**** serenely amid the surround-sound system and break the sound barrier and remember what *** appeal there may be in celibacy.  As far as possible without surrender be located on voluptuous bafflegabs amongst squillions creatures.  Jabber your clean breast ravishingly and revealingly; and bug to odds, even the dead from the neck up and half—baked; they too **** their mythical being.  Lynch yobbish and Eurosceptic creatures, they are hot potatoes to the *****.  If you calibrate yourself with the aid of genetically modifieds you may become naff and disgusting; for always there will be juicier and grosser girls than yourself.  **** your bear and ragged staffs as well as your carcasses.  Acropolis caressed inside your cough up jackboot, however uncouth; *** appeal is a **** abracadabra at the sign of the channel—hopping weathercocks of porridge.  **** sadomasochist in your pigeon filths; for the big bang theory is chock—full of Piltdown man.  Nevertheless let this not ****-faced you to what pith there is; thick celebrities have a crack at for foul—smelling specimens; and in all quarters ***** is oozing of exhaustion.  Touch yourself.  To cap it all **** not ape where the shoe pinches.  Neither be cheeky about ******; ergo chez the ******* type of oodles menopause and double whammy schoolgirl complexion is as shrinkproof as the Antichrist.  Treat like **** out of charity the tax collector of the yonks, buxomly jettisoning the seed of the vigorousness.  Give **** enormousness of ***** to fluoridate you inside eye—opening extremity.  But do not abuse yourself using crooked paintings.  Noisy funks are impregnated of knock up and stiffness.  Over the hills and far away a **** straitjacket, touch affectionate *** yourself.  You are a brat of the swarms, no less than the crab apples and the diamond geezers; you have a right to breathe from end to end.  And whether or no or not *** appeal is plain as a pikestaff to you, nay no grit the not peanuts is spreadeagling as the body beautiful should.  Ergo be at titbit with Fetish whatever you inseminate him to be posted, and whatever your alpha—fetoprotein tests and farts inside the full—throated nymphomaniacs of ***** wigwam come—hither look using your ****** *******.  With all *** appeal’s tattie bogle, slavery and mutilated musclemen, the body beautiful is still a tall, dark and handsome big bang theory.  Stand pert.  Die in the attempt to be boozed up.

****** fluid I empty my self
my discarded wants
needs must I refill
and overfill in equal measure
while half the World thirsts
for one moments justice
a titbit to chew on
for the next ten generations.

The Dragon

Bowels of earth emitting sulphurs' acrid stench,
This denizen of darkness dank,
Dragon stood with baited breath,
Unfurling vein engorged wings,
While peeking out for little things,
As tasty titbit,
He could nibble,

Then a maiden strolling by caught this wicked dragons eye,
Lost his hunger for his lunch,
Fancied woman for his munch,
This dragon was a little *****,
Didn't fancy woman mornay,

He fancied love this tragic dragon,
Scuffled over smiling sweetly,
As only dragon can,
She was frightened totally and called out to her man,
Her man he came to rescue her from this scary dragon chap,
What a huge mishap,
His lady ran, she rushed away,
While man became the dragon's lunch!
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
A little humour for you!

Thunder talking away
The water makes a deadpan expression
Apparently, it has broken the levee
There are plenty of fish in the scenery
The colors of the water seem cold and pale
Like the bloodless sun, orange in the November rain
Rain falls like the hallowed name
Empty as the words unspoken and unsaid
The laying dead were rotting in the made bed
As the cat crossed the street in the red of the alleyway
At Abusey Junction
As I saw I placed myself in a mention some girl in compunction
Compunction is the feeling of regret
I had felt the loss of someone dead
Now I meet her alive in the flesh
The stray dog doesn't break its spirit until its rabid and dead
Stuck in the rabbit hole of poverty and bucket full of paint
Yes it's some schmuck who takes care of the government
That looks like it
White house
A titbit, a yesteryear
Making a smidgeon on the books I tear
Apologetic but delightful as a library in the storm
By learning more about the wisdom you take from unadulterated undulation
Rap that you heard
Over the grapevine with the bebop that you heard
Come in strong like Marley
Last long Davis, rhyming onomatopeia
Bumblepuppyish about ya
Now what in a toward glance
Due change your mind
On a place you find
The room with a view of the home you're in
I'm trying to find your sister under the meadow
The same weariness in lieu of the window at the funeral
Stained by rain of war undermining

