i dreamed a rattlesnake was loose in the closet i heard it rattling i was afraid to open the door



a man suffering a toothache goes to see his dentist the dentist administers laughing gas when the man comes to his numb tongue swooshes around his mouth he asks how long was i under the dentist answers hours i needed to pull them all out



he imagines when he grows old there will be a pencil grown into one hand and a paintbrush grown into the other they will look like extra fingers grown out from the palms extensions of his personal evolution little children will be horrified when they see mommy mommy look at that man’s hands!



what if we are each presented with a complete picture of a puzzle from the very start then as our lives proceed the pieces begin showing up out of context sometimes recognizable other times a mystery some people are smarter more intuitive than others and are able to piece together the bigger picture some people never figure it out



i wasn’t thinking i didn’t know to think nobody taught me to think maybe my teachers tried but i didn’t get it i wasn’t thinking i was running reacting doing whatever i needed to survive when you’re trying to survive you move fast by instinct you don’t think you just act



many children are relieved when their parents die then they no longer need to explain prove themselves live up to their parent’s expectations yet all children need parents to approve foster mentor teach love



she was missing especially when her children needed her most she was busy lunching with girlfriends dinner dates beauty shop manicure masseuse appointments shopping seamstress fittings constant telephone gossiping criticizing she was too busy to notice she was missing more than anything she wanted to party show off her beauty to be the adored one the hostess with the mostest



i dreamed i was condemned to die by guillotine the executioner wore black and wielded an axe just in case the device failed in the dream the guillotine sliced shallow then the executioner went to work but he kept chopping unsuccessfully severing my head this went on for a long time



1954 Max Schwartzpilgrim sits at table in coffee shop on 5th floor of Maller’s Building elevated train loudly passes as he glances out window it is typical gloomy gray Chicago day he worries how he will find the money to pay off all his mounting debts he is over his head in debit thinks about taking out a hefty life insurance policy then cleverly killing himself but he cherishes his lovely wife Jenny his young children and social life sitting across table Ernie Cohen cracks crass joke Max laughs politely yet is in no mood to encourage his fingers work nervously mutely drumming on Formica table then stubbing out cigarette in glass ashtray lighting another with gold Dunhill lighter bitter tastes of coffee and cigarettes turns his stomach sour he raises his hand calling over Millie the waitress he flirtatiously smiles orders bowl of matzo ball soup with extra matzo ball Ernie says you can’t have enough big ***** for this world Max thinks about his son Odysseus



when Odysseus is very young Dad occasionally brings him to Schwartzpilgrim’s Jewelers Store on Saturday mornings Dad shows off his firstborn son like a prize possession lifting Odysseus in the air Dad takes him to golf range golf is not an interest for Odysseus Dad pushes him to learn proper swing Odysseus fumbles golf club and ***** he loves going anyway because he appreciates spending time with Dad once Dad and Odysseus take shower together Dad is so life-size muscular hairy Odysseus is so little Dad reaches touches Odysseus’s ******* feeling lone ******* Dad says we’ll correct that make it right Odysseus does not understand what Dad is talking about at finish Dad turns up cold water and shields Odysseus with his body he watches Dad dressing in mornings Dad is persnickety to last details of French cuff links silk handkerchief in breast pocket even Dad’s fingernails toenails are manicured buffed shiny clear



Odysseus’s left ******* does not descend into his ******* the adults in extended family routinely want to inspect the abnormality Mom shows them sometimes Dad grows agitated and leaves room it is embarrassing for Odysseus Daddy Lou’s brother Uncle Maury wants to check it out too often like he thinks he is a doctor Uncle Maury is an optometrist the pediatrician theorizes the tangled ******* is possibly the result of a hormone fertility drug Mom took to get pregnant the doctor injects Odysseus with a hormone shot then prescribes several medications to induce the ****** to drop nothing works eventually an inguinal hernia is diagnosed around the age of 9 Odysseus is operated on for a hernia and the ******* surgically moved down into his ******* the doctor says ******* is dead warning of propensity to cancer later in life his left ball is smaller than his right but it is more sensitive and needy he does not understand what the doctor means by “dead” Odysseus fears he will be made fun of he is self-conscious in locker room he does not comprehend for the rest of his life he will carry a diminutive *****



spokin alloud by readar in caulkknee axescent ello we’re Biggie an Smally tha 2 testicles whoooh liv in tha ******* of this felloh Odys Biggie is the soyze of a elthy chicken aegg and Smally is the size of a modest Bing cheery



one breast ****** points northeast the other smaller breast ****** points southwest she is frightened to reveal them to any man frightened to be exposed in woman’s locker room she is the most beautiful girl/woman he will ever know



