|The Ballad of Cassiel's Many, Many Kinks|
Oh Cassiel was a kinky one,
A kinky one was he,
From Heav’n and Hell, through hill and dale,
To Terre d’Ange O’er the Sea!
Now Perfect Cassiel was kinky,
“Lean o’er,” the Bless’d One said,
“Ope thine glorious hole to me
And let in my mighty head!”
“Which head?” he asked curiously,
“My lord, thou art so large,
Perhaps thou meant thy fingertips:
A skiff and not a barge!”
“Ho ho!” Blessed Elua cried,
“Fear not, though thou hadst been,
For here I have a pot of salve
To ease the entry in!”
He called upon the Name of God,
Cassiel’s arse turned up wide,
So Elua prepared himself,
And stuck his hand inside!
“Oh lord,” Perfect Cassiel gasped,
“I’ve never felt so good.
Canst not we do this some more?
I wish that we would!”
Mighty Elua laughed so hard
He nearly spent his seed,
“Forsooth I will ask dear Kushiel,
He’ll have the toys we need!”
They came upon the rod and weal,
But took a weighty pole,
Elua shoved it as he was wont
Up in Cassiel’s arsehole!
“So that is that,” Elua said,
“But I’ll take it as a taunt,
If you don’t open up thy mouth,
And perform the languisement!”
Cassiel took Elua’s quivering shaft
And swallowed it to the hilt.
“Oh yes, that’s right,” Elua sighed,
“Love me as thou wilt!”
A Perfect mouth, a Perfect hole,
So Cassiel did claim.
But that Elua preferred aught to him
Was the cause of Cassiel’s shame!
But up and down and round and round,
Did Cassiel wish to serve
All day long and insatiable,
It got on Elua’s nerves.
“Enough!” cried he exhaustedly,
“You give me quite a rush.
I am in need of a respite,
You enjoy this too much!”
Then Cassiel cried unceasingly
Until he lost his voice.
No more would he love another man,
And this was Cassiel’s Choice.
I judge that quite a lesser man
Would hear of this and think
That Cassiel abjured all mortal love,
And forget about his kinks!
A Perfect Companion he was,
And so perfect was he,
Blessed Elua loved him so:
His manhood, specifically!
|In Which We Use Marxist Genre Theory to Explain Ourselves|
“Thus it is that in parody two languages are crossed with each other, as well as two styles, two linguistic points of view, and in the final analysis two speaking subjects. It is true that only one of these languages (the one that is parodied) is present in its own right; the other is present invisibly, as an actualizing background for creating and perceiving. Parody is an intentional hybrid, but usually it is an intra-linguistic one, one that nourishes itself on the stratification of the literary language into generic languages and languages of various specific tendencies.”
Bakhtin, "The Prehistory of Novelistic Discourse"
|Adepts of the Night Court||The Terre d'Ange That Will Be|
We're only playing. No, seriously, we swear. We will return Terre d'Ange to Jacqueline Carey when we're finished (and hope she doesn't mind the dings and dents).