IT WAS A PLEASURE TO BURN
IT was a special pleasure to see things eaten, to see things
blackened and changed. With the brass nozzle in his fists,
with this great python spitting its venomous kerosene upon
the world, the blood pounded in his head, and his hands were
the hands of some amazing conductor playing all the
symphonies of blazing and burning to bring down the tatters
and charcoal ruins of history. With his symbolic helmet
numbered 451 on his stolid head, and his eyes all orange
flame with the thought of what came next, he flicked the
igniter and the house jumped up in a gorging fire that
burned the evening sky red and yellow and black. He strode
in a swarm of fireflies. He wanted above all, like the old
joke, to shove a marshmallow on a stick in the furnace,
while the flapping pigeon-winged books died on the porch and
lawn of the house. While the books went up in sparkling
whirls and blew away on a wind turned dark with burning.

i'm your 69 Pageview!!

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_{I think feminists are cute}