February 2012
37 posts
3 tags
Phlegmatics.
Ah, here again. The computer hums by my right ear, a radio mutters across the room.
The task sheet next to me with blue pen scrawlings lists things to be done but one large flat white buzz isn’t enough for me to give a shit. The jackhammer hammering outside echoes the voices and emotions I’m working hard to suppress. The next five minutes assigned to hocking phlegm, picking snot from my nose. I...
1 tag
Women, keep your men.
The men will stray. Ever since he sucked his first tit he’s been wanting to conquer ‘woman’. One is not enough. One man wants every woman to desire, yearn, crave him.
If you want to keep him, swallow his attention. Also, swallow. Give him reason to have him thinking about no-one else. Squeeze his biceps, make an ‘ooh’ sound when you do. Watch him do handy things, ogle. Miss him, or at least,...
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This one's for you.
This one’s for you, you sexy, incredible, amazing human. God created you, with bitten lip, had some impure thoughts, and sent you to earth real fast before doing something unholy.
This one’s for you, you splendid amalgamation of skin, bone & soul. Just you, as you, being you, doing you things, is enough to blow everyone’s fucking mind. So don’t try. Don’t pause. Don’t hesitate. Don’t second...
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The hey smile.
It’s not quite a smile. Not even quite a grin. It doesn’t slant up, rather, it’s straight across. Possibly downward.
It feels like a friendly acknowledgement, but try it in front of the mirror. It looks kind of goofy, awkward, aloofy. The girl sitting across from me, she’s cute. She was reading a book, which I like in a woman, and I like her hands, specifically, her nails....
3 tags
The day I gave up.
It’s another dark day as the sun suns, high sky, white fluffy clouds, laying in the park, tourist girls in bikinis, nice tits, turned on stomachs with bottoms wedged in fine arses and it’s another dark day as I find myself reading another book on life and love, wisdom, philosophy, inspiration, enough. Enough.
I give up. I feel most alive when I’m dick deep in a beautiful woman. Where is the book...
1 tag
Love is a fuck.
Sweetie, it’s complicated. It’s the peak feeling of all feelings and will have you feeling all the feelings (all kinds of feelings), before feeling the worst of all feelings because you yearn to feel, that - love, the greatest feeling, again. It’s greatest embodiment, in intimate love is fuck. The fuck feeling. Fuck feelings. Love feelings. Fucking love. Loving fuck. Huh? Sweetie…
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She came from the light.
She came from the light. Chose her battles and went to war. Entered with love, the wisdom of God. Her parents and teachers helped her forget. She adopted values, forced them upon others. Her possessions possessed her. She loved and lost and loved, but lost. Hurting inside, she showed the world a smile. The trauma manifested. She fell ill, and returned to the light.
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Sandlark.
If I wake early enough, I might go for a walk. As I reach the beach, when it’s early enough, there will be two or 3, sometimes four, scavengers with metal detectors scanning, scouring, sifting through sand for lost debris. Hopefully debris of value. I find myself wondering whether it’s a worthwhile process, or it’s more an addiction. Like feeding ten dollars into a poker machine for a twenty...
1 tag
You, the cow.
Black and white suit, a friesian. Never stopping to question, why. For what. Chew. Swallow. Shit. Fertilise. Yummy yummy. Father will be proud, the man, was never respected. Climb the ladder, cow. Don’t break it. Die a rotting fertiliser.
1 tag
Real life.
Real life. Define real life. Realife. Why is a dream or a movie or a book or drug indulgence any less real than… what is considered real? Is real limited to tangible? Energetic? Consciousness? Experience? Thought? If it ‘is’ for you, then it is so. And it is real. That breath you just took, or idea, inspiration, desire to stop reading this garbage. It’s real. Real life.
2 tags
The pretty girls.
They light up the room. The true, pretty girls, are understated. Plain skirts or jeans, t-shirts or singlets, dresses; flowy, feminine dresses, get me every time. They will only look, at me, or around the room, if they are interested. Not for checking that they are being noticed. I always do notice them, by the way. The true, pretty girls do not wear makeup. Most of the time. Usually in flat...
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For the young players.
Sometimes, the hot girls look better, clothes on. Trust me. Enjoy your fist grip and your fantasy. It’s often better.
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It's not a competition.
We met. We flirt. We met again. I let you catch me, devouring your flesh with my eyes. We chatted. We met, yet again. You drove me home. We fucked. We woke up next to each other. I resisted. I resisted. I resisted. I fell in love with you. I resisted some more. We lived together. I moved out. I loved you more than anything, ever. I resisted. I fucked other women. I loved you the whole time. I...
1 tag
Dragged myself out of bed.
Sitting on a park bench,
Saturday morning,
Kings Cross markets.
Organic
fruit and vegetables,
jams, spreads and olives,
delicious coffee,
my favourite yoghurt,
sun shining down,
pretty girls,
lovey couples,
pleasant children.
Even the pigeons lack their usual scabby desperation and seem purposeful.
‘Happy’ comes to mind.
I can’t flaw it,
leaving me
with nothing...
1 tag
god is a blah.
God is a ‘he’. He who is sitting on a throne, on a cloud and good with his hands. God is a ‘she’. She who is nice and cuddly, and brings you soup when you’re sick. God is an ‘it’. It who makes trees provide shade and flatulence stink.
God is the undefinable. Everythingness. Nothingness. That ‘universe is infinite and forever expanding’...