Bayli Moutray is French/Irish 5’8” lean elongated with bowed legs knobby knees runner’s calves slim hips boy’s shoulders sleepy blue eyes light brown hair a barely discernable freckled birthmark on back of neck and small unequal ******* with puffy ******* pointing in different directions Laura an ex-girlfriend of Odysseus’s describes Bayli’s appearance as “a gangly bird screeching to be fed” Laura can be mean Odysseus thinks Bayli is the coolest girl in the world he is genuinely in love with her they have been sleeping together for nearly a year it is March 11 1974 Bayli’s birthday she turns 22 today Bayli is away with her family in Southeast Asia Odysseus understands what a great opportunity this is for her to learn about another culture he knows Bayli plans to meet up again with him in late summer or autumn in Chicago Dad wants Odysseus to follow in his footsteps and become a successful jewelry salesman he offers Odysseus a well-paying job driving leased Camaro across the Midwest servicing Dad’s established costume jewelry accounts Odysseus reasons it is a chance to squirrel away some cash until Bayli returns it is lonely on the road and awkward adjustment to be back in Chicago Odysseus made other plans after graduating from Hartford Art School he is going to be an important painter after numerous months and many Midwestern cities he begins to feel depressed he questions how Bayli can stay away for so long when he needs her so bad the Moutray’s send Mom and Dad a gift of elegant pewter candleholders made in Indonesia Mom accustomed to silver and gold excludes pewter to be put on display she instructs Teresa to place the candleholders away in a cabinet Mom also neglects to write a thank you note which is quite out of character for Mom Bayli’s father is a Navy Captain in the Pacific he is summoned to Norfolk Naval Station in Virginia the Moutray’s flight has a stopover in Chicago Bayli writes her parents want to meet Odysseus and his family Odysseus asks Dad to arrange his traveling itinerary around the Moutray’s visit Dad schedules Odysseus to service the Detroit and Michigan territory against Odysseus’s pleas Odysseus is living with his sister Penelope on Briar Street it is the only address Bayli’s parents know Odysseus has no way to reach them when the Moutray’s arrive at the door Penelope does not know what to tell them Mom and Dad are not interested in meeting Bayli’s parents it is not the first sign of dissatisfaction or disinterest Mom and Dad convey regarding Bayli Odysseus does not understand why his parents do not like her is it because Bayli is not Jewish is that the sole reason Mom and Dad do not approve of her Odysseus believes he needs his parent’s support he knows he is not like them and will likely never adopt their standards yet he values their consent they are his parents and he honors Mom and Dad let’s take a step back for a moment to get a different perspective a more serious matter is Odysseus’s financial dependency on his parents does a commitment to Bayli threaten the sheltered world his parent’s provide him is it merely money binding him to them why else is he so powerless to his parent’s control outwardly he appears a wild child yet inwardly he is somewhat timid is he cowardly is he unsure of Bayli’s strength and sustainability is that why he let’s Bayli go whatever the reason Dad’s and Mom’s pressure and influence are strong enough to sway his judgment he goes along with their authority losing Bayli is the greatest mistake of Odysseus’s life



he dreams Bayli and he are at a Bob Dylan concert they are hidden in the back of the theater in a dark hall they can hear the band playing Dylan’s voice singing and the echoes of the mesmerized audience Odysseus is ******* Bayli’s body against a wall she is quietly moaning his hand is inside her jeans feeling her wetness rubbing fingers between her legs after the show they hang around an empty lot filled with broken bottles loose bricks they run into Dylan all 3 are laughing and dancing down the sidewalk Dylan is incredibly playful and engaging he says he needs to run an errand not wanting to leave his company Odysseus and Bayli follow along they arrive at an old hospital building it is dark and dingy inside there is a large room filled with medical beds and water tanks housing unspeakably disfigured people swarming intravenous tubes attach the patients to oxygen equipment feed bags and monitoring machines Dylan moves between each victim like a compassionate ambassador Odysseus is freaking out the infirmary is too horrible to imagine he shields his eyes wanders away losing Bayli searching running frantically for a way out he wakes shivering and sweating the pillow is wet sheets twisted he gets up from the bed stares out window into the dark night he wonders where he lost Bayli



these winds of change let them come sailor home from sea hunter home from hill he who can create the worst terror is the greatest warrior

I got no more ***** on my arms, vaginal schemes and gospel psalms. Very private skinny tribes, lit up with oversized black lights. In the very end, everybody walks this way, they all move like idioms, they all wanna be lit up like stars. Some could be prevalent like cascading dreams, nauseous just like mesquite BBQ baby-back wings.

Fly away little bird, fly away. But don't try to leave
Or you won't get paid.

