So, ha; you have bought into it.
My perversion of wrapping my mind around you thoughts, to keep you arguing, specifically with me. To see you arguing with anyone else brings me low. As I suspect that their wits do not match up well against yours (lalala, they be dumbkopfs), but I still see you letting them win. It's obvious to me. I can't stand it.
I once had poetry to describe you. This is what is left: poetry, (as I am not quite sure what will or might change). We disagree so closely.
29 March 2009
Realizes that October is a long time ago and that the rain has started to come down.
October is gone and so are the leaves of a year, the pages also turned and spent. They are now dirt striding under the heels of boots, gone adventuring into spring.
I wonder about the spring and its dawn, now that its dawn is here, now.
Before, 'twas just its hope, and now it's the reality of the alchemical reactions of composting, the nitty-gritty of nature; although today I thought even deeper, folding space-time into itself.
This maybe as much reality as I am willing to unleash unto the world.
I'm in a box of mine own and of natures making.
I wonder about the spring and its dawn, now that its dawn is here, now.
Before, 'twas just its hope, and now it's the reality of the alchemical reactions of composting, the nitty-gritty of nature; although today I thought even deeper, folding space-time into itself.
This maybe as much reality as I am willing to unleash unto the world.
I'm in a box of mine own and of natures making.
30 November 2008
Give thanks.
She stood behind the fire's light as it itself into the unknowing void of ashes. Her face lit dimly. The glow of embers casting weird shadows up to her forehead. It didn't not suit her. But then there was nothing I could think of that didn't suit her.
Yeah, I guess you'd be right in assuming I was in love. It 'twas weird stuff, to be such. I still can't say it with ease. But there it is.
And then she turned away. The glow turning her white slip colors; a rosy twilight. Twilight suited her. Wither it be, morning or evening.
She turned to look behind her. She turned to look beside her. She turned and found my eyes and gripped them with hers. And she smiled, the mischief rising from her heart to breasts to shoulders to neck to chin to lips to tongue to nose to cheeks to eyelids to eyes to forehead and fell down her back as she released her hair to the wild.
Now with her hands she reached her shoulders, a bit of goose flesh following in her finger's wake. She plucked the thin straps of her white silk slip gently between her thumbs and fingers. She guided them with slow diligence, like an admiral positioning her ships, she laid them to rest on her upper arms. Her nipples began to appear under the silken fabric, springing from silk as tulips do when the earth livens from frost.
Her majesty, darling of my heart, leaned over, carefully avoiding flinging her long hair into the fire pit. The tops of her breasts being lit gently by the remaining glow. Her pulled her arms free of the straps and crossed her arms quickly over the slowly descending garment, halting its progress. My id booed. My ego cheered. My erection grew.
She stood up straight, and shook her hips. She slowly approached, alternately popping each hip with a step.
A few steps more, and all that covered her smallish breasts, were her slight arms. The garment now only being held up by her hips. A shimmy or two and nothing would keep it from the ground. With each frolicking step, she caused my cock a smallish seizure. I reached forward hoping she would had finally stepped inside the boundary. She was close. By straining against the ropes holding me fast, I somehow manage, with my big toe, to pull her petticoat over the ledge of her hips.
She quickly stepped back, removing her right arm from her left breast, she scolds me by shaking her finger and giving me a stern look. Her expression could not keep up with her left nipple. As her breast jiggled with the shaking of her finger, her nipple was the conductor of my orchestra, keeping time with my cock's pulsations, my balls vibrating, my heart pounding.
She laughs and her arms fall down to her side, now tugging at the waist of her white lace topped, silk panties. I watch as a spry little love hair rises over the waistband, and then I am hit with the smell of her sex.
I try to stand, my eyes widen, my cock surges, the hunger hits me. I want her, NOW! But the ropes hold me fast and prevent me from standing.
She has seen my erection grow and laughs at my struggles. She pulls down her waistband a teeny bit more. A flock of black hairs comes tumbling out and gets pressed against her pubis as she lets go the waistband, and another wave of her scent.
She laughs again as I go through the same motions again.
Yeah, I guess you'd be right in assuming I was in love. It 'twas weird stuff, to be such. I still can't say it with ease. But there it is.
And then she turned away. The glow turning her white slip colors; a rosy twilight. Twilight suited her. Wither it be, morning or evening.
