Critical Knowledge


I held that hairless brainpan down and said, "Bitch, take it like a man."
"Oh, god, stop it !", he whined. I said, "Take it bitch." Bitch squealed,
glasses and bald head, pancake ass heaving... "Take it peanut dick," I
screamed, his hiney splitting in pain, sweat pouring from his anus.
"Repeat after me Sandie," I yelled, "Diamanda is a great genius. Diamanda
is a great genius," while I cornholed his flat buttocks, laughing. "Oh my
god, Diamanda," he pleaded.

"Say it, say it bitch! Give me that bald head, bitch," while I urinated in
his mouth. "Take that genius, take that elixir, bitch... take it all down.
Take that godhead. Sandie. Corndog loves his mother, doesn't she?", I
laughed, my fuck-stick thrusting. "Can you feel it?" Blood spurting from
his anus, peanut heaved again. "What does the good music critic say?
Repeat after me... 'Diamanda is a great genius. When may I kiss her ass?' "
"Diamanda is a great genius, when may I kiss your ass?"

Yes! You've got it, literatus, polly purebred, while I split his ass and
god rushed from my loins, and I vomitted, and the skies opened wide, and
the squinny lips of the literatus shook silently and he could suddenly hear
again, his piglet brain too tired to spend its time in understanding... and
he could finally HEAR the voice of god and her angels, while the rivers of
blood poured from his grateful anus. And a pregnant and magical silence
descended upon us at the Death of Good Reason and the Rebirth of Beauty,
and then we knew that we could finally hear again.

- Diamanda Galas

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Rob Roth for The Jackie Factory ©1995
Moved to and updated February 2000