I know very well, just what kinda caption your capsaicin
Can be, lit up like honey blunts, golden stars on top of your christmas tree. Strawberry Swisher Sweets, Blueberry Dunhill flavors, poke your hand through the fence, make friendly on your neighbors. If you like Kimmel Live, Conan at Midnight too, recipes for the zombies, SS ****** Youth. Blow-up and be a party. Get off work and drink your check. Get down, get off- I'll show you. Just how Martin pays the rent.

Reaching back,
Back to that fork
In the road
Where irreversible consequence
Hid like angina
In a dunhill bubble

And you veered left,
Smitten by the decadence of mint
And mythical circles
Blown with liberal disdain
From a camel's ****

You followed the green line
Rippling like waves
Of vintage wine
Through gomorrah

Caution blown
As a midsummers gale
Between tarred lips,
Your ship sailed
The straits of cool
From bogart to newport

If dean only knew
Nat the king
Could still be singing
Nature boy on the square,
Live

He might have spurned his spyder
And lucky strikes
For a slice of life
Beyond 24

And you might have
Veered right
At that fork in the road,
Swapping scarred consequence,
Tarred lips,
And angina
For the whole pie

~ P
(#FromTheCamelsButt)
12/24/2014

she inhaled happiness like a dunhill cigarette,
smoke lingering on her cherry-red lips,
eyes vibrant of her last lover's kiss.

but she could not fathom mundane affects
of short-tempered love, masked as the ordinary desire of men.

no one asked from where her dull smile and the fine, white lines on her arms originated from,
nor did anyone cared enough about the numerous bruises,
ironically aligned like
a blossoming sunset between her thighs.

she was just the briefly glowing ember
in one's snow cold and harsh december.

© fey (23/08/20)

A dark brown shaved herb
Burns so slowly from the bowl
The smoke rises from
As does my thoughts follow it
I wonder why it is so

even i was surprised, Ed Sheeran wrote the song love yourself for Justin Bieber? seriously, when i was working security at one of his gigs at Wembley he mentioned it... Eddie?! you wrote this song? sorry... but Justin does a better "cover"... it's the sax you know... and the sing-along tad-tad-alla(h)... tad-alla(h)... that's the first surprise... the second surprise caught me off guard... completely... there's this custom in England where... once upon a time... passengers of a bus would exit the bus thanking the driver... old people of England still do it... i'm much younger... old people don't travel on the last buses or the night buses... i don't thank drivers of buses during the daytime... but come travelling on the last buses and the night buses... dude! you're working the graveyard shift... before i step off onto the bus-stop i bellow out a THANK YOU... i usually head no reply... why? most bus drivers get abused by pointless passengers... people who take things for granted... but today? as i was getting off at the North St. bus stop from the no. 86 bus... i hollered... THANK YOU... echo... no echo? what?! did i just hear that? the bus driver hollered back: YOU'RE WELCOME! what the **** just happened?! i interacted with a human being? seriously?! i'd love to do that more often...

the day ended with my ******* in an alley
thinking about sweet-little-nothings:
perhaps it was a thought about wild...
        woodland strawberries... i must have been thinking
about a something that's literally a nothing...
maybe i was clarifying the adoration of *******
of a man when he ****** in a darkened alley...

the day began with: the iron is ******! father changed
the fuse but that didn't help!
my mother was visited by a friend of hers'
who... would still prefer eat a moulding cake
filled with plums: the edges... than eat nothing...
over a coffee and conversation...
she's rather have that...
i was "neurotic": complaining: but how can i go
to work not having ironed my shirt?!
sure! but this is the last shirt from Mark & Spencer's
that looks acceptable when un-ironed!
sure... the creases don't look that bad...
but come on! order a new iron:
            i have ironed trousers and i have polished
shoes... but an un-ironed shirt? unbecoming...

women are hardly pre-packaged goods...

well.. i left the house leaving droplets of something
akin to the lyrics of Three Kingfisher's...
personally? i prefer the cover by Monster Magnet
than the original of Donovan's...
phone addiction... i told my mother's friend:
you know who has the biggest problem?
Muslims and copper-necks...
they are addicted to these things...
i don't know WHY or HOW...
but these younglings are always on their phones...
take any white boy or any... and there's no problem...
no... it's the truth...
these people are following suit toward
the crumbling of: or the reinterpretation of Christianity
via the Nag Hammadi library...

i left for work early... i needed to buy new sunglasses...
at the Romford H & M they were out of stock...
bull... ****...
what?! summer's over all of a sudden?!
the sun is dimming?!
mind you... it's true... that constellation once
enlarged upon the sky is... currently... very ******* away:
that massive wheelbarrow...
the earth has tilted... it's in a microscopic "agenda"
(misnomer, i have no other word,
"agenda" doesn't break up the flow
of the narrative)...