She turned to look behind her. She turned to look beside her. She turned and found my eyes and gripped them with hers. And she smiled, the mischief rising from her heart to breasts to shoulders to neck to chin to lips to tongue to nose to cheeks to eyelids to eyes to forehead and fell down her back as she released her hair to the wild.
Now with her hands she reached her shoulders, a bit of goose flesh following in her finger's wake. She plucked the thin straps of her white silk slip gently between her thumbs and fingers. She guided them with slow diligence, like an admiral positioning her ships, she laid them to rest on her upper arms. Her nipples began to appear under the silken fabric, springing from silk as tulips do when the earth livens from frost.
Her majesty, darling of my heart, leaned over, carefully avoiding flinging her long hair into the fire pit. The tops of her breasts being lit gently by the remaining glow. Her pulled her arms free of the straps and crossed her arms quickly over the slowly descending garment, halting its progress. My id booed. My ego cheered. My erection grew.
She stood up straight, and shook her hips. She slowly approached, alternately popping each hip with a step.
A few steps more, and all that covered her smallish breasts, were her slight arms. The garment now only being held up by her hips. A shimmy or two and nothing would keep it from the ground. With each frolicking step, she caused my cock a smallish seizure. I reached forward hoping she would had finally stepped inside the boundary. She was close. By straining against the ropes holding me fast, I somehow manage, with my big toe, to pull her petticoat over the ledge of her hips.
She quickly stepped back, removing her right arm from her left breast, she scolds me by shaking her finger and giving me a stern look. Her expression could not keep up with her left nipple. As her breast jiggled with the shaking of her finger, her nipple was the conductor of my orchestra, keeping time with my cock's pulsations, my balls vibrating, my heart pounding.
She laughs and her arms fall down to her side, now tugging at the waist of her white lace topped, silk panties. I watch as a spry little love hair rises over the waistband, and then I am hit with the smell of her sex.
I try to stand, my eyes widen, my cock surges, the hunger hits me. I want her, NOW! But the ropes hold me fast and prevent me from standing.
She has seen my erection grow and laughs at my struggles. She pulls down her waistband a teeny bit more. A flock of black hairs comes tumbling out and gets pressed against her pubis as she lets go the waistband, and another wave of her scent.
She laughs again as I go through the same motions again.
23 October 2008
Post-Feminist Masculinity
FUCK!
Here it comes.
There you go.
Another project left undone.
Another job gone.
I blame society.
I blame you.
You're a fucking bitch.
I'm fucking perfect.
I lie.
You burden me with truth.
Here it comes.
There you go.
Another project left undone.
Another job gone.
I blame society.
I blame you.
You're a fucking bitch.
I'm fucking perfect.
I lie.
You burden me with truth.
Some sorta post-post-modern-ancient-future tale of changing and things.
I lie awake at night and think about the spore that created me.
How did it come to pass this transformation into otherness?
Why am I under this Voodoo?
Who will know the things I have seen, feel, smell, when all is done?
What is the nature of consciousness; will mine become lost?
When it is done, will the pain end?
One day I awoke a bit stuffy and pale. It was approximately noon, a bit early for me to rise. Jumping out of bed, I noticed the tile floor under my feet was a bit squishier than usual. Having gone drinking the night before, I at first chalked it up to yet another hangover. I climbed the stairs to the bathroom across from the basement door. Every step was curiously, softer.
I relieved myself, and started the descent towards the solace of my bed. Then something clicked in my brain. I rushed back to the bathroom mirror I had passed. I looked. I stared. I tried to slap myself in the face. It didn't have the same impact as usual. I went back to gazing.
I was a mushroom.
Well, an anthropomorphic mushroom. I still had features of a human: legs, eyes, arm, mouth, all in the right places. Everything seemed intact. Yet, I now had gills growing in my neck and was puffy.
My thoughts instantly raced back to the night before. Did someone slip Acid in a drink? Am I still drunk? What the fuck?
I decided to return to sleep, as this had to be a hallucination.
I returned to the basement in which I dwell, to the room below the parental units.
I fall asleep.
I have slept so much recently.
Nobody will wake me. The parents are gone on vacation. No one's home, except me. If someone does come by, I ignore them.
