arrows do not appear to shoot straight, and that is another reason why Wolf Larsen sucks. Wolf has been married to his extraterrestrial wife for over 1000 years now, and she is still not pregnant, in spite of the fact that she has 10 vaginas, three anuses, and five mouths. How come Wolf Larsen's extraterrestrial wife is not pregnant then? Obviously, Wolf Larsen's arrows do not shoot straight, and that is another reason why he sucks. Do you wooopie-zoonkaa-bong????

My final assertion is that Wolf Larsen does not exist, because of all the stars in the sky, which proves that none of us exists. If nothing exists then it is impossible for Wolf Larsen to exist. And if Wolf Larsen does not exist then it is logical to conclude that he sucks. Do you like to fly kites on windy days?

In this essay I have proved beyond a reasonable doubt that Wolf Larsen sucks. So please send me $1 million dollars and as many bellybuttons as you can find, which is an incorrect sentence, which will cause the earth to crAAAAAAAAAAAsh!,;. Wolf Larsen's arrows do not shoot straight because he is a tree growing out of the ground, and trees growing out of the ground do not exist. And that is why you do not exist. Where's Wolf Larsen?

Copyright 2014 by Wolf Larsen

[WolfLarsen]

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING POST MAY MAKE PATRIOTIC & PURITANICAL INDIVIDUALS UNCOMFORTABLE, AND SHOULD BE READ BY NO ONE.

Wolf Larsen and the Invasion of 1 Million Wolf Larsen Clones
an invasion by Wolf Larsen


Wolf Larsen stands in front of the stadium of 1 million Wolf Larsen clones. Wolf Larsen says in a booming voice:

"It's time for our penises to become swords! It is time that all human conversation should only concern our penises! Because our penises are the gateway to a grand new literature made entirely of our spermatozoa! Only our spermatozoa can baptize the night sky with daylight! Only our spermatozoa can create the greatest horde of transvestite warriors ever known to the fireflies of the night! It is now time to commence the night of forever Wolf Larsen!"

And two dozen African & Viking Wolf Larsens play the big drums that echo throughout the stadium.

The saxophone gets up and plays the Wolf Larsen speech in reverse – which sounds sort of like the end of the world meeting a pagan orgy.

The crowd begins chanting over & over again:

"LET'S HAVE A RIOT! LET'S HAVE A RIOT!"

Then the noise dies down and Wolf Larsen speaks again:

"Only our penises can convince the seagulls that they are the space aliens of the psychedelic future! Only our penises can fight the sunrise! Because the sunrise is the enemy of all heavenly bestiality! And bestiality is the Savior of the human race! So no more sunrises! Let our penises rule the night forever!"

The drums play again. The saxophone plays again. The crowd goes wild again chanting:

"LET'S HAVE A RIOT! LET'S HAVE A RIOT!"

Then naked women & near-naked transvestites begin dancing on the field as the 1 million horny Wolf Larsens cheer them on. The drums play and the drums play as the naked women & near-naked transvestites dance and they dance and they dance...

Wolf Larsen speaks:

"We must attack the sun! We must spurt the night out of our penises forever & ever! Masturbation must be the new law! I want 24-hour masturbation for all eternity until our penises have conquered all the stars in the universe! My fellow Wolf Larsens – I hereby present you the Statue of Liberty!"

Then the Statue of Liberty comes onstage. The band plays a burlesque tune and the drums join them to give the music a tropical-Viking-warlike-African beat. The Statue of Liberty begins disrobing...

The crowd goes ape **** – and the crowd of 1 million Wolf Larsen clones roooaaaar in delight. As they began ripping off their own clothes. Soon the entire crowd is naked! The saxophone player plays naked-naKed-naked! Then the trumpet plays nakeeeeeeeed naaaaaaked nakeeeeeeed!!

The crowd of 1 million Wolf Larsen's chant:

"LET'S CONQUER THE UNIVERSE!
LET'S CONQUER THE UNIVERSE!
LET'S CONQUER THE UNIVERSE!"

Then Wolf Larsen speaks:

"We shall conquer the universe with our penises! We shall conquer the universe with our poetry! And we shall conquer poetry with our penises! My fellow Wolf Larsens I present to you Uncle Sam!"

