The Wild Boys: A Book of the Dead

  “Aquí Yage Ayahuasca … muy bueno … muy fuerte…” The boy came in closing the door and put the bottle on a table. The American boy who was thin and blond got two tin cups from his rucksack. The Indian boy poured out the mixture from the beer bottle filling each cup two-thirds full. He passed his hands back and forth over the cups humming a little tune. He stopped humming looked at the American and smiled.

  “This very good for fuck Johnny.” He made a tight brown fist and shoved a finger in and out. “We take Yage then fuck.” He unbuttoned his shirt. “Ambos nudo Johnny … both naked.” He dropped his shirt on a chair, kicked off his sandals, shoved his pants and shorts down. He waited until the American was stripped. “Now take Yage … act very fast.” The American drank and shuddered. “Muy amargo sí Johnny.”

  Almost at once the American boy felt a blue tide cool evening air on his naked rectum his legs … “Tomamos eso … ambos nudo” … shadows fading hand on a tin cup eyes smiling and knowing the bare rectum the other was looking pressure the groin facing each other … “Vuelvete” … getting hard in the blue light … “Bend over Johnny” … The boy picked up a tin of Vaseline and slowly with a calm intent expression rubbed it on his cock … “Bend over Johnny and spread ass” … feeling the eyes and fingers on his rectum ass hairs spread the slow penetration … “Hand on knees Johnny” … He twisted his body in a slow circle hands braced on knees stirring whirlpools of blue tighter tighter tighter spurting blue Chinese characters in the purple dusk of Lima gasps “muy bueno” hands on knees Carl’s eyes sputtering blue his face blurred out bone-wrenching spasms popped egg-blue worlds in air a wake of jissom across the sky.

  “Now I’ve been thinking of a communal immersion tank in the swimming pool but I may make a fish pond instead. Really it should be filled with raw oysters and …” A trough cut in pink coral dome-shaped room lined with sea shells the boy spread his legs and squirms down into the oysters the tight conch of his nuts spurting pearly gobs sea wind through a porthole. “Yes of course they are soundproof rooms in various degrees but we do have sound tracks and odors now in the blue room ozone and burning leaves and in the red room roses and carbolic soap Lifebuoy isn’t making it any more but you can still get it down here and I’ve laid in several cases now here is the rainbow room for Dim-N and Psylocybin rather tacky isn’t it smell of orange crush plastics and carnivals you come the world’s fair my dear and of course I need a yellow room but there are so few Chinese boys in Casa I haven’t gotten to it but you can see the daffodils and crocuses whiffs of straw and urine and saffron and ambergris the yellow tower of amber chamois pallet the boy yellow hair brown eyes teeth bared coming inside out and of course you mix your skin colors say black and red brown and yellow red and white rather limited here but we don’t do too badly and the sound tracks distant train whistles and fog horns for the blue room sea sounds in the pink room and music special for the two parties and sometimes more than two of course. Is your Majoun working? I need a laboratory to work out all the drug problems synthesis, blending new formulae now if you are taking Majoun which works so much slower than Yage or Dim-N you have to wait two hours on the Majoun. Oh! here’s Ali … Now if you’ll put on these headphones Genua music in the blue room of course you’ll find the Yage already measured out.”

  When the music started in his head the lower half of his body came loose in fluid gyrations come yell cracked his head rainbow room stars on the table knees of amber brown teeth bared.

  “And the image track of course we take movies and mix the movies all up with color shots blue mist and attic rooms under slate roofs sunsets autumn leaves apples red moon in the smoky sky all mixed with sex pictures we take five or six cameras one on the face one on the genitals twitching feet coming eyes and usually we project these in the white room which has plain white walls for screens a rainbow cocktail of LSD Majoun Yage very little LSD it isn’t good for you really and the natural plants are better.”

  Red-haired boy on his side chewing his knuckles as the Arab boy browns him pictures on the walls and ceilings five projectors a kaleidoscope of legs, spurting cocks, tight nuts, eyes, faces, a twitching foot, sunsets and blue mist, urine in straw, yellow sky, quivering buttocks, sperm spurting vapor trails, snow-capped mountains, rainbows, Niagara Falls, souvenir post cards, Northern lights as the boy turns him with his knees up he is on top looking at the ceiling pictures now on hands and knees both facing the wall come seeing themselves in television mixed in with all the others “right on location but rather over our budget I’m afraid so lucky to find all these dome-shaped rooms rather like the inside of a huge phallus aren’t they now here is the rose room.”

