Five ayatollahs from the magazine
Tel Quel,
veterans of the old communist
guard,
“kikes” from biblical prophecies,
scraps
of the French Republic, carcasses
dead for cock, thirsty for gold,
dead men
of old awakened to drink for free
as if they had a gangrene to sip
human sperm from their fists
after
the Russians tore the sow’s teat
from their mouths and no longer
gave them money—they set their
minds
to go with the stuffed dinosaur
Marx lifted
on a stick to Kitai, to the poet
and Führer
Mao Tse‑tung, to teach him true
communism and to praise him in
lying,
paranoid and feeble‑minded books,
how he builds the communist
paradise
with all the beasts happy; in
exchange
Mao was to give them gold and
strong
Chinese cocks, gluttons who would
fuck them like sows for a whole
month.
They went to the doctor and
widened
their large intestine, got silicone
implants
for their lips and for their tongue,
and set out into the dreadful
swamp; blessed by so much honour,
Mao organized for them an
imperial feast
at which the “kikes” invoked
all the old prophets, magical
donkeys
with ember‑eyes. Stuffed with
food
and rice wine, they bounced their
potbellies
in a wild dance praising the
paradise,
the empire of joys. Sweating like
oxen
to the sound of a rare‑music
orchestra,
these luxury animals asked the
poet
Mao to give them big Chinese
cocks
to suck, to shove into their
large intestine—
a disgusting luxury. And Mao said
to them:
“Our Chinese cocks are sacred
and no slobbery mouth, no yid’s
ass
can dirty them; gold I will give
you when
you write your beautiful books,
memoirs from the golden society.”
Mao was seized by anger; he
wanted
to kill them, to tear out their
bones.
And the Jewish ayatollahs from
Tel Quel
left like dogs with their tails
between their legs,
and back home in Paris each wrote
a book
about the paradise of Kitai, and
one
of the ayatollahs named Barthes,
with his ass still hot, wrote
nostalgically:
“Pas vu le kiki d’un seul
Chinois”
(“I didn’t see the little willy
of a single Chinese.”)
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