Eventually, everyone goes away.
My roots are growing deep into the mattress, on which I lay.
The puddle of piss and shit grows. It hurts too much now to uproot myself. Fortunately, I no longer eat or drink, get hungry or thirsty. But the smell is terrible. That's the worst part.
My sight is almost gone and hearing is dampened. Though I still feel, it has changed. Unfortunately, scent will not abandon me. I smell perfectly the sewer which, what I hope, is my deathbed.
Let me slip away.
How did it come to pass this transformation into otherness?
Why am I under this Voodoo?
Who will know the things I have seen, feel, smell, when all is done?
What is the nature of consciousness; will mine become lost?
When it is done, will the pain end?
One day I awoke a bit stuffy and pale. It was approximately noon, a bit early for me to rise. Jumping out of bed, I noticed the tile floor under my feet was a bit squishier than usual. Having gone drinking the night before, I at first chalked it up to yet another hangover. I climbed the stairs to the bathroom across from the basement door. Every step was curiously, softer.
I relieved myself, and started the descent towards the solace of my bed. Then something clicked in my brain. I rushed back to the bathroom mirror I had passed. I looked. I stared. I tried to slap myself in the face. It didn't have the same impact as usual. I went back to gazing.
I was a mushroom.
Well, an anthropomorphic mushroom. I still had features of a human: legs, eyes, arm, mouth, all in the right places. Everything seemed intact. Yet, I now had gills growing in my neck and was puffy.
My thoughts instantly raced back to the night before. Did someone slip Acid in a drink? Am I still drunk? What the fuck?
I decided to return to sleep, as this had to be a hallucination.
I returned to the basement in which I dwell, to the room below the parental units.
I fall asleep.
I have slept so much recently.
Nobody will wake me. The parents are gone on vacation. No one's home, except me. If someone does come by, I ignore them.
Eventually, everyone goes away.
My roots are growing deep into the mattress, on which I lay.
The puddle of piss and shit grows. It hurts too much now to uproot myself. Fortunately, I no longer eat or drink, get hungry or thirsty. But the smell is terrible. That's the worst part.
My sight is almost gone and hearing is dampened. Though I still feel, it has changed. Unfortunately, scent will not abandon me. I smell perfectly the sewer which, what I hope, is my deathbed.
Let me slip away.
08 October 2008
dream of: dreaming the dreamer
So... there I stood at the precipice of dawn, wondering where the sleep had gone.
No dreams in the night will wake me from slumber during the day, of course. Already I am the bleeding heart of my nightmares, a succulent cross between an orange and doom.
When it comes, it comes down like a freight train on an all-night haul, and diffracts into many dimensions, not just light.
Then, when it 'tis over, a shivering mass of flesh rejects itself and finds the stargate home.
No dreams in the night will wake me from slumber during the day, of course. Already I am the bleeding heart of my nightmares, a succulent cross between an orange and doom.
When it comes, it comes down like a freight train on an all-night haul, and diffracts into many dimensions, not just light.
Then, when it 'tis over, a shivering mass of flesh rejects itself and finds the stargate home.
18 September 2008
hunter
fantastic and rough i follow the road ever running down the stream of breath and life and the scent of blood, I am tracking now, I seek the flesh of those wild, my instinct leads me off the beaten game trail, into the scraggy, dense, undergrowth.
close, wounded, and frightened my prey is near, slowing now as blood loss brings them surely toward the end, I want the meat fresh though, I want the last beat of the heart in my teeth, capturing their strength and soul.
I hear a shuffling in the branches, I wait gently sniffing the air for the strong metallic scent of blood on the breeze, as I slowly turn my head back towards my origin, that heady smell comes my way, and then a low rustle,
instantly my muscle contract and release and I am airborne sharp teeth ready for the kill and revel in the moment.
close, wounded, and frightened my prey is near, slowing now as blood loss brings them surely toward the end, I want the meat fresh though, I want the last beat of the heart in my teeth, capturing their strength and soul.
I hear a shuffling in the branches, I wait gently sniffing the air for the strong metallic scent of blood on the breeze, as I slowly turn my head back towards my origin, that heady smell comes my way, and then a low rustle,
instantly my muscle contract and release and I am airborne sharp teeth ready for the kill and revel in the moment.
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