#hedonism
1am outside the world kept its appointments but inside we forgot there was a world at all 2am just five mouths learning they could be anyone and we passed each other around like a single cigarette burning and shared and the end always wet with someone else's wanting and 3am your mouth on mine lasted longest not because we meant it but because the body knows and you’re the one who will stand beside me again in the soft light 4am we kissed like we were practicing for a wound also mouthing your neck reciting scripture and the sounds we made belonged to the air 5am between us and sometime around four I thought this is absurd five people swapping spit with noses full like 6am philosophy then my hand on someones back and the overstimulation felt like a kind of prayer 7am and we talked about love like people who have only ever drowned in it and the ******* union and 8am the self a shirt we kept taking off and handing to whoever was coldest and the night stretched and 9am morning came like someone turning the lights on mid song and it was
10:30am.
The door opened like a broken rib.
I walked out blinking,
five people
who had briefly been one.
The room is still there,
a lung holding the ghost of our names.
Still full of mouths that won’t stop
opening into ecstasy.
Feb 23
Feb 23, 2026 at 6:24 AM UTC
Warmth bleeds from your body,
self
combustion in response.
Fizzing want and bubbling need.
Desire whispers my name.
Hedonistic
surrender,
the thick stillness breathing.
Hands finding hands, wandering hands,
stroking, caressing, dismantling hands.
Fingers trace where please is calling.
Pressing places I pretend aren’t waiting.
Lust burns, it swells, hidden from sight.
It’s mine and yours, the inevitable unite.
No tie to be spoken,
nor claimed, nor sealed.
Hunger exhales my unsaid secrets, suspended in the dark.
Jan 27
Jan 27, 2026 at 9:17 AM UTC
I should’ve had a hedonistic summer, a roundup of long, sun-kissed days and even longer, undulant, kissing nights.
There are no riviera pics this year - set against the blow-out backdrop of Saint Tropez or Heraclee - with their sunlit-deliriums, cracked plaster beach bars, aromatic trailing Jasmine, lavender, umbrella pines and baking Socca.
No nights of dense, optimistic nihilism on neon-painted open-air dancefloors, or gritty, underground raves, in dark, brick-clad, light-strobed basements.
And no timeless, sun-drenched, beachside early mornings, with their moments of stillness, beauty and reprieve.
Summer feels can’t be vicarious - you have to get out there and get ***** hmm, sandy anyway. Are there ethical implications to basking under a climate-crisis sun? Maybe, but if so, do we care?
Let’s wax poetic..
Summertime often sees us jetting off to different places.
*If I could travel anywhere
let it be outer-space
not floating in darkness,
for years and years
let’s find a better way.
I’ve traveled to the moon
- on a little friction -
that isn’t even science fiction.
I’ve traveled simply by turning pages.
It didn’t take fuel and it didn’t take ages.
That was travel at the speed of thought,
but better yet, let’s travel at the speed of sight
- that’s faster than light.*
.
.
Songs for this:
Relationships by HAIM
Summer Sun by Koop
Summer Girl (Bonus Track) by HAIM
Aug 25, 2025
Aug 25, 2025 at 10:57 AM UTC
На обед я ебашу курятинку,
Ну, а за полночь ем пиздятинку,
И графиню ебашу графином,
Мадам Лантонье. Хорошо.
А вы жрали листья из коки,
Женевьева, дессерт, пороки,
И диктат разлит по касательной,
Гуччи-шмучи, бац-бац, свежо.
👉 Bloch-Bauer & Adele · 2020 · Signature Privée
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 1:38 AM UTC
Кошоладка — вредный враль —
Черный рот и черный юмор,
Мы нашли с тобой Грааль
И гарем за парой рюмок.
Гамарджоба! Здравствуй, мир!
Попрыгунья в зазеркалье
По волнам, горою пир,
Рульгардиной в рыжей спальне.
👉 Bloch-Bauer & Adele · 2020 · Signature Privée
Aug 2, 2025
Aug 2, 2025 at 1:30 AM UTC
Black widow crawling up black vines,
expedition to your collarbones.
Crown of thorns pressed
against barbed wire
but neither of us bleeds.
Widows web resting
inbetween the lilies
adorning your hips.
If you glance southward,
a stabbed jester is crying,
bleeding out onto the meadow
surrounded by red wildflowers,
while the sun is shining bright
and the birds vanish into the clouds.
He's been like that for a while, I
doubt he'll ever stop. Or die.
"But don't worry!" he says,
"It's okay, it didn't hurt".
Black widow crawling up white flesh,
along the moths and butterflies,
across the imps and critters
landing just below the
tribal sigils planted
atop the hill.
Black widow is
squirming and writhing,
the two of you dancing in
splendid synchronicity. Flamenco,
with that reddened, swollen shell of yours
which I so deeply revere for its elegance.
