And Job dreamt of bliss, and it was purple and green and blue and fuzzy like a fucking care-bear. And it was always setting, and yet never ending. Achieving always, it was. And the bliss was cream-colored fear, rather than the stress-colored fear of everyday life, the guilt-covered fear of family and work, the worth-colored fear of friends and self, and the bliss was cream colored fear. And that was the color of Job, he of the soft marble and the straight and unflawed arching of the back. This was Job, he of the caramelized lips from the heat of a pure and temporary all-uniting passion, he of the true home between the long legs wrapping you into their selves, he of the cock electrically connecting through her open wound to the base of her spine in a circular energy that ran up to her brain and out of her mouth into his, and from his brain down his spine and through his cock again into her. Job of that, this was Job, that bliss. He of the forever-nights in spring under cool moons inside soft kisses. And there was only the minutest brush and speck of distrust. Job had no longer such energy to resist in the name of protection. Soft energy poured into his eyes and wrapped rainbow vines around his ribs and pulled open all his arteries for the cornucopia of spiritual rubbing to follow. Job was not floating, Job was the action itself of being weightless. Job was the adjective of nothing. And like all bliss this one took him fearless into a sleeping void, a darkness that without bliss would be harrowing he now floated calmly into like one inhales and for the last time in his life Job had a deep and long healing sleep.
He awoke again in the deep night and the sky was a cleared field of glorious dots fading into the bronze and glimmering lighted and airy void of the city lights. Orange bronze perpendicular sharp edged concrete and glowing bouquet of the bright trivialities of human achievement. And at this time of night a strange chorus of car horns and sirens were having a duet with the suspended thrumming of the blood cell semi tractor-trailers. Pound beep hum finishing sentences, finishing airs, finishing times. No boy, no hotdog, no water in sight, Job dozed off again.
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