I’m steadfast and spectral.
And a nice countenance describes me.
I can hand you the burthen of what I am. Sex.
Supernatural spirit distracting.
Seductive. Overpowering.
Maybe I am a matter spirit.
Sex is what I give to you, with my closed eyes. With beauty
in my eyes. Sex I give to you with extended hands, whilst you
with your face reclined don’t want to look at me.
Love in any position.
Love you’re looking for, nearly in any moment.
A most sensual sex. And sight and feel, most peculiar, with me,
they live in one another. And you see and you touch. And the level becomes
most gratifying. The world breaks down, yours signifying ever more.
I give you the sex off repose, that one in,
I give you the most gratifying genitality, the terrestrial dream and that one exoterrestrial.
I give you the tone you are after. The girl is the sweetness. And I have the intelligence
to see her and to touch her, and to feel all that which my being gave me the power
to see and to touch. I feel the design as a most mundane and genial sex.
Off with the dainty skin away from my past skin. I keep staying little and more, for
I am the sex-matrix. My hands are the most effectual weapon.
Most young and most mighty just as neither the most young nor the most mighty are,
because in the instant they are, I’m more.
I’m the distraction, the deviance, for those who believe
distraction and deviance exist. For those who don’t believe they exist
I am DEMOGORGON only, the unmerry daemon, the spark
dark, the being betwixt the numen and the human, perchance the phantom of the hero,
the instant growing ever more than the men living it or
being lived by. DEMOGORGON is your instant, little dimoites, when you work, when you rest,
when you study, when you entertain with the filamented presences round propagated and
strewn with themselves to keep the tissues compact. Cohering and in solido.
And I, in spite of someone hesitating, am the Fiber. To keep united
the life internet.
I am always and ever.
The common-felt world is my den.
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