  Red bed cover sprinkled with rose petals feeling the red egg in his groin spurting sunsets, freckles, red hair, autumn leaves, knees up he was coming in the autumn sky.

  The Penny Arcade Peep Show

  1. A round red Christmas tree ornament going away … Indian boy with bright red gums spits blood under the purple dusk of Lima.

  “Fight tuberculosis folks.”

  Christmas Eve … An old junky selling Christmas seals on North Clark Street. The “Priest” they called him.

  “Fight tuberculosis folks.”

  2. Two round ornaments going away one blue one green … fading train whistles blue arc lights flickering empty streets half buried in sand … jelly in green brown rectal flesh twisting finger turns to vine tendril ass hairs spread over the tide flats … sea weed … green pullman curtains … blue prep school clothes.

  3. Three ornaments going away red, blue, green … Holly wreaths, red ribbons, children bobbing for apples … It was getting late and no money to score he turned into a side street and the lake wind hit him like a knife … a lost street of brick chimneys and slate roofs … heavy blue silence … lawn sprinklers summer golf course … The Green Hat folded on her knee.

  4. Four ornaments going away red, blue, green, gold … freckles, autumn leaves, smoky red moon over the river

  “When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame And I haven’t got time for a waiting game.”

  Cab stopped just ahead under a street light and a boy got out with a suitcase thin kid in blue prep school clothes familiar face the “Priest” told himself watching from a doorway reminds me of something a long time ago the boy there with his overcoat unbuttoned reaching into his pants pockets for the cab fare … blue magic of all movies in remembered kid standing at the attic window waving to a train … a sighing sound the empty room … distant smell of weeds in vacant lots little green snakes under rusty iron … pirate chests pieces of eight on golden sands … urine in straw … the Traveller walks on and on through the plain of yellow grass. He stops by a deep black pool. A yellow fish side turns in the dark water.

  1. Red ornament coming in … red leg hairs rubbing rose wall paper … Irish terrier under the Christmas tree … light years away the pale skies fall apart. T.B. waiting at the next stop. Spit blood at dawn. I was waiting there.

  “Doctor Harrison. They called me.”

  Led the way up … stairs worn red carpeting … smell of sickness is in the room.

  2. Two ornaments coming in one blue one green … blue evening shadows a cool remote Sunday … dead stars drifting … twisting coming in green brown rectal flesh grass stains on brown knees.

  3. Three ornaments coming in red, blue, green … smell of roses, carbolic soap … there was nothing for me to do. Spit blood at dawn. Agony to remember the words … “Too late” … German living room outside the China blue northern sky and drifting clouds … bad seascapes of the dying medical student.

  “A schnapps I think Frau Underschnitt.”

  Room over the florist shop flower smell green curtains … He was a caddy it seems. His smile across the golf course.

  4. Four ornaments coming in red, blue, green, gold … heart pulses in the rising sun … smell of raw meat … the heretic spits boiling blood … 18th Century room … snow at the latticed window … fire in the hearth … An old gentle
man wrapped in red shawls is measuring laudanum into a medicine glass … Have you seen Patapon Rose? … blue shadows in the attic room … the boy’s picture is framed in forgetme-nots … dust on the broken greenhouse … in the ruined garden a pool is covered with green slime … thin blond boy … sunlight in pubic hairs … I remember daffodils and yellow wallpaper … a gold watch that played “Silver Threads Among the Gold” … an old book with gilt edges … in golden letters … The Street of Chance.

  * * *

  Dim far away the Star of Bethlehem from the school play.

