OUR BODIES, OURSELVES (various) CUT-UPw/ HELLFIRE, THE JERRY LEE LEWIS STORY
Mother was so frightened, inserting a finger or two in her vagina. She kept saying oh god my son my son feel the soft folds of skin, notice that your finger goes in toward the small of the back at an angle.
Jerry was in there bangin away, usually before puberty, like a nose with a small dimple in its center. You could hear him all the way outside, little folds of hymen stretched across the ribcage, cuttin through that wicked racket with a tampon, his piano, a penis or a baby. It was a terrible place, where you were born: a circle of darker skin about the size of a fist. Thick walls gonna kill us, gonna kill us all. Light pink to almost black.
Daddy went inside, under the soft outer skin, walked past the crowded bar, past the roulette wheel, the blackjack table, the opening of the rectum, or large intestine, to the outside. All the sexual and reproductive organs you can see in your crotch. He could not free himself from it.
He had him a drink from the soft fatty tissue called the mons. He liked it -- liked it even more with a speculum. Expanding outward and back from the sides, growling into the mike, pounding the piano with the abdominal wall, the bulbs of the vestibule heard a harrowing din that rose and fell but pushed apart, never ceased.
The rest of us waited in the car with a growing fetus or abnormal growth, the doors locked and the windows rolled up. -Nick Tosches
