Absurd

It's the hour of the siren. Tara wants to be happy although she's swimming (a lot tardier) to start over after mermaids rejected her. That brought her to the brink of the Skid Row of the ocean floor. Or to the right place eventually.

She talks to the blue sky and dances under white horses from an old deity. A rainbow takes his place by her. "Oh babe, could you help me out?" he demands happily.

"Uh-huh, all my sweet melodies will." She sings as delicately as she can.

"Right on mermaid."

She's very vibrant. She imagines a warm sea could help succor her soul. She's been praying to her god, Poseidon, every night. When Tara imagines Neptune advancing favorably, she envisions Him growing in wisdom and compassion, guiding the seas with benevolence and fostering harmony among marine life.

When will I know? We hope we progress fine. I sing but feel a loneliness. She sings a cantata by Joseph Haydn, "The Mermaid's Song." I always need love. I begin a riff and improvise near him. He seems sweet. Yikes.

Rainbow acquires music sheets and mansplains Tara's problems, writes her songs, styles every characteristic of her elusive nature. She watches his lips. Make me rot? I accomplish his demands for his irises swiftly yet lament it. Seldom truly exciting. Moreover, rainbow touches his candlestick with the palms of his elegant hands and the feathers of his sirens meanwhile. I feel all with my hands and with my tail. You'll sleep it off unless they are insatiable. Nereids defend our world but bestow on the sailors. They also see really far, or rarely too close. Our waters have some problems in them. Thetis tries to bring them back to save us. Do they seem retarded? I can't believe them to remember we're retarded. They renew us but endeavor to give us up to Man's shoes. Since we can't be a land species. CHRIST. This is the loudest foghorn we've heard. Oh, they'll be coming here, because they can't never matter.

They sniff our holes while we swim to our lair. Lady Gaga, "Born This Way" every time. Mermen seduce the underwater females the designer created for them. Brandon senses the fear in Tara's heart. So he flirts. "Taboo Like a Swastika" begins playing. Then crescendos. "Born Again." "The Shadow of a Psycho." Maybe I can't surrender. At "The Beautiful People," I tell him goodbye and his god will accompany him tomorrow. I hear the loud bright blare of the ship foghorn yet I don't dread their approach.

Joseph notices Tara while standing on deck. I scare myself inordinately while endangering my soul before His judgment. I'm scolded for being excellent and moral. How to universalize bisexuality? We strive to restrain ourselves. But our manly flesh becomes weaker although we usually rub cocks. His unruly dark chest hair or green irises or round face or radiant sun-kissed muscles or his average dick. You mustn't seek your fulfillment at the hands of men although notwithstanding our various attempts at discipline, we masturbate one another and sleep in each other's arms.

Tara stares Joseph down to his attractive, cloud-like bulge, and his muscular legs. He gazes at Tara, tail to hair. He anchors his cramped formidable vessel closer to Tara and kisses her. Subsequently Joseph sticks his tongue down her throat and she reciprocates. They look like an opera by Wagner. Joseph massages his palm against his modest member. Below his bush. His fear. His daily hard-on for the wanderlust that brought him here. "Hey mermaid," Joseph says. "Hey incel," Tara whispers.

A blue Nereid, a police officer, smiles Tara back into their reality, under the sea. She slaps Tara's cheek over showing interest in pirates who live above. Suddenly, Tara leaps.

The ship's captain (Joseph) takes off his clothes and proceeds to fuck her on deck. In broad daylight. Aboard where his shipmates from his homoerotic past are watching. Am I pleasuring her, am I cumming soon? He grasps her back in passion before positioning her above his body, and while thrusting inside her oyster of flesh riding above him, she tickles his nipples with her long thin fingers that Neptune designed for her.

They've been lovemaking for hours before he unleashes his seed inside her oyster. Tara moans. He's softer, and emptier. His sperm is racing, competing, fertilizing. I've never explored the feminine principle for fornication. And, Tara felt extraordinary. Like my fleshlight. Creamy, pure.

He appears satisfied.

Tara seems delighted. I am significant to feel this. "We're living in the Medieval Warming Period now," Joseph says.

A siren starts to sing her threnody. She makes him understand the climate is changing for them. She serenades Earth's ruler "how do you sleep?" comprehending precisely when its demise will occur, medieval balmy 2033 through onions and delicious wine, "precious eggs" like patriarchs label them. I collected these prophecies since Kalki's almost here. Or never, especially since the Kali Yuga will end 426,876 years later, regardless of the suffering, regardless of the crimes. A purely elusive prophecy we can hope for. I laugh, and divine man's average reaction.

"Little Ice Age!" Joseph observes, gesturing at an iceberg.

Her laugh fractures in a jiffy, and she resumes singing. "Come Sirens!" Theiksiepia points at the carved figurehead of the ship's bow and then at Tara's abdomen. "Chimera? She is pregnant with Joseph's (a landman's) child. This offspring of the sea and the earth will save our future."