bypassing the 502 error: title - whiplash... body... cream...
original intent:
they're doing road works on a stretch of road where the brothel sits: house of the rising sun or whatever you want to call it... i'm not ready for the thrist: for the plunge that will extend into half a decade's worth of not *******... i'll give it a week or so... before i take the plunge: proper... mind you... i've already found the perfect formula for drinking... the cheapest bottle of australian wine... at 14%... mixed into the glorious Mayan drink of the gods' that's kalimotxo... and if i'm still not "feeling it": i'll top myself off with some slender-man's whiskey glug-glug... it worked so well for 4 years without touching a woman's body... what the hell prompted me? to wake up from this slumber? oh... right... i own two maine **** cats and when i was grooming the female... she stuck up her brunt right into my hands... it felt like: trans-species ******* for a while... a cog in my brain went loose... for days i cycled in the night into central London looking at the flesh market: of the free peoples of the western world... what prompted me... i was grooming my maine **** cat and she was tempting me with a: ******* hairy apple... no... wrong... just plain wrong... perhaps i swing around beard envy & ha... ***** envy (well... imagine a rabbit ******* an elephant... big **** genre of: and how deep is that... ahem... hole? standard kama sutra... not one size fits all) but when your cat starts to imitate getting it... **** me... the night... cycling... sweating it off... until you have to touch the antonym... but suppose you come across a timid girl and you get a case of erectile dysfunction... while you end up caressing her: timidly kissing her because she's timid... pointing at her eyebrows... nose... eyes... ears... pimples... freckles and moles... the mirror... fingers... elbow... knees... and asking her to say the Romanian words for them... sure... a momentary lapse in sanity: the reason(s) was already self-evident... take a woman like Ava Lauren... now... my god... by god... that's a ****-machine... an *** like a Lamborghini and a body like a leather armchair... and she stuck through it... a mandible body of the extension of the jaw... some people are born to be boxers... she was built to be ****** in the confines of orthodoxy... dead pornstars though... i.e. Shyla Stylez... it's really a joke if i ask: would it be necrophilia if i'm doing it to images of a dead pornstar? "doing it": best on the toilet... no... no scented candles... no eager kangaroo ***** no webcam... no thrill... 3 birds: 1 stone: on throne of thrones... no better way and all the best excuses to later jump under the shower and get on with the dead... sorry.. day... 4 years i did... grooming a cat awoke in my a thirst i thought i had long forgotten... - kinks: mostly foreplay... kissing after all that 2nd base foreplay while she's on top of you veiling you with her Turkic raven hair... immediately after the act: all that virility... now... dilution... kinks: i still tend to rub my hands against a brick wall before i enter their abode... i rub my hands against bricks to demand more from when i'm touching flesh... nothing can come close when standing at the altar of a woman's naked body in dim lighting... with at least 2 mirrors on the wall... reassurances of cleanliness are highly welcome... even though by a tonne load of surprises she would perform ******* with the rubber commoner of promiscuity... - kinks: any body attired in latex... that's the height: ms. gimp... well... there's that or me endowed with a cockerel sized endowment about to **** a maine **** cat during grooming... as "sick" as finding out you've been doing the nos. 1, 2 & 3 on the throne of thrones to a dead pornstar like Shyla Stylez... in third person: lover-boy all smooches and octopus tentacles reading the geography like he might pick up the braille of all the grooves and hinges... interruption: i'm no pornographer! although there's this one allusion: Venus in Furs... ol' Leo von Sacher-Masoch... on the tip of my tongue: at the tip of my fingers... to turn stone in skin... - i remember being in a strip-club once... i had to fly to Athens for that one... i walked into a market sq. and met up with some random... Greeks... Algerians... Medi- olive skinned folk... complete strangers... we drifted around the nightclubs and watched the girls coming out... how's that scale of nought through to ten? below average... and highly demanding... the four of us decided: **** it... we climbed into a car and drove to the outskirts of Athens to a strip-club... unlike a dog that's chasing cars i couldn't just... look... a few drinks down and still eyeing the prize i had two women around my arms and my face buried in one's *****: while some demon-she look on from the other side of the platform of lost clothing... another put a green peg on the table informing me i could have more... by then i was out of debit... my card was returned... a bouncer escorted me to the nearest cash machine in a hotel... started talking to the receptionist while i was pretending to withdraw money i didn't have... right there and then i became a child: ******* my clothes... excitement, fear... both... dunno... drunks have this build in GPS... Athens... a city i only just arrived in... blind drunk mad with love... i managed to find my way back to the hostel... **** the guiding beacons into my dreams... eh... a ******* is never going to be a brothel...
i don't like the argument of: look... but don't touch... touch... but don't taste... taste but don't... what comes after taste? if ever i catch myself watching pornogrpahy it has to be classic Italian flicks... on silent... i can never be fully absorbed: i'll wait for a real experience to come with the flood of the senses... i can't give myself to simulation with all the sense... after all... i was probably one of the last boys who bought a ***** mag in a shop with... actual expedience of trade... it was still in the open... i might have died of shame but at least i didn't hide it...
no shame in Belgium though... we were visiting world war I graveyards and the trenches... but at the same time we were looking for the best brothel in Ypres while i was the only boy buying a ***** mag... all ****... shaved... unshaved... no *******: because a man's imagination was still fertile... you had a woman's body impose itself on your psyche like an x-ray... and you had all that imagination to subsequently have to swallow... third party ***** weren't involved: you never felt like a cul de sac ******... oddly enough... limp **** hey presto: can't perform when asked...
ooh... ol' Turkic raven hair: all her talents in the foreplay... and all the smooching during *******... thank god i could never marry... father children...