  * * *

  The Miracle of the Rose

  June 23, 1988. Today we got safely through the barrier and entered the Blue Desert of Silence. The silence is devastating at first you drown in it our voices are muted as if we were speaking through felt. I have two guides with me Ali a Berber lad with bright blue eyes and yellow hair a wolfish Pan face unreadable as the sky. The other Farja of a dusky rose complexion with long lashes straight black hair gums a bright red color. We are wearing standard costumes for the area: blue silk knee-length shorts, blue silk shirts, Mercury sandals and helmets. The Mercury sandals and helmets once fitted are never removed. We are carrying nothing but light mattresses, mess kits, rations of dried fish, rice, peppers, dates, brown sugar and tea. It is a beautiful country and the predominant color is blue. Like many so-called deserts it is far from being a desert. There are wooded areas and we glimpse bodies of water from time to time. In the late afternoon we came to a vast deserted city streets cracked and broken weeds growing through houses and villas all empty overgrown with vines the scent of flowers always heavier in the air like a funeral parlor and no sign of life in the ruined courtyards empty hotels and cafés. As the sun was setting we took a road leading out of the city. None of us wanted to camp for the night in that necropolis of silent flowers. On a hill over the city we came to a ruined villa covered with rose vines. The building was in ruins little more than the walls remaining and it was not a place I would have chosen to camp. But Ali stopped and pointed. He said something in a low voice to Farja who looked down sulkily and bit his lip. Ali took a flute from his belt. Playing a little piper tune he stepped forward and we followed. Exploring the ruin we found a room with rose wallpaper. Two walls remained the support posts and bare beams of the ceiling covered with rose vines formed an arbor. Rose petals had fallen on the faded pink coverlet of a brass bed. As soon as we found this room Ali seemed possessed by a curious excitement. He prowled about like a cat playing his flute. He turned to Farja and said one word I did not catch. Farja stood there his eyes downcast blushing and trembling. He looked at the bed the walls and the rose vines. He nodded silently and the blood rushed to his face. The two boys stripped to their sandals and helmets. Farja’s whole body was blushing to his sandals. His skin is a dusky rose color the genitals perfectly formed neither small nor large black shiny pubic hairs precise as wires. He poised and cleared the bed stand in a leap that carried him to the center of the bed on hands and knees. Then he rolled over and lay on his back with the knees up. Ali stood at the foot of the bed. Like all so-called the boy lay down with his knees up gasping late afternoons deserted streets slow pressure of semen rectal smell of flowers two naked bodies bathed in smoky rose of the dying sun phantom bed from an old movie set long since abandoned to weeds and vines. Their eyes locked and they breathed together. I could see Farja’s heart pulsing under the dusky flesh and Ali’s heart beating with his. Both phalluses stiffened to the blood drums and throbbed erect. On the tip of each phallus a pearl of lubricant squeezed out. Farja sighed deeply and rocked back holding his knees. Nitrous fumes twisted from the pink rectal flesh in whorls of orange and sepia. A musty odor filled the air that sent blood pounding and singing in my ears. The sepia fumes cleared and Farja’s rectum was a quivering breathing rose of flesh. With a quick movement Ali stepped over the bed stand and kneeled in front of the rose breathing deeply his lips swollen with blood. The rose pulled his loins forward and breathed his phallus in. Red fumes enveloped the two bodies. A scream of roses burst from tumescent lips roses growing in flesh tearing thorns of delight intertwined their quivering bodies crushed them together writhing gasping choking in an agony of roses sharp reek of sperm.

  Sepia picture in an old book with gilt edges. THE MIRACLE OF THE ROSE written in gold letters. I turn the page. A red color that hurts transparent roses growing through flesh the other leans forward drinking roses from his mouth their hearts translucent roses squirming in naked agony blushing gasping the air of empty hotels mouth speaking of a brass bed luminous excitement on his back with the knees up red fumes that burn erogenous holes in writhing flesh naked choking in that phantom bed when I came to the room was abandoned to weeds and vines star dust on a bench silent empty room kid of darkness fading over the florist shop flickering look an old wash stand musty house slow smile you there dim jerky bedroom 18 on the top floor : : : my flesh : : : I could : : : the film breaks : : : jerky silent film : : : look at the fading body : : : I looked about nineteen. “But not that one word?” It is getting dark : : : boy : : : remember so intense it hurts : : : sadness in his eyes 1920 movie : : : peanuts : : : “Thank you” : : : the film breaks : : : naked boy on yellow toilet fingers from a long time ago the boy solid quick and silent coming so intense it hurts teeth bared see solid now I could touch my flesh pants down evening sky : : : naked boy fading erased out : : : “Thank you” : : : the film breaks : : : pose is a long time ago memory noises frayed magazine over there room grainy like an old movie dim silver sky : : : the other leans forward laughing comparing : : : pieces of the blurred 1920 afternoon : : : jerky bed twisted feet buttocks quivering phantom boy nods the other straddles rectum exposed squeezed out musty odor luminous bodies quiver together deserted city dying sun old movie set. I turn the page. Sepia of each phallus a drop of the red color that hurts blood pounding singing naked rectum breathing rose flesh mouth speaking prickles of delight. I turn the page each picture framed in roses.

