THE WHITE SUBMARINE
Dreamed 1974/7/6 by Chris Wayan
I'm white and my girlfriend's black. In 1974, that's still a problem. Not to mention she's a large cat.
But race and species aren't what's REALLY bothering her. This strange electrical or atomic force keeps sliding inside her cunt--it feels shivery and weird to her. Not painful, but... it's electro-harassment!
So naturally she undergoes an operation. They transplant skin from her ass to rebuild her vagina, then transplant breast tissue to partly cover the missing skin on her ass. "Looks fine." says the doctor. "If it doesn't spoil in this frosty winter air." It's summer here in California! I hope he's a better surgeon than a weatherman.
She's satisfied with it, gets up immediately and takes her new cunt out for a walk.
In the park, she says "I ask you flat out: do you love me?"
I hesitate because I NEVER use that word--in my family it was always the opening shot in a nagging campaign. Don't even know quite what it is. I just like people or not. I like her... is that what others mean by love? I open my mouth to say the love-word... But before I can speak, she's turned away in disappointment. She murmurs "I would have loved giving all these to you: the beauties of blackness. Night. Jet. Caves. Cartoons. Kaweah. Space."
I say "I do love you. I do offer you all the beauties of whiteness: sun, sand, snow, white water... and, of course, my White Submarine."
Now, as a black cat, she doesn't like the last two items that much--cats and water, you know. But soon after our conversation, disaster happens: the heavy little cylinders on the sea floor all get rolled up by the Cartoon People, changing the angular momentum of the Earth, so it spins faster. The tropical seas rise centrifugally, causing a great, worldwide flood. Now my girlfriend's willing to enter the White Submarine, whether or not she thinks I love her; it's the only dry place left on Earth.
As People of the Lens, we must witness the unraveling of the world. At the Earth's core is a figure like a cartoon of the Sun personified. The sun-figure presides, as the world is reassembled, slowly straightened out...
Now we're Popeye and Olive Oyl and their half-magic crew; we open the White Sub to the air, and ride the Sea of Change.
The storm-wrack slowly settles. I drop off my girlfriend and my sisters, each at their own houses. I doubted their homes would survive the flood, but they did.
My sister Althea's on the top floor of a building downtown; below her is a huge whorehouse. As part of the new order, the townsfolk have been trying to reform the hookers--or evict them.
Enthusiasm for reform wanes after a couple of johns jump off the roof in suicidal protests. Did they love the girls they paid? Though they may not have been able to admit their love, like me... they proved it in action.
Even the Change Flood can't change some things.
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