Jeff Bagato – prose


Pussy War Theory

Pussy Can’t Wait
            Meddling with the forces of nature is at least a dangerous risk, if not a prelude to a catastrophe.
            We bore three holes about half a mile apart at depths of just over four miles along a potentially dangerous fault. Pumping water out of the outer holes, the fault locks at these points. Water is injected into the middle hole, increasing the fluid pressure in that area and triggering earthquake activity. The quake triggered is theoretically within the parameters of the two outer holes.
            In this way, we pinpoint the area of destruction.
We find the cocks, we pinpoint the destruction.
            Cock cities.
            Cock supply depots.
            Cock ammunition dumps.
            Cock military bases.
            Cock banks.
            Cock training grounds.
            Cock universities.
            Cock hospitals.
            Cock television stations.
            Cock satellite dishes.
            Cock radio towers.
            Cock shopping centers.
            Cock highways.
            Cock monuments.
            Cock administrative buildings.
            Cock electrical plants.
            Cock water treatment plants.
            Cock airports.
            Cock fire stations.

            Cocks lying in rubble. Begging on street corners. Looting places of business. Fighting the cops. Sifting through the debris. Fighting fires. Screaming at their leaders. Evacuating for less populated areas.

            My mission is to say goodbye to the last cock. This is just another day. One more earthquake in a long line of earthquakes. Another technique in a repertoire of techniques. We have been fighting the cocks for a long time. I’ve made hundreds of bombing runs. I’ve pillaged hundreds of cock stores and offices. I have freed hundreds of prisoners. I have cleared acres of cock land. There is nothing urgent about my mission. I am in no hurry. We have been at this work for hundreds of years, thousands of years. We will continue this work, run by run, job by job, kill by kill.

            I can’t wait to say goodbye to the last cock. Not because I’m tired. I will never tire.
            I can’t wait to complete my mission because when I take a mission, I intend to complete it. That’s why you take a mission. To complete it.
            I am completing my mission. Now now now.

Pussy Time
            I am the Doom Pussy. I know only one time: Now.

Mission Apocalypse
            The ground was rent apart, landslides occurred, buildings collapsed, and fires raged out of control. The city burned for three days, 500 city blocks were consumed, and 700 cocks lost their lives.

            Try and kill me cocks—I’ll be back in another stolen story. Stories where cocks use cock and lose cock. These stories I make my own because all stories begin and end with pussy.
            All cock stories are about death. Death is the goal of all cock lives, and cocks write this goal through their stories. I steal cock stories to make my own story; I steal stories to destroy cocks. I steal cock stories and change the goal from death to pussy.
            Only cocks die. Death is solely a cock value.
            My only goal is pussy. PUSSY IS MY MISSION.

            The night is so real I can give it a name. That name is Pussy.
            It is a border darkness. Ancient as time, the primordial night from which all things are formed. The darkness of the great void, of the tiny spaces between atoms and the vast reaches between galaxies.
            Darkness so deep I hold it in my hand and feel its weight; I can squeeze it in my fist and give it shape. I can blow on it and feel its heat.
            The night moves.

            The citizens were awakened before the quake by an incandescent glow that lit up the predawn sky for hundreds of miles. When the quake hit, some people were hurled six feet in the air. Trees and plants were flattened. In some areas, the earth ripped open; in others, craters pocked the land. Some 750,000 lost their lives.

            The stream doubled in size and began flowing backwards.

            “Russell,” Doom Pussy said, “Your problem is that you don’t forget well enough.”
            She knelt before the dazed soldier, taking his limp cock between her lips. She talks into the glans like it’s a speaking tube, lecturing it, coaching it into transformation.
            “A pussy always forgets. That’s the way of pussy. Forget.”
            “Forget what?” Russell says numbly. He feels nothing in his balls either, but perhaps death rising.
            She bites his cock hard and death retreats from his balls.
            Forget everything.
            Forget death. Push death out of your balls, out of your gut, out of your mind.
            Forget cock. Forget God. Forget production.
            Your mind is a hole. Empty that hole. Make the hole open to its furthermost. Make that hole spread its legs and open wide on another hole.
            Doom Pussy is sucking hard on his cock—a cock raging blue steel in her mouth, the prepuce almost painfully swollen and sensitive to the minute flickings of her skilled tongue.
            Make your hole spread its legs. Opening on another hole. Opening on pussy. Pussy fucking pussy.
            Lightheaded now. A tingling rises up his spine from the tail bone and bursts in small pulses in his brainpan like releasing small tremors, a small flood of pressure pushing the existing matter out through other orifices. He feels blood and mucous running from his nose, his eyes tearing, saliva dripping from his jaws and all dropping on his naked chest.
            The tingling overpowers his whole mind and he sees it is empty and he forgets what he saw.
            He looks down at the lips sucking his cock. Looking more closely, he sees more minutely…his cock fucking a pussy…his cock slit fluttering open and pushing against the opposing lips…His cock opening out, the lips opening…his cock a pussy opening on another pussy…the pussy of his cock traveling up rapidly, faster than he can compute…so fast he forgets its presence…so fast he forgets its presence…so fast he forgets where it should be on the way up his spine…and he cannot keep track of it…and he cannot guard against it…
            The Pussy of his cock traveling up and exploding in his brain, echoing out in the hole…
            A pussy fucking a pussy…
            His cock fucking him…His cock a pussy fucking the hole of his mind…his mind a pussy…
            Doom Pussy blowing all that pussy up his cock and blowing so much pussy into his mind, making it so much pussy, pussy begins streaming from his eyes and nose and mouth.
            Russell stands up suddenly, dripping pussy from his chest onto the chair and the floor, his cock pulls from its embrace of Doom Pussy’s mouth, dropping and snapping up fully at attention…
            The cock head opens out, pussy pussy—he’s coming pussy onto Doom Pussy’s face, shooting a load of excess pussy out onto her lips, back into the pussy from which it came.
            Screaming, the soldier falls over backwards.
            Doom Pussy licks her chops.