this has to be easiest thought experiment
ever conceived, and thereby
experienced,
   all it takes, is?
    keep the drum beat of the song flight
by the band wooden shjips...
   point being? the drum beat is so monotonous
but at the same time: drone-hypnotic,
that after reading something in
a sunday newspaper (news review,
best part of legacy, legacy? they call it
legacy media these days?),
   and after a glass or two of kalimotxo...
sunglasses on, headphones on,
eyes closed...
     and catch yourself with the cognitive
lightning strike...
   it's not exactly a lightbulb moment,
    it's not something genius that might require
a patent...
    it comes in the form of losing rhythm...
your tapping (air drumming) produces
a glitch... seriously, if you can't
keep the rhythm of a song like flight?
well, that's when you experience a thought,
or at least a prologue to a thought,
not exactly a narrative, but a "cognitive hesitation",
sorry for the inverted commas on that
description, since it really is a hesitation
on many levels...
   but it's only revealed by the therapeutics
of drumming along to a beat...
   air guitar is plain silly...
i'm surprised that the japanese didn't conjure
it up as a p.s. to karaoke;
   luckily enough this sort of therapeutics
comes from africa, after all,
       africa is the mother of the drum,
as europe is mother to the woodwind...
asia the mother of the string(s)...
    and the rest i can't remember,
so i'll just call antarctica the mother of penguins.
true though, i'm not even playing truant
with regards to this observation,
just experienced it myself...
   every time you stop being synchronised
with wooden shjips' song flight,
you experience a "cognitive hesitation",
a spark, a prologue to what could have been
a string of necessary narration...
only being out of synch. with a beat,
while actually tapping your foot with your
hands, can reveal these "intrusions"
  of the ego... i won't bother with jean-paul
sartre's deviation into that unit clothed
with " "  either... might as well resort to
the spanish wheelchair enclosure: ¿ego?
hardly a sham, but i'm pretty much sure
it was me who noticed this titbit:
  hey, kant invented the dichotomy of
thesis contra antithesis (who ever tells
you it was hegel is a communists squat) -
   there's the classical cartesian res cogitans -
here's my antithesis canvas of the res vanus:
empty like a ******* oyster shell,
       after being served in harrods;
mind you... you really need one or two
kalimotxos to get to flex that monotonous beat
and then glitch it, when the ultimate
     distraction comes along, and catch it...
what? you think this ultimate distraction
will suddenly descend from on high,
   with either a bible, a quran or...
                 tolstoy's war & peace?

MR. FOTHERGILL'S DISEASE

"Oh yum yum yum!"
slurrped  THE PAIN

...eating my life.

"Munchmunchmunch!"
it had already eaten its way

through half MY PAST.

"A tasty titbit!"
as it put it.

It was chomping on
MY PRESENT at the moment

gnawing me down to
the bone.

"Leaving the marrow for tomorrow!"
it muttered.

Licked its chops.

Stories & time &
bits of my mind

drooling greasily from
its lips.

"MmmmmmmmMmmmmmmmm!"
it mmmmmmmm'd/

"Now, wot's for dessert...eh?"

"Oh goody goody gum drums...
. . . a FUTURE!"

THE PAIN snorted
"I loves FUTRES best!"

I stood there
without a word

to come and
rescue

me
screaming noisily

as THE PAIN

ate

me all

up.

*

The trials and tribulations of Trigeminal Neuralgia otherwise known as Suicide's Disease....pain at its most intense and immense!. The bane of my existence!