A waste of raw pink shame to the pastel blue horizon where vast irons mesas crash into the shattered sky. “It’s all right .”The God screams through you three thousands year rusty load. . . Hail of crystals skulls shattered the greenhouse to silvers in the winter moon. . . The American woman has left a whiff of poison behind the dank St. Louis Garden party. Pool covered with green slime in a ruined French garden. Huge pathetic frog rises slowly from the water on a mud platform playing the clavichord. A sollubi rushes into the bar and starts polishing The Saint’s shoes with the oil on his nose. . .The Saint kicks him petulantly in the mouth. The Sollubi screams, whirls around and shits on the Saint’s pants. Then he dashes into the street.  A pimp looks after him speculatively. . . The Saint calls his manager: “Jesus, Al, what kinda creep joint you running here? My brand new fishskin Degagees . . .”
“I’m sorry, Saint. He slipped by me.”
( The Sollubi are an untouchable caste in Arabia noted for their abject vileness. De luxe cafes are equipped with Sollubi who rim the guests while they eat—holes
in the seating benches being provided for this purpose. Citizens who want to be utterly humiliated and degraded—so many people do, nowadays, hoping to jump the gun offer themselves up for passive homosexual intercourse to an encampment of Sollubis. . . . Nothing like it, they tell me. . . . In fact, the Sollubi are subject to become wealthy and arrogant and lose their native vileness. What is origin of untouchable? Perhaps a fallen