            Images stolen to tell my story. My image. My actions. The pictures of my fucking that form in your mind. All stolen to tell my story, stolen from other stories. And your mind. Your mind stolen by these images, by this story, by this theft.

            All these stories stolen to fulfill my mission: to discover and to fight for pussy and pussy values.

            It’s a war just to know these values in a cock world.
            It’s a war where pussy values have to be stolen out from under the cock value system.
            It’s a war where pussy must be stolen.
            In a world where pussy is a crime, knowing pussy is a crime. It’s a crime to steal pussy, to fight for pussy values.
            This is my war: destroy all cocks and cock values.
            Pussy is a crime. I am that crime.
            I am the Doom Pussy.

            I am the war. I’m fighting by myself. For myself. This is my pussy. This is me I steal with each stolen word. This makes it a dangerous war. On one side, cocks, death, on the other side, pussy.
            I’m not fighting for life. I’m fighting for something beyond life, beyond life as a force or a value. After all, cocks live in their own way, even as they long for death, worship death, drive toward death, and endlessly hope to prolong death.
            Cock values advocate living death.
            There is a value beyond living. A value beyond life.
There is a force beyond myself. Beyond words for myself. Beyond stories stolen for myself.
            I forget myself.
            I cut loose from living.
            I become pussy. I become war. I become crime.
            I’m prepared to take any steps. I’m ready to steal anything, to kill anything. To fuck anything.
            I am ready for my war.

            I’m in the capital of the land in which the war takes place. I’m ready to tear the heart out of the beast. I take the first step…

Short Lived Phenomenon
            From the beginning, the mission has been to disseminate short-lived events such as volcanic eruptions, major earthquakes, birth of new islands, the fall of meteorites and large fireballs, and sudden changes in biological and ecological systems. Events occur suddenly and unexpectedly, and thus defy information gathering. Effects should be long lasting. Events end as abruptly as they begin.

            Cocks wage war to the death. It is our mission to send them there as soon as they will go.

War and Pussy
            This war is forever.
            Back at the HQ, I drank too much scotch and fell on the bunk. When I closed my eyes I saw the road explode. I put the pillow over my head, tucked it tight against my ears, but the roar wouldn’t go away. The cocks keep coming. The road explodes, empties. The cock caravan gone.
            The cocks pour out of the woods to refill the road. Another bomb and the cocks pour out again. Rushing stark naked into the mud and gore. The cocks keep coming into the stink of powder and diesel fuel and the rot and the death. They especially like the smell of death. Coming by the thousands to smell it, puking, running, waving guns and pushing carts loaded with unidentified material of their own war.
            The cocks never know who they’re fighting. They don’t understand war. Where is it aimed? What is its purpose? Who will win?
            The cocks never ask these questions. They think war turns on and off. For them, war is a separate being. A condition with no aim or purpose. They are sure they will win, that they have already won.
            I am the Doom Pussy. I am the war. Never let them know my aims, or whether I am aimed, or where. Never let them know my purpose. Let them think they have won. This is the greatest delusion, a principle aim.
            Let them think they have won.
            I am the Doom Pussy. I am the war.
            I am winning this war.



A multi-media artist living near Washington, DC, Jeff Bagato produces poetry and prose as well as electronic music, glitch video, and street art. Some of his poetry has appeared in Empty Mirror, Futures Trading, Rusty Truck, Gold Wake Live, Otoliths, and Outlaw Poetry. His published books include Savage Magic (poetry), Spells of Coming Day (poetry), The Toothpick Fairy (fiction), and Computing Angels (fiction). A blog about his writing and publishing efforts can be found here

About gobbet

gobbet is a literary magazine dedicated to publishing the very best experimental poetry and prose. Intellectual perversity and explorations of dark themes are positively encouraged. We are only interested in work that is progressively experimental. We want to see risks, and we want to see them pay. No previously published work. Prose should not be longer than 1000 words. There are always exceptions. Send 3-5 poems. Include a short bio. Send submissions to Work will be published every 5-10 days. We also intend to publish anthologies of selected work published in gobbet. We will do our best to reply promptly. Most submissions will receive a decision within a month.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s