  The Proposition. a ruined wall with rose paper the bed. Ali points to the bed. Farja stands there sullen eyes downcast long lashes.

  The Agreement. Farja looks at the bed blushing to his bare feet.

  The Consummation. Roses and thorns through translucent flesh squirming a slow scream of roses. I turn the page.

  The Elixir of the Rose. Farja knees up rectum rose pulsing. The monk drains off a red fluid that flows from his translucent phallus.

  The Tree of Flesh. A musty odor rises from the pages. A Mayan priest is drawing the flesh sap from a bulbous phallic tree. He has inserted an obsidian tube into the soft flesh of the tree and is draining the sap into a stone jar.

  Discovery of the Jars. A Mayan pyramid. The monks have broken a door and found the jars.

  The Flesh Sheets. The monk has rolled sheets of the flesh sap out on a table. The flesh sap is of a pearly grey color.

  The Writing. The monk is writing on the sheets the pictures from an old book.

  The Body Builder. The monk is wrapping flesh sheets around the two skeletons. Two youths have been formed. Mouth rectum and penis sealed.

  The Creation. The monk has arranged the youth on a canopy knees up. He picks up a crystal phallic jar of the elixir. He lets a drop fall between the parted buttocks a drop on the end of the penis. With a crystal rod he rubs a drop on the lips. Where the fluid touches nitrous fumes arise sepia orange dusky rose. The lips part rectum quivers phallus spurts. The youth is breathing. I turn the page.

  The Academy. red-brick building over a river autumn leaves the rising sun.

  Morning Sleep. Naked boy with a hard-on sleeping lips parted. Roommate stands at the foot of the bed with sheet he has just pulled off the other.

  The Awakening. The boy’s eyes looking down at his erection blushing to his bare feet as he sees other standing there.

  The Recognition. The other has dropped the sheet from his naked body laughing comparing sepia gobs in air.

  The Proposition. Two boys in the room. “Th
at’s kid stuff. I wanta.” One boy with eyes downcast sullen.

  The Agreement. Rose of flesh on all fours quivering in a red haze. He pulls Jerry over on top of him Jerry knees up feet in the air kicking like a frog. John reaches down rubs lubricant around the tip of Jerry’s cock pumping his slow deep ecstasy as they squirm together knees up kicking out the spurts. Ali plays the flute. Two boys by a pool on all fours faces turned to the full moon light June knees. Ali points to the silent YES.

  At dawn the two boys got up and walked out naked into the ruined garden. Coming to a thick tangle of rosebushes Farja leaped through and emerged untouched by the thorns on the other side and then I jumped a sweet tearing pain landed on hands and knees fell forward on my elbows gasping feeling the rose in my trembling buttocks a red steam along the backs of my thighs as Farja kneeled behind me. Ali sat on the edge of a pool playing his flute dangling his feet in the black water. The boy stands holding a sheet in front of his body turned to the full moon. He drops the sheet. Boys laughing comparing sepia pictures. I turn the page. The Proposition. Ali points to the rectum. Frayed magazine one with eyes down on the pages and pictures quivering mouth turned to the full moon boy just pulled off the other getting browned there coming gobs in the air sulky youth a silent YES blushing buttocks. Ali points to the rectum. Downcast eyes to his bare feet blushing erogenous roses the agony of that color so intense it hurts quivering prickles of delight deserted city rose vines empty hotels boys laughing comparing sepia knees. “Kid stuff. I wanta.” The Agreement on all fours parted buttocks bare feet in an old book dusk by a pool the youth breathing deeply sullen eyes downcast and the slow YES sweet pain blushing red steam along his thighs spasms of delight thorns through the buttocks. I turn the page feeling the rose twist alive in my flesh. Dawn eyes tight knees the youth breathing from his mouth the slow YES erogenous agony the body writes out musty odors squeezed to the full moon. A sighing sound back. The film breaks. An old book with gilt stars silver paper fingers from another memory naked shorts and shirt there a fourteen-year-old boy flesh steaming.