Then Uncle Sam comes onstage to join a completely naked Statue of Liberty. Uncle Sam is dressed up as a transvestite. The band plays a burlesque tune as the naked Statue of Liberty & the transvestite Uncle Sam begin making out. A bed is rolled onstage. The transvestite Uncle Sam puts his tongue into the Statue of Liberty's pussy as the woodwinds and the orchestra play an upside-down time and the horn section plays an insane sanity and the drums are sexing & sexing & sexing!

And then the Statue of Liberty bends over and the transvestite Uncle Sam pulls out a whip and begins whipping & whipping the Statue of Liberty as the Statue of Liberty moans in masochistic delight – and all of the 1 million Wolf Larsen clones begin SHOUTING in joy! That's when the horn section begins shouting in joy – each horn playing his own cRaZy-iNdiVidUaLiStic-jOy!

The crowd of 1 million Wolf Larsens begin chanting:

"LET'S CONQUER THE UNIVERSE!
LET'S CONQUER THE UNIVERSE!
LET'S CONQUER THE UNIVERSE!"

Suddenly, half-a-dozen black & Viking men with humongous penises the size of skyscrapers descend on the stage. The camera begins rolling to film a pornographic movie of the half-a-dozen black & Viking men giving sexual delight to the Statue of Liberty. That's when the band goes ape **** with 100 diFfeReNt styles of mMmuUUuuSsiiicccc all BASHING into each other – each instrument's melody BASHING into the soouunNdDsSs coming from all the other instruments.

The crowd of 1 million Wolf Larsens goes ecstatic and begin chanting:

"THE ADJECTIVES ARE OUR SLAVES!
THE NOUNS ARE OUR PENISES!
THE VERBS ARE OUR ORGIES!"

And when the gang-bang of mutual consent & joy & ecstasy ends the Statue of Liberty lays on the bed with an expression of true triumph & happiness on her face as erotic literature 00zes & dribbles & flooows down from between her legs...

The flute & harp & saxophone then begin playing iMMacULate cOoOoOonCepTiOn together as the gang-bang of mutual consent & jooooy & ecstasy continues when the half-a-dozen African & Viking men jump in the sack with the transvestite Uncle Sam. And Uncle Sam willingly gives himself in jooooy to the half-a-dozen African & Viking men...

The 1 million Wolf Larsen clones grow more ecstatic than ever! They're chanting:

"SMASH THE LITERARY WORLD INTO PIECES!
SMASH THE LITERARY WORLD INTO PIECES!
SMASH THE LITERARY WORLD INTO PIECES!"

And when the gang-bang is done the 1 million Wolf Larsen clones all do partake of a giant LSD sky together. And then the 1 million Wolf Larsen clones begin donning their body armor and gathering up their shields & swords to prepare for the invasion of the United States of America...

Copyright 2014 by Wolf Larsen

[WolfLarsen]

The House Committee on Ounamerican Herpes
a trial by Wolf Larsen

You are sitting before a tribunal of a baboon's ***, a giant genital lice, & a donkey.

"Have you or have you ever been a meow-ist?" asks the big baboon's ***.

"I was a meow-ist when I was a teenager, but I changed. Now I am a trot-ing-in-the sky-mist. Well, actually I'm just a sympathizer. However, I haven't change my underwear, well maybe once or twice."

"So you admit to changing your underwear!" demands the giant human-sized genital lice.

Suddenly, a bunch of monarch butterflies fly through the air of the courtroom.

"So, you admit to being a trot-ing-in the sky-mist!" howls the donkey.

The prosecutor comes in. He is Uncle Sam dressed up in women's clothes.

"You remember me?!" demands the transvestite Uncle Sam. "You dressed me up in women's clothes in one of your insane stories, or whatever it was!"

The jury reacts with anger. The jury are all monkeys dressed up in red-white-&-blue outfits.

The news media is there too. They all have dunce caps on their heads.

"But we have to remember, that the defendant was born on thousands of moons on the day of eternal masturbation," said your lawyer.

Suddenly, all the monarch butterflies were flying back in the opposite direction.

A naked saxophone player followed the monarch butterflies playing the ends of the earth.

"Do you advocate masturbation?" demanded the donkey.

"Well, I was merely trying to say that the rhyme in poetry is dead. You see, 100 years ago, the more advanced Poets stopped rhyming, because the rhyme seemed so cliché. So therefore –"

"So he does advocate masturbation!" screams out the baboon's ***.

"It's not that simple!" you tried to explain.

