The Theatre of Sexual Satire Presents

The Theatre of Sexual Satire Presents

Peace Women:

Building Peace with Male Relationships

LADY

Hello Penises. I hate your hard on for fighting! I like a penis I can curl up and cuddle with. War and violence are not human conditions! They are male conditions! Modifiable by females! Penises are peaceful. We're sweet on em. Penises are aggressive. We treat em like leper shit. Your choice.

Ladies have you ever noticed how a Penis' fists unfurl into a white flags when you don't respect his hard on? Some people don't like behavior modification. But it does work well with rats. Especially white rats.

We can save this world! By donating our dovetails to the pliable Penis! And wait for the others to soft boil their rhubarbs. And join up with us later.

I wonder if War Man remembers the time he got his first gun. And his peacock boinged up before his eyes so he couldn’t see the wordPEACE in the largest letters on Earth Mother's vision chart. He thought it said SELF AGGRANDIZEMENT!Andhe says “How can you see peace through a peacock? Woman!” You gotta pluck out its I and its me and its my. And cut out its muscles and its money. Then you’ll be able to see it. Man!

I'm looking for a country where the vagina is dominant! Where a woman can cross her legs on the tip of a man's tongue. Who can't remember what his fist looks like. Or the definition of a gun. Then the lovers wouldn’t disappear from his fingertips. And he could catch one of those tears wailing from the American flag in his grace cupped hands. Till it evaporates. And he's holding

The Holy Spirit.

I'm looking for a motherland! A pink flowery place under the far superior silk outskirts of Femininity overshadowing the Old Glory jockstrap bulging with big bellied businessmen in competitive self closing body bags being dumped in the chest cavity of a heartless homeland.

I bet War Man will be there for The Unbendable Jerk Contest! Europe loved to play with him as a baby. And they thought he was a cute little boy. But when his money got big and the currency exchange became painful for them. They started putting huge tariffs over their asses.

Dear God! He hurts me! Mother said “I thought it was supposed to hurt!” I told her “Only if you're an anti war protester mom.” He gets Jesus confused with Samson (Americanized as Uncle Sam) breaking the bones of The Christ Child's face beaming from my belly! Using me like a hole in his bed he keeps screwing me to! My womb won't stop weeping and my vagina is a scrap heap of rusted screws! Andhe says “What about your breasts?!”You gotta suck em till they flame up with love and turn the darkness of your violence into two emergency flares! One to put under your balls until all your bullets blow up. And one to burn Benny Goodman because he plays a mean clarinet. I'm not a musician. But I believe in a top heavy service oriented society. May you help me Benny? Can you play chamber music with your tongue?(Maybe a lady's love should be skinless. Blossoming from her ultraviolet rose's rainbow ballet of seven veils... evaporating... one by one... the visible colors of her flesh. Fainting her into a radiant unraped river without measurements.)

Boys drown ants! Girls don't drown ants.

When I was a little girl I used to walk by these willows. Sometimes I stopped and they talked to me. They told me they were in love. And Earth Mother took me in her arms. And I was in love too. And I stood there weeping. And my toes turned to roots. And my skin became bark. And my hair was this wonderful waterfall of willow leaves cascading over my shoulders like sunlit tears of joy! Then the starred and striped sawtoothed Hard Ons came. And cut the trees down. To the bottom of my heart. Leaving a world of hyperventilating capitalist stumps. And dead palm branches. Leaving me crying to grow from prayers of sawdust. But the trees were not enough! So the Hard Ons grew into slaughterhouses. And killed the cows. But the cows were not enough! So the Hard Ons grew into an army. And killed the people. Then the Hard Ons were happy.

Mothers! Have you heard the news?! Your dear dear sons! Are dead dead dead! But they look so sportin. Wrapped in a flag. (Maybe if you had been emerald and very tall and had suckled your boys on the sunniest peace lilies succeeding from your breasts.)

Those willows though. I used to have dreams about them. I dreamed they were these gorgeous penises. Without the limbs of course! Yes! I was this giant bare assed bulging eyed forest nymph with a barrel of Vaseline! Playing musical chairs on the willow tops! It was as if I was flying in the rush of an open cockpit! Myself. I liked the bark. Some of the girls shaved ’em first.

War Man could have been the world's saviour! Instead of the world's fool! And he will die a miserablePenis death like every other Great Penis Empire! That chose fucking over lovemaking!