4 years it has taken me to wake up to this... "repressed" reality... repressed or... even the Teutonic Order had a brothel in their capital-citadel of Malbork... Marienburg... for the love of women who also love: cleanliness... and the aesthetics of arousal... for all that's love and all that's not love... for all that beside love: intimacy without question: but all the answers... for two bodies imitating slugs or serpents where no words are exchanged or given toward *******: autonomous bodies reaching for braille with eyes wide open...
- the road to the brothel was closed... the guys doing the road works cut it off... not tonight... tonight i'm going to bemoan how: well... when you start writing... don't expect to have the same sort of privacy rules implicit of... whatever the hell you do besides... why wouldn't a plumber raise these words from the domain of thought that's probably his most cherished freedom? people can still pretend to hide in anonymity on the internet... but... why would you... write bogus comments and troll... before words become carbon on paper: pencil... the circus of thinking ought to be enough... unless: like me... you're going at it like a bull... i don't think i can have "privacy" anymore... not that that bothers me... i'll wear a mask when i put my face on... but literacy so squandered for the upper-hand in slighting someone anonymously...
ha! someone would have written a confession: Anne Sexton brush-up on: what's important... Anne Sexton... now there was a ***** that if she was willing could make you dream all day and night...
why are so many pornstars so... ******* attractive that you'd wish to push them into bird-cages with the parrots or adorn them with white linen niqabs? as much as i want: my words are not sacrosanct: but they're also no Mammon slot-machine golden-goose mine: perhaps when i'm dead: something might trickle down into the coffers... but i doubt that... words never become shapes or colours or therefore paintings... words burn... words and all that becomes collateral as they dig and drown into the unconscious: of course... no motive... just a motif...
brother Balaam: fellow diviner of the god of the Hebrews... brother Balaam... give me the strength of purpose to chase more shadows: more more more! speak to me from under the depths of the sea of death... they have left these northern lands... and as they now stand: proud in their multitude: and still persist in their clinging to the diaspora: for i will not glutton myself over the accomplishments of but one Hebrew: when i can glorify their deity!
literacy has been squandered: best strip these people of their "knowledge" of letters: letter by letter: let them return to smearing **** on cavern ceilings! hostile barbarians: paradoxically: the Vikings were renowned in their celebration of "effeminate" males: poets... i could warn a dog or two to bark as i thus: howl... little creatures of dispute... little belittling lords of shovel ****! hey! prompt! all verb no noun... something these leeches might understand... "might"...
all this lubricated tongue has made me think of something else that happened today... beside me revisiting the cinema of memory... grandfather and i: the hyenas of the graveyard: although even he pronounced that he was unable to laugh: i guess i started to laugh for the both of us... eagerly, proper: with the vowel catcher of the first arm of the tetragrammaton: HA HA... while the "other" vowel catcher would smother the vowels in sighs: AH AH! exasperated... almost...
call it PR or whatever you want to call it: i'd rather stack shelves in a supermarket than work at a call-centre... the deceit and the Peter Pan ******* i said: it's not the Shetland Islands... it's the South East... i was rummaging on an internet speed of... 0.1Mbps (megabytes per second) for a while... i reached a zenith of 0.6 - 0.8(Mbps)...
for a year... if not longer... and there she was: she came... this bleached-blonde pchła of a... she did put on just enough mascara... obviously taken... i don't think *** entered my thoughts when... she... didn't... parade her keychain that involved a picture of her and her child... pchła: an endearing term for a girl of timid build... a body my shadow at noon could break like a walnut... i called her an engineer... she wasn't going to construct a bridge... she was going to fiddle with my router... my internet connection... a woman who had desire for fiddling with: "dead" things: shadows... arteries... veins... a concept of a heartbeat...
i just admired her hair... obviously not natural... bleached... she was a body occupying a space... a welcome intrusion nonetheless... i sort of enjoyed the silence i surrounded her with... "sort of": i clearly did... best be on your way... a female engineer... well... from 0.1Mbps... coming up for air now standing at... 5.6Mbps... she asked: how did "we" manage? we just watched a lot of the show live... but... there were more important things to mind...
