Graffiti
In the public toilets of the world many of my friends find the everlastingly honest poetry of graffiti, "only true literature of the average heart." I find that too; but mostly when I read those walls I read the shy, sad language of men who are the voyeurs of their own lives. And when I see those huge, well-drawn c***s and balls (how rarely a well-drawn ****, which of course is harder to draw) I see the self-piercing p***s of death, the weapon of a losing war, the stark ink prick dripping its stylized teardrops of sperm, and I am made sad, sad for women, sad for the men who fear women so fiercely in their hearts that they must display to the world of men the size of their huge loss.
the word you cant see is K(u)nT
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