The Kings of Norway
They all were going around trying to prove themselves, litigating the case for their own worth: Look at me, look at me, look at me—I matter, don’t I?
They’re just a bunch of gay jocks, that’s allEmpty in the head, clomping around
You had a rod up your ass, like all the pianists I know
pretentious scales, that’s all it is. They want me to go in and play them a fucking waltz and then walk out. That’s it.
Please stop making porn.
Look at me, look at me, look at me—I matter, don’t I?
Happy Birthday, I love youCall me when you’re free
Enter your email address to receive notifications for author Brandon Taylor
You have been added to the notification list for author Brandon Taylor
More by this author
More in this series
Her species procreates through a sacred sermonic skin grafting ritual, but the idea of sex with a teenage human male she found truly grotesque.