the bothersome truth is that: you can't exactly dig into: pristine good... this girl who became a "cable guy" engineer... engineer: "engineer": "tech. support": i'm not trying to demean her purpose: i'm the one doodling words on a makeshift canvas... i'm no painter or mind having enough nepotistic authority of: father painter so i become a fashion designer... etc.
i pin-pointed the proper term though: no? nepotism? you just can't objectify certain women... both of us beguiled having internet providers: so... shouldn't they penalize the companies that are all software and bar users? will the software providers turn off my... electricity? the PR Peter Pan stunts... as i told her: you being the engineer and me being the customer... we can talk... face to face... but over the phone? put me in a confessional booth with a woman from Mecca and her... double take on what's to be seen: what's to be heard... what's to be ******... what's not to be seen / heard... eaten...
an eager *****: if a ***** is going to give... but if... she's... this occupied presence... it's impossible to penetrate her with words... all i have is: bleached blonde hair... heavy mascara... something insinuating combating nervousness: i am what i am: sorting out cables: i reassured her: the aesthetics will be dealt with... a drowning man will cling to a razor's edge to save himself... why do i feel so hardly alone around people who invest so much in... having children? it's not like i'm expecting 3rd party sources to come and salvage me: when completely decrepit...
a woman completely devoid of any ****** advances: perhaps performing the role of a dentist: a surgeon: it's already exploited by me when it comes to: seeing her most ****** parts: her hands... at the grace of a supermarket cashier... let her be... she's already averting her eyes: i might insinuate a receding question: there's the moon... the forest... come autumn... maybe i'm focusing on exaggerating myself... i am: exaggerating myself...
toward a focus of timidity... as best i can... i am a dead end joy-**** at best... an underperformer at least... my own very self worn down skipping barefoot in memory right now probably better adorned by a straightjacket... but who's fooling who... the readied ***** or this girl working out cables?
i can respect this one without a need to pressurise her with a... ******* niqab... until she might bloat over: over-suckled... fat... nothing more than a speed machine for *****-count... something that doesn't deserve limbs: is all torso and belongs to the cult of the bone tomahawk cannibals...
that one motto cited by all Arabs and pseudo-Arabs: there no water in the desert... spoken in dearest of the dear that's England: this green and pleasant land... where's the ******* desert?! shovel! both a verb and a noun... how rare.... perhaps not so much... proverbs from the Middle East... ******* to the Middle East and let me riddle my own: better a sparrow in your hand than a dove on your roof... how's that?
better joy in the immediacy of your own: than peace among your closely associated. ******* H'arab... you're no Jew... esp. when sitting on Dino-Lamborghini juice...
castles in the sky: so the psychiatrists says... or cities built on sand... every Pakistani / Bangladeshi knows this proverb... the times of appeasing the "forever" sober Arab and his sober-Arab libido... i'll wait... are now... like i once said: the horrible has already ah-happened...
and if it hasn't: then i'm still... pretty much taking a proper role in being the only watchman on a sly of a kipper... n'est ce pas?
irritation culminates with: when you make your own wine... but don't have the filter equipment... all that excess "fibre" probably gets your more drunk than expected...
i haven't had enough to my liking to somehow dissolve the pledge to keep at least 72 ****** on a leash... all that's eternity: given all that's available and will be: within the confines of un-chartered space... send me a postcard from the eye of Jupiter... i'm more than asking: imploring: i'm... sort of making: chain you to me: demands...
tomorrow's a sober head: tonight... i'll be drunk with both wine of my own making and... the memory of a naked body of a woman... exactly: if she's an engineer: "engineer" fiddling with my phone socket... she has a photograph of her and her child on her keychain... i wouldn't even dream of... usurping her... status...
looking at her felt like eating... oats... something wholesome... i met up with you... herr grey... i did't find any child-fiddling bits... what... were... you... hiding?! i will laugh: if you tell me: a heart... melt my stony enclave... burn the whole world while you're at it! there was never going to be any sacrifice in the crucifix pose: only purpose for focus: for... submission... as someone devoid of wanting to continue.... he didn't die for "our" sins... he died in order to be worshipped... **** him... let him hang on... father of proselytes...
- point of closure... for now... i never rose high enough to suddenly turn cold-turkey: goosebumps on the *******... still... dead... i wasn't born into a Buddhist harem... therefore i sometimes relapse into the gimmick of the tease... periodically... every half a decade.... i drink unfiltered self-made wine and talk about hardly the ****** "exploits": i come across magnets equivalent to timid schoolgirls...
some supposed ****** revolution happned: lob-sided... given how the girls took the strap-on off and shoved the **** down the ******* brains of their bank account squadron... the ******: "******" revolution came out ***-****-side first: thirst: lopsided: the girls have all their fun... we die... they come close to old age: it continues: men tend to think throughout: that period of concern: supposedly-deemed: life...
the feminine agony of old age... grandma's apple pie: **** grandma's apple pie! i want to drink my wine with... blisters and... dis-ingestion...
sucker punch: suckle toward a knuckle that might just... make creases with caresses.