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NOT TO BE FUCKED WITH
Sex and the church, sex and the church
Sex and the church and the church and the church
Sex, sex, sex and the church, sex and the church
Sex and the church, sex, sex, sex
Sex and the church, sex and the church
Sex and the church and the church and the church
Sex, sex, sex and the church, sex and the church
Sex and the church, sex, sex
Sex, sex and the church, sex and the church
Sex and the church, sex, sex
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A Great Name
I dreamed I saw my maternal grandmother sitting by the bank of a swimming pool, that was also a river. In real life, she had been a victim of Alzheimer’s disease, and had regressed, before her death, to a semi-conscious state. In the dream, as well, she had lost her capacity for self-control. Her genital region was exposed, dimly; it had the appearance of a thick mat of hair. She was stroking herself, absent-mindedly. She walked over to me, with a handful of pubic hair, compacted into something resembling a large artist’s paint-brush. She pushed this at my face. I raised my arm, several times, to deflect her hand; finally, unwilling to hurt her, or interfere with her any farther, I let her have her way. She stroked my face with the brush, gently, and said, like a child, “isn’t it soft?” I looked at her ruined face and said, “yes, Grandma, it’s soft.”
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