Woe Betide Him That Hath A Narrow Heart

The studio was an abandoned gas station in Nebraska, reseeded with
new purposes, the weeds of its old purposes pulled out root and
all. They had toppled over the big sign and taken apart all of the
pumps, and hung canvases over the edges of the roof overhead of
the pumping area to create a sort of canopy tent out of the sort
of geological feature of industry. The shelves inside were carried
one by one out into the parking lot to rust like misshapen cars.
Sound paneling was put up all around the inside of the station
proper, and deep- and rich-hued curtains hung along the walls and
overhead across the ceiling, the old fluorescent lights foregone,
and instead just some covered lamps with black lights inside, on
some dressers or little tables that were scattered here and there.

In the break room, the door closed and the bolt locked, a green
light bulb instead of a black light. On the walls, a painting hung
of a dog's vulva, her heat glistening in the painting's sunlight,
a notebook page taped up with sketch studies on equine anuses, a
notebook page taped up with sketch studies on canine anuses,
marker drawings straight on the walls of humans kissing dogs, dogs
kissing cats, cats kissing birds of all different species and
sizes, stamped prints of dog penises, developed photographs taped
up of horse balls and dog mouths, a poster taped up of a dog in
knights' armor humping an anime woman with big breasts and long
hair, a poster taped up of a human middle finger entering into a
mare's wanting sex, and many, many more works, a thorough collage
of zoophilic passion and lust. At the floor of the room, three big
blankets strewn around, each of them torn here and there, the
stuffing inside touchable, coarser stuff than the soft fabric
without. Midas sat with his back against a wall, eyes closed, and
playing a mellow, repetitive line on his black bass guitar, as Jon
nuzzled into Midas's left armpit, rubbing their face into his
armpit hair, taking in long, pondering inhales through their nose.
When Midas didn't need use of his left hand, playing the bass's
deepest register, he rested his hand on Jon's sweaty back, and
massaged their back with pressing, petting movements of his thumb,
groping, caressing movements with his other fingers. Jon, with
their left hand, played on a keyboard that rested against Midas's
stomach and lap, the keyboard rising and falling like a boat on a
lake with Midas's breaths. The line for the keyboard slithered
down Midas's legs, went through the space between his big toe and
the next one, and then crossed the blankets on the floor to some
synth equipment that was stacked in the corner.

Midas reached past Jon, and grabbed a microphone that rested on
the ground. Jon moved a switch on their keyboard that keyed the
microphone on.

Midas spoke, orating a tale off the dome of dogs manning a
spaceship, cruising the galaxy for aliens to sex up. The dogs
ended up on Earth after some other planets, found that monkeys
were some fun but much too crazy, and so the dogs bred the monkeys
generation after generation to be more docile, until they were
humans. By this point the space ship had deteriorated, and would
need to be repaired to fly again. But the dogs were having so much
fun sexing up the humans, some of the dogs had even fallen in love
with the humans, and so the dogs did not repair their space ship,
but instead buried it in a desert, and built a great pyramid over
the top of it that nobody would remove. The dogs and the humans
kissed and rubbed and inserted and romped and howled and walked
and wrestled and threw sticks and brought sticks back and feasted
and enjoyed all, and Midas spoke the name of the album, Woe Betide
Him That Hath A Narrow Heart, for there is love and knowledge
found aside of the path, if one looks to their left or to their
right. There are not men and women only, but a splatter painting
of visions of sex and gender, and all of the beasts of the land,
birds of the sky, monsters of the waters. Joy betide him that
seeth them; Joy betide him that hath a heart increasing; Joy
betide him knowing of knots and rubbing at bellies; Joy betide the
lover of animals.

Seth, who had been sucking Jon's dick, began a guitar solo.