at work everyone seemed happy... there was
a feeling of a "conspiracy of friendship"...
i like... "conspiracies of friendship"...
the shift went along just like smoothing a nugget
of butter on a warm toast...
by the time i came come pretending to be tired
my male Maine **** was well qualified
in keeping watch in complete darkness my usual
crow-spot of a windowsill... perched like i'm usually...
with one leg folded: sitting on it...
the moment i walked in and put on the light
he jumped off his Cerberus' quest and hovered
with agile limbs of missing limps into my bed...
hello... lover...

i showcased him today... my "supervisor" was
asking for direction... father's birthday...
Triumph over Harley Davidson?
each and every day... Triumph conquers the pomp
and circumstance of any Harley!
my mother and grandmother refrained me from
picking up a motorcycle! thank you ladies!
i picked up a bicycle... i told her:
i like generating my own momentum...
they said: i don't want a "donor" in the family...
but i agreed in a "somewhat, somewhat":
i like generating my own momentum...
you're in complete control...

two totems of foxes figuring out an outer suburbia
while i was smoking a Dunhill cigarette...
i'm still listening too pretty songs...
i'll relax when i'lll start listening to all the ugly
masculine songs...

the shift passed great... i tried to slip for a quick
cigarette after half time finished...
i was caught on CCTV with the message that ran
along the wording: hey! we see you!
half-time finished... PLEASE - ******* back to your
intended placing - PLEASE: obviously not literally
thus worded...

two more shifts...
a brothel is unlike a night club... there's no difference
between a Thursday's night or a Friday's night...
i needed to relax...
obviously i finished my shift... i needed an excuse...
i will not be paying a fair's worth from zone through to zone 6,
i'll pay the fair from zone 3 to 4... then i'll get a bus
through to zone 6... but i'll need to stop off
at the brothel... drink my per usual aphrodisiac
of a certain cider... and some whiskey...
**** a girl and... DREAM A BIG NOTHING...
SOMNIUM NIHIL-MAGNUS!
i.e.: nothing: big... dream up...

i circled the brothel like i usually do... some *******
sewer rat blocked my first entry...
i later heard him hardly ******* and more talking
in the adjacent room... i heard no moans...
some prostitutes are there to speak... some are
there fore "oar-men": for *******...
i use shadows for company...

hmm...

this is how i finally figured out the dynamic of
a brothel... second time getting *****-******...
hmm...

i'm the soul of Tyrion Lannister in a body
of a Jamie.... Lannister... i hate the game of thrones:
but no, ******* DWARF is going to eclipse reality...
i figured out the brothel after...
after i wasted so much money on...
on... what was wasted in an hour that could be done
in 30 minutes...
30 minutes? that means? i'll **** all the ******
in the brothel! i won't have a favourite!
**** me! i'll **** all of them!
one by one i'll **** them all!

pretty music is missing as i'm writing this...
the forest at night, foxes, the graveyard at night...
moon! moooon! ah-woooooo!
i will not bark...
my god... of the three...
i had before me...
the originals: Melete, Aoede, and Mneme:
the original Boeotian muses
and Calliope, Clio, Erato, Euterpe,
Melpomene, Polyhymnia,
Terpsichore, Thalia, and Urania...
no no... St. Francis' muses...
i want to **** them...

                 like today... i was doing my glory marches
rubbing my crotch to get an imitation *******...
drinking my whiskey by a shallow glug...
filling my bowels with enough aphrodisiac cider...
i entered the "abode" having "the" before me... how did i chose?
carelessly...
the one with the least language skills...
she knew how to un-sheath my **** but when i told her
to get some oil to ***-**** me she asked for extra money...
i didn't ask for a blow-job without a ******...
my skin is dry after washing myself... your skin is dry...

she eventually caught on... *******... what a lovely pair of
****...
peaches and pears...
hmm! that's funny! that's really funny!
what's that metaphor Moses inquired with?
you ever feel like...
Ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss-erpent...
you ever feel like? ever? you ever feel like
being the gardener of Eden?!
how, you might ask?
hmm...  ever touch a woman's breast as it's hanging
over your torso... teasing the head of your ****...
ever touch a woman's breast... and reimagine
it being a dangling apple, on a tree?
when you touch it? i felt a sense of reconciliation
today...
i was plucking an apple from an apple tree
by touching up a woman's breast dangling over me while
she was giving me the pleasures of *******!
you know what it feels like? this metaphor?
of reimagining a woman's breast as an apple?
while it's dangling over your torso...
while she's performing ******* onto you...
she's digging her bruised **** and stubble of its worth
against your leg...