"Answer the question! Do you or do you not advocate masturbation!" screams out the baboon's *** as his gavel pounds on the table.

"Ha ha ha ha ha Ha ha ha ha ha Ha ha ha ha ha Ha ha ha ha ha Ha ha ha ha ha!" You suddenly found yourself laughing. You couldn't stop yourself from laughing. You couldn't help it!

"I charge you with laughing!" screamed out the transvestite Uncle Sam.

"Stop laughing! Do you or have you ever advocated masturbation?!" yelled out the human-sized genital lice.

"Ha ha ha ha ha Ha ha ha ha ha Ha ha ha ha ha Ha ha ha ha ha Ha ha ha ha ha!" You still couldn't stop yourself from laughing. Meanwhile, the monarch butterflies were flying back again, followed by the naked saxophone player, and the naked saxophone player was followed by two police officers – who are also naked.

"I charge you with using a castrated penis to create a 90 story skyscraper downtown – a skyscraper which has your own name on it, thus proving your guilt!"

All you could do was keep on laughing. You couldn't stop laughing, no matter how hard you tried.

"If you don't stop laughing you'll be found in contempt of Congress!" screamed out the donkey.

And that's when Richard Pryor walked into the room. You knew you were ****ed.

Copyright 2014 by Wolf Larsen

[WolfLarsen]

Wolf Larsen Running Naked through O'Hare Airport One Sunny Day
A short play by wolf Larsen

Two men are sitting at a table.

Man A says to Man B: "This is not two men sitting at the table! That's be-cause there are so many ludicrous diseases falling out of all the tongues! I just don't know what to do with the 50 mouths in my face anymore!"

Man B says to Man A: "You have to dance with all your 50 lips floating around you! You have to smash all your 100 personalities against new shores! It's not enough to be a new you! You have to be 100 new yous!"

Man A says: "100 new mes?? But right now I'm running naked through O'Hare Airport! How am I suddenly going to become the flying around everything? What happens when my children bleed television commer-cials all over each other? Will they go out and play with all the space aliens?? There's a new group of space aliens landing on our block from outer space every five minutes!"

Man B screams: "I JUST CAN'T FIND MY COUNTRY ANYMORE! IT DISAP-PEARED! WHAT HAPPENED TO THE 300 MILLION AMERICANS?! THEY ALL DISAPPEARED! IT'S A TRAGEDY OF AROUSING PROPORTIONS! WHEN WILL WOODY ALLEN COME AND RESCUE US?!"

Man A whispers as he searches about the room for something: "I'm still finding human corpses in my dresser every time I'm searching for my un-derwear or my socks. What should I do about all the diarrhea stains on the ceiling??"

Man B screams at Man A: "THIS IS THE REASON WE ALL EXIST! THIS IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL & EXOTIC DISEASE EVER! WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS THROWING ASTEROIDS AT ME?!"

Man B whispers to Man A: "She throws all her endless psychological storms at me! She devours me with a simple question! She haunts me with that humongous pussy that's always devouring all the thoughts in my head! Her breasts are screaming for my lips! Her thighs & her pussy are all the songs that my tongue desires! When I kiss her feet I feel Paul Gau-guin paintings!"

Man B screams at Man A: "But I love capitalism! Hamburgers & nuclear bombs & endless advertising everywhere! I love to dance to television advertisements bare naked as I spread ice cream all over everyone's nip-ples!"

Man A says to some person in his head: "If only I could find you-"

Man B interrupts Man A and loudly proclaims: "I'M FADING! I'M DISAP-PEARING! My food tastes like worms & Mahler symphonies & 10,000 col-liding personalities! I just can't seem to find my own face anymore!" And then Man B cries.

Man A comes and holds Man B in his arms and comforts him as he sings, "The audience is a toilet bowl that I **** my brains into! I build the world-wide labyrinth of 6 billion personalities into a play! I paint the disease of 6 billion rodent-primate-descended-personalities all over the play!"

Man B breaks away from the embrace of Man A and screams: "We're all trapped inside of the playwright's brain! You & me & everybody in the audience we'll all grab sledgehammers and break out of the playwright's brain right now!"

Man A faces the audience and announces: "Welcome to castration night at Ronald Reagan's transvestite nightclub! Have a roasted human head! Have some cut off human fingers! Have some plastic pink flamingos with your subway train ride!"

Copyright 2014 by Wolf Larsen