GATHERS UP COSTUME

Ooooh! A hard on!

BENDS IT

A reformed hard on (Maybe a relaxed eagle that got seduced by a dove.)

But he killed the last dove! And her eggs turned to stones thrown at him by an angry crowd of starred and striped prepositions that all wanted to be on top! Because the letter I was bigger and better! It was a capitalist letter! And of course the first person singular of his I sight.

The nonmilitance of my lady infiltrateshim I can feel his sweat on my forehead. He reaches for my peacefulness. But his penis is in the way! And he says "Their constitution was made for fighting and fucking!"You need a different perspective War Man. How bout cunnilingus?

I knew a boy once with a tongue like Chopin's fingertips. He could play the incredibly sweet key of my baby grand till my flower's lips sweat sighsand bright colored banners unfurled from my eyes! You may play it Sam. When you're my lover. When you’re a concert Penis playing Chopin.

The love will come. I know it will come. It will come when a cure for the aggression of competition is found. Which is of course the peacefulness of cooperation. But capitalists believe you can aggressively compete and peacefully cooperate at the same time. So how can we change from an aggressive competitive society to a peaceful cooperative society?

I’ll tell you how...Peace Schools for Penises. Where pride is punishable. And castration is common. Where aggression’s crushed velvet cloak of competition is ripped out of the free enterprise jock strap. And the gun fails. And becomes Florence Nightingale dressed in a gauze bandage trying to stop the blood money spurting from their sporting life.

Women of America! Women of the world! We’ll screw his eyes out with our vibrators and stick in our vaginas! He’ll look at life through a birth canal! Instead of the barrel of a hard on! Castrate im! Castrate em all! Their only claim to authority comes from the longness of their aggression. And the shortness of their golden rule. And War Man says “But what about the little lions leapin from my loins?” They shall be sheep. Named Dolly.

Where are You?! Prince of Peace?! Where is The Penis without horns?! The Penis without pride?! Reverently his soft colored salvation enters me. The same way the shine of the sun enters the bloom of a peace lily’s morning dew. Illuminating my eyes with the gleaming light of his gospel. Amplifying the ferocity of my pelvic prayers. Jesus Christ! I can hear Beethoven's bones erupting like honey volcanoes from every megaphone pore of His huge lovin HALLELUJAH!What a lover!

But Earth Mother’s better. Unless you’re a logger! She takes loggers and puts em on wood lathes and makes baby cradles out of em. So the oak mothers can rock their acorns. And she saws loggers into studs and builds whorehouses out of em. And she nails loggers together to make picnic tables. So the trees can carve Maple Loves Cedar on em.

Don't ya know it! War Man's lovebird wants to be my boyfriend! I told him he’s too big. But I could make love out of his plucked peacock feathers though. And his peacock turned into this cute little tanned leatherneck pacifier!

Since all men are suckers for an artificial relationship. They'll soon be peaceful.Maybe even able to love!

Ooooh! Penises! I get chills just thinkin bout it! Two trillion dollars a year'll go a long way round the third world. You know.

YES! Women of America! Women of the World! We mothered a matriarchy! And the matriarchy has this country to country smile that's suckling our planet into a sweet melon bowl full of fruity whipped creamed boys!

It’s time. The yellowing beauty of Grandmother Sun is dropping like an old blonde bombshell over the hill of raging legislating Penises. Cracking open the icecap covering the secret face of America's honor. Forming A Feminine Administration of Lovemaking and Congress Without Penises.

War Man is peaceful now.Squirreled away in our pink regulatory gun holsters.

Motherhood’s full moon of newborn doves come forth crying. Rising from the boys' rocks. And eat all the competition and the violence from our world. Peacing us together into a place where homeless hearts that come in yellow and brown and white hope chests. Filled with precious rings of each other holding hands. Can live together on smiling lips. In homes made of hugging arms.

We watch the white feathered doves fluttering in the boys eyes as they measure their manhood with the golden rule shining like the sun from the girls' love nests. Woven with The United Nations of Nature and Art luxuriating from their wombs. Bearing acts of grace along the cinnamon sugar beach of best friends. That goes forever. With no talk. Just puckered lips. And loving fingertips. With no expectations. Only ovations. And celebrations. And Earth Mother comes. And quivers. And is content.

THE END

1