my god! the Eden project...
first the *******... then the cow-girl...
she got bored of that... she told me to change position...
she talked too much... i changed position... obviously...
but i told her in "sign-language":
you talk too much... talking during *******
is a massive turn-off... yap yap yap...
i burned my eyes into her eyes...
she couldn't take it... she wanted me to *******...
i couldn't... she told me to stop...
i stop... LIMP ******* ****...
hey! yoiu told me to stop!
no i didn't!
yes you did!
i pointed at her!
she was about to slander me for getting a limp ****!
well... yeah! you talk during *** you get a limpy!
i don't bring "god" into this practice!
only onomatopoeias! who, the, ****, in, their,
right, state, of, mind... talks, during, ***?!
during *** there are only vowels and consonants...
summon god upon this sacred altar of continuum?!
you have to be kidding me...
eyes speak: eyes eat eyes!
woman: have you learned nothing?!
you clearly have learned nothing of what i said!
i touch your breast i pluck an apple from the apple
tree that's your body!
look at you, for all this time you have kept your secrets:
interested men, internalised them...
conquered them! now?! what have you done you
silly cow! you have turned them off!
you silly little *****!
i have to sink to the lowest depths of your, self,
to find my sort of sexually-charged-medicinal-relief!
i need more! i'm a glutton at heart...
i need more ****** partners... i need to **** all
these prostitutes in this brothel!
i need them to fall in love with me...

that's why she stopped me!
******* at first... then her on top... then she asked
me to change position with me arching over her
missionary... what?! there's a problem?
what?! i'm supposed to ******* so easily?!
you ******* Moxart and the magic ****?!
i'm playing the flute! flute! the flute flew!
over seven mountains and the seven seas!

she started projection some ******* onto me
when she asked asked for my name: MATH-EW...
Matthew...
she retored with: MAFIA?!
what? no... MAF-YEW...
MAFIA... well **** me... she liked the fetish of
me being part of a MAFIA... yeah,...
i'm one of Milton's imaginations...

she stopped the *******... i had a stern face
upon a mask i wasn't willing to take off...
she implored me to ******* into her...
mid-pumping i gave up on her imploring
me to do so...
           some women... just... simply...
talk too much during ***...

****'s sake... just thinking about her gives me
the drunken hiccups... i hate drunken hiccups...

i love ******* ******...
i touch one of their ******* i'm plucking an apple
from an the forbidden tree of Eden...
oh! hello sunshine! Moses!
you think i never wandered these parts
with no one except my shadow for company?!
i don't pay ****** for a COMPANY OF LIES...

mendacium coetus

the lying company? easily reversed...
she ignored me...
i was supposed to be finished by growing limp
in the *******...
like **** i was...
i figured out the brothel long before she was
first squealing her first surprise...
of a fake ******...

you what?!
i love working with people that do not understand
or appreciate my shadow-side,
everyone, is, so, neuro-, -typical...
such, boring, creatures...
i need *** like i need air...
the more of it i get: the more tame i become...
why? few "things" interest me...
and the ones that interest me are **** related:
but not children rearing related:
i discover my true self on the basis of
the Libra: do i love to **** more than i like to drink?!
maybe the macabre me says: i like both... equally...

how did we end up?
i had a semi-limp **** in hand... she was all like: ah...
i ******* told her! your skin is dry! i want a *****-****!
what?! extra oil?! i just told you... spear-head me with
extra oil! rub your glorious **** in the oil
let me phallus tease your *******!

after i couldn't finish with her in her ****
she finally decided to do me off happy with a hand-job
and some well oiled *****-*******...
obvious i was relieved...
at least she knew the reasons for having ******* and pulling it
back...i have to admit...
between a ******* and doing **** *******:
i'm not gay... **** is ******* lost on me...
*****-******* is the best...
esp. when lubricated...

   it's the sort of imitation of being an infant
once more... the re-ascending taste of a woman's ******...
do men have these thoughts? i.e. i was an infant once...
i'm an infant again: but as a grown man
and not an infant... i love suckling on those *****...
she said i ****** too hard... i softened my suckling...

women as such sexually doubly-standard(ed)
creatures... they are mothers
but at the same time they are ******...
i love it! more! more! more!
when once they feed the babe... prior to there's
all that *** *******!
for "irritation's sake" of arousal!

i could never do **** *** with a woman...
these women have crossed a threshold for me...
i like ******* too much...
i mean... **** me... the way ******* sometimes feels like?
it feels like... sitting on a very comfortable leather
arm-chair... esp. if you're oozing out a ****
and farting at the same time!

me? i'm going to **** the rest of these prostitutes
in the brothel...
i'm on a rampage... i don't care..
and the people at work will just grimace and say:
i want to work with Matthew...
and they will... because i can be one person during
the day... and another person during the night...

apporto cadavera in mensa
bring corpses to the table!

i'll **** them all! dead or living!
i'll morph the ****-erotica of the serpent
of the phallus...
with the apple-***... as i would:
massage it through from summer through to
autumn... like a babe... suckle at its *******
and imitation-****..., right in between
the "crease"... of... clean... dried skin...
juice of flush of FLESH...

i love hand-jobs oiled up... with her **** imitating
****...
but there's also that bus-driver...
i love bus-drivers... i wanted to be a bus-driver once...
to become a Leibniz... a man of high intellect
but of subversive ambition...
i always abhorred ladder-climbing: socially...
symbolically....
preferred rock climbing...
simultaneously: what Leibniz conjured up with
Newton... the infinitesimal calculus?
of the two? Leibniz lived a better life of the two...
paddles... tattles... squids and frogs...
Newton had his Volatire and apple...
me? i have my... *******'s breast and pluck!
what's the supposed serpent you say?
my apple is pretty ripe... it's full *****... i just plucked it!

this apple, is mine...
pomum hic est mea!
i plucked this apple from the tree:
and fed it back to the woman unwilling to feed it back
to the thirsty man!
i don't care much for the woman feeding
or the thirsty man!
the night is "thirsty" for the light.

i contemplated ingesting hallucinogenic drugs for some time, ever since reading up on Don Juan by carlos castaneda... well... i used to read a lot of "useless junk" when i was growing up... the Tibetan book of the dead was also one; but i stuck true to my "self" and returned to Taoism after a period with the European philosopher... that's beside the point... i did buy a sugar cube soaked with LSD once, i was in Amsterdam a few times: i could have simply bought some mushrooms... but this one time i was sharing a hostel room with a very sensible Egyptian architecture student who liked to drink ***** alone and smoke marijuana and we watched in horror, as these two German chefs... ingested mushrooms and sat in a dark room... watching American Dad on t.v.; we both gave ourselves this quizzical look that strangers give when watching other strangers... we were saying to each by simply looking: so you're telling me, these guys have just made the biggest sacrilege of nature? they're not in the woods, in the sunshine or the moonlight, wandering about the forest, they're not ******* women on hallucinatory drugs and... the best they can do with them is... what the Riddler (from Batman) would have done to them? plug them to a t.v.: brain-drain them... make them watch a cartoon?! clearly these guys have already done hallucinogenic drugs before, they clearly have passed a threshold! let me guess... they had so much *** already that they must be dropping those magic blue pills just in order to not strangle a girl to death while she giggles that his Whittle 'Ichard is sleeping limp...

there are only two possibilities for me ingesting
hallucinogenic drugs...
option 1... my grandfather suffered from a mild
dementia... a dementia that made him lazy...
not the sort of dementia that erodes memory...
not the sort of dementia that would make him
forget who i was...
the sort of dementia that would strap him
to the flat and he would sit all the summer days
on the balcony before the graveyard
contemplating mortality and his life...
he was fully locked in his memory bank...
he would repeat stories from his life on repeat...
i too have a favourite stash of memories of mine...
if i'm not thinking about something mundane
like filling out an application form or what not:
i bask in memories... the ones i had no choice in keeping:
memory: that fickle creature will never allow
you to keep certain memories... a flickering flame
of (a) fading...
i fear old age more than i fear death...
death is a minor impasse...
made all the more easier without having ingested
hallucinogenic drugs... i close my eyes:
i open the parallel universe eye of the mind
long gone...
of course i want to become famous...
but i want this fame to reach me when i'm long
gone and cold... a mortician's beauty-corpse...
with the whole affair of my grandfather's passing...
i saw him in the morgue:
stitched up... "smiling": as any ancient does
with missing teeth...
pampered with the sort of chameleon make-up
artistry living women put on:
but men revel in once, dead...
i didn't cry... i was sooner to bleed from my head
when i bumped my head on the radiator before
i shed a tear... those dearest and closest to me
cried their tears: without summoning
bountiful rains for a harvest...
i must have waited months before i could
release the grief that allowed me to explode
my heart: but as grandfather said: keep your heart small...
i bled first before crying... my heart grew large
but suddenly it constricted into a pebble-sized curiosity
of my own worth's of: what's there to be curious about?!

and god himself... hmm!

Genesis 2:22
then the LORD God made a woman from the rib he had taken out of the man, and he brought her to the man.

let's play Harry Potter for a while...
i hate this legacy with a passion that i abhor
Sharon Fruit... it's a ******* itch for me to eat...
serve me a bowl of pomegranates or passion fruits this day,
everyday, everyday, for the rest of my life...
mind you... i hate sweet stuff...
i hate bananas... bananas and Sharon fruit are
my enemies...
with one exception... hangover...
watermelon cutlets kept in the fridge overnight?
i'm like: what water? do i need water?
can't i just gobble down an entire watermelon by myself?!
yes, yes: i can... and i do...
every time it happens: when i GORGE on fruit
i think of women... *******... thighs... ****...

i know for sure that the ****** is a disguise...
the actual entry point is closer to the ****
than the actual floral pattern...
most men aim for the floral pattern... prior...
no... it's like that urban myth about undoing a woman's
bra-strap... the entry point is closer to the **** than
it's actually to the floral pattern itself... enlarge a ******
and you start enlarging the insects...
and hell: behold! mann ist lebensmittel
man is food...
   oh but i like a good bit of food in reverse...
i like warm oyster ****...
i like slurping on something that's going to look
me in the eyes and O O... O...
i want to eat the double of my demands
for renting a body... i buy nothing! i... rent half an hour's worth
of a woman...

that's how i figured it all out...
i'm not thirsty...
i have a cat to own up to me deeds...
one rejection, two rejections: three...
***** please, now i'm going to prime...
i do hope i have enough ***** to perform euthanasia on
myself... i don't fear death: it's enough to see what
old age does that makes me quit mortality quicker
than the need for sprinkling salt on food that's being
cooked!

i figured the brothel out... i'm no longer a colt...
a young, man...
i'm a man in my prime... if 36 is not your prime
i don't know what could possibly be...
i have simple pleasures... women, su doku... music...
reimagining brick-layering...
women...
         women women women: more women...
i can't be a selfish *****-*** while all this hurricane
of hormones dies out...
i'm a fruzbrise! a ****-breeze! something...
solipsistic and also uplifting...
everyone knows that the smell of their own ****
is a membrane of exclusion: dictate...

it doesn't require me an hour to get what i want...
HALF AN HOUR is plenty!
not that i finish quickly...
but i'm not here for therapy...
i'm here for *******... love? long gone...
it died a long time ago... i'm here for ***...
i don't need an hour... an hour is too long...
half an hour is plenty...
most women don't like ******* for too long
to begin with: why? they are usually not amused
by long ***** and no ******...
it's a bit like taking a dog for a walk
expecting a beautiful sunset but... oh ****...
a cloudy day... i love ******* for too long...
recently i discovered that most women don't...
they want to **** like insects, or pigeons...
quick and easy... i never understood that...
i'd love to **** for 5 hours like i ****** Ilona
all night long...
      that's how it has always been...
those images of the death-crawl... maggots eating themselves
to fly-hood through the eyes... it takes time
to tender the floral-oyster of ****...
there's a need for a repeated slapping of pelvis
against pelvis until one of your has a plum tattoo
of a bruise in the ***** region...

*** is thirst, *** is hunger...
the more i'm woken to it the more... adamant i am
about it's position in the hierarchy of needs...
i could possibly be a Muslim if i stated that
i did a year long "Ramadan" of sexless-ness...
**** food: i'll scribble: EAT ME on my big toe and
start nibbling on it...
but give me a woman when i'm released from
my leash of hunger: and i'll either carve you a Rodin
statue or paint you a Picasso!
all those contortions of cubism that a woman
can easily hide while a man exposes
her crude: "put-together": "bits"...

it's good to forget about the youth that was the youth
of the youth that would: fall in love with the idea
of love... now? by the accountability of Shylock:
pound of flesh for a pound of flesh...
oculus per oculus (an eye for an eye)...
i like it that way...
       ruthless: i have to admit... but at least this sort
of ruthlessness leads toward a levelling of what:
once rough: now becomes smoothed...

no ******* DWARF on the most popular t.v. show
is going to somehow steal my banners of lust!
no! nein! nie! niet!
you will know sooner rather than later...
right about, now:

Genesis 2:22¼
then the spiteful envious Son of the Lord God looked with all his alchemical toys and from the woman he plucked her breast and brought the breast as an apple to the tree of forbidden knowledge.

did i word, "biblically" enough? i do wonder... yawn...
my mother suffers from a rare condition,
i'd guess the Chernobyl effect catches to a whole
bunch of us... less affected by the exposure...
my mother explained her condition to me...
her immune system is killing her...
she rarely coughed... she sneezes and she snores
in her sleep: like a locomotive about to be derailed...
i'm also a mutation...

i walk into a brothel with one song in my head...
Garbage's #1 crush...
i too have my "addition"....

it's an addiction for a freshly washed flesh: the scent of
soap...
never mind that...
i will **** this brothel to the ground...
even if it takes me two ***** at a time...
i sat across from three of them...
i wanted at least one to be honest and pick me...
they always say that it's up to me...
her name started with A...
Adriana? Ariana? Andromeda?
she talked too much...
she talked too much...
i has rock hard within the confines of precursors...

tomorrow i'm going to a Garage festival...
Essex... Basildon, of all places...
plenty of easy ******* to oogle at...
but not like the ginger-pretty-****
that was Garbage's lead singer: Ms. Manson...
i don't get it... there's the mythological blonde
but the realistic ginger...

i read books like they might be women
and i read women like they might be books...
i never get it right.. until a ****** type arrives...
but that's not enough... there needs to some strategy
akin to Marquis de Sade's ******...
his novella: his best book...
there needs to be a mother... a single mother...
with a child... a female child...
i couldn't possibly date a single mum with
a boy child... i'd be like a lion by then...
i'd "**** it"... single mothers with daughters
are a much more easier access than single mothers
with sons...
you wanted Darwinism? hey presto!

my god that last flow of events...
*****-*******... miscommunication...
i told her: oil me up... she "forgot"...
she wanted extra money...
after enough of the blow-job-jaw-dropping...
rodeo girl style... me arching over her:
she implored me to finish...
i had a stern mask on m face while i ******
her silly... arching over her...

i'm done with jokes... i'm in my prime and i'm going
to learn all the valuable lessons i can...
i'm done playing the cuddly-teddy-bear
of some thirsty male "companion":
the best company i kept with myself...
both reflexively and reflectively...
the only worthwhile interactions i could remember:
on a conversational basis were with men...
obviously the best interactions where words
were not used: where eyes spoke the language
of eyes and lips spoke the language of lips
were with women...
but? women are not my intellectual equals...
sorry...  it's an unlikely pairing:
a girl with toad eyes i would love to talk to for
an eternity is not... what i want to ****!

this one was lost in transit of about three tongues...
she told me she had recently had a BOTOX job
done on her lips... i couldn't kiss her but she would
gladly perform oral *** on me...
hmm... funny how that "mystery" works!
it was so obvious that the wisdom of the Kama Sutra
came into play...
sure... i wasn't "well endowed": no...
i just wasn't endowed enough to please her...

she implored me to pull out... she couldn't satisfy me...
she posited her legs in the *******
in ways most obstructing me from ******* her...
i felt a sly pinch of a cramp as she obstructed me
thrusting...
fair enough girl... i have a rabbit's ****:
and you have an elephant's ******...
clearly we're mismatched!
so? she finally lubricated me...
and ****** me off... while stressing the pointer
of *******: into her *****...
which i did... as she rubbed my head against her *******...

women... can't really love them:
but can't exactly hate them...
but you can most certainly do both...
and do both: most certainly simultaneously...
you best do the hating and the loving
simultaneously!

but why all the talking? that's what put me off!
she talked top much...
she wanted me to talk:
i think... no... i know that talking during
******* is the highest form of heresy...
it's a limp **** sort of heresy!
i had a *******... during the missionary spectacle
she asked me to stop: i stopped: LIMP BISCUIT...
what?! you told me to stop! no i didn't!
i pointed the index at her: yes you did!
no i didn't!

your **** is wide enough to fit two of us in!
no it isn't! yes it is!
why did you tell me to stop?!
you were taking too long!
well with a **** of that girth it takes much longer
to please you!
you not into running a marathon?!
what?
you only experienced quick ***, you never had
*** in St. Petesrburg for 5 hours...
while the girl you were ******* was also
******* an ex-boyfriend on the side
behind your back?!
no? well then... welcome to the "club"...

i'm going to **** all the girls in this brothel before
i **** them a second time and then try to find
a second brothel...
i'll obliterate the pain of idealising love and romance
with all that's readily available reality
of what's true and truest...
i'll **** every single one of them...
in half an hour gourmet sessions of a session
with some :

more harry Potter nonsense?
   oh... right.... there's only one genu=is "out there":
you ******* flip-cake.... pan-cake... you-VERCRUlitter-grass
the VERCRUX....

Maybe what turned me on was the air refreshner that hung in his car
Hoping his mom would not smell the traces
Of obvious dunhill Reds and jack Daniels.
Or The way he performed darkness on my skin
As thick as black ink That no jar could keep.
How about the hunger in his mouth,
That burning curiosity to push the edge of decency
And go for gold.
Or Perhaps it' was the gospel truth that what we were doing that night
Could be followed by disastrous consequences
And what was completely forbidden by our different religion
After all
he is Malay .

He had eyes concealed by  lashes that
Were like curtains
Hoping to hide his intentions .
His life is what you would call
A cerekarama.
Forbidden love between two rebels
Trying to break through the norms of societies standards.
Always drunk on the idea of love,
'Syaitan lives in my pants '
He would say to make an excuse for touching me and grinning
Hoping I'd be a sucker.

Oh and did I mention he was Malay?