In this tender moment,
the stars are immortal and
the moon faintly shrouds
the city in bone-white rays
of tragic incandescence.
Black widow retreats to its web and
the moths and butterflies have
gone to sleep now.
Rest easy, sweet
Hedone
Jul 27, 2025
Jul 27, 2025 at 4:36 PM UTC
Cast out the chorus
that tell of dreams
of a life fulfilled
restricted
and less
Naked
I feel it
on my skin
the freedom to enjoy
myself
No fears
No judgements
No hidden spirits
tormenting my existence
to tell me lies
and divide
Lets abandon this
sail on flying ships
hedonistic
feverish
be the me
I see in my dreams
the animal
the master
Goddess incarnate
Apr 17, 2022
Apr 17, 2022 at 10:37 PM UTC
#Brown-tanned, and muscular
he leans against the wall at
Senior Frogs, down on the tip
of the Yucatan, at the edge
of Cancun.
She is mad-- the rich-girl,
college hottie.. who takes
the time out from her dancing
somewhere near the front of
the stage, and sultries over
with her best instagram-sashay
she could put together.
"Everyone is looking at me but you"
Mhmm.. and take another chug of my Patrón.
*"What. You think you're too good for me?
You've probably got old ***** anyways.."*
And in an instant, I ***** slap
the whining little butt-boy
she calls a boyfriend
and then
**** the ever-loving dogshit out of her
against the side of the stage--
the whole time, thinking about
how much more substance
a two-pump hit from a bottle of
Jergens and a quality **** vid
would bring me
As back against that old wall
I stand.. enjoying the show.
She is staring at me now
no doubt, she'll be bugging me
the whole rest of my trip.
Her friends come traipsing my way
because that's what friends do--
They become mesmerized..
and then fixated-- wanting to ****
the guy their friends want to ****
.
There is a Pharmacia on the corner
on my lone taxi ride back to the hotel.
Sergio pulls over, and I walk in...
*The Jergens is near the back--
right next to my favorite Patrón.*
#
Jun 4, 2021
Jun 4, 2021 at 5:55 PM UTC
what is there to life but
pleasure
like smoke sweet and thick
in my lungs,
fruitful wine that graces my tongue and
twirls my mind, laughter
and friendship that fill my evenings
and apartment,
dancing without a care to ryhthms and lovers
with soft lips and solid bodies
hr.
Dec 30, 2020
Dec 30, 2020 at 2:29 PM UTC
What remains in the aftermath of love?
As streets are built without sidewalks
As neighborhoods no longer have use for streetlights
As parks and sunsets turn into myths
As the stories of lies and deceit become the only nursery rhymes we pass on
As *** becomes as mundane as eating bread
And ****** become larger and more frequent than church communions
As ***** become cheaper than blood
As faces become so interchangeable they're impossible to remember
And names turn into secrets
What remains?
When everywhere is no man's land
When childbearing is just a rare, yet escapable punishment from God
When children migrate in swarms between families like birds escaping winter
When love is just but a militarized weapon used for enslavement
When humanity is emancipated from their emotions
Shall we celebrate our independence by clearing our contacts list and changing numbers?
Shall we start each new year by picking a new stranger to stave off our hunger for the night
When we stone those who learned each other's middle names
When we lock away anyone greedy enough to keep someone to themselves
And the married are sent to live in the madhouse
When the war of love have ended
And no one's heart returns home
What remains?
Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 7:55 AM UTC
I've been still,
Caught in a sweet stasis,
Buried under the same, baseless
Candied gags, slippery hags, body bags ー
But I can't go back.
Haven't moved forward either,
So I still sit silent here.
Maybe I'll someday wither ー
Like dandelions as they scatter in the wind,
I will feel no more the weight of societal sins.
Staying awake in anticipation;
That feeling you get when you see a road blocked
and a wrecked car hoping it was an accident
Eventful; excitement to see that tar black
Crimson on tarmac
and those trampled, broken-pretty shells ー
I want to be a doll.
A pretty hollow pale porcelain
you still can't hurt when I slip through your hands,
Or when you let go and drop me,
Or smash me into the ground ー
It's all the same, isn't it?
You buy, bore, break, blame, build, rebuild
Rebreak, reblame, replace...
I remake real-fake love into stanza-sized stories
Just to rebrand them as poetry;
A molded part to inspire some abstract art.
They're better off that way,
Locked in and stationary;
Sweet standstill sanctuary.
And I'll stay to watch their models fail and break,
As they too, disintegrate ー fellow ******* degenerates
This time I was at your disposal,
But we're all just glorified disposables ー
Ever-hungry, hedonistic at heart.
Feb 25, 2019
Feb 25, 2019 at 8:46 AM UTC
The most rhymed word
In the poetry world is
Me.
That reveals volumes about
Us.
Dec 20, 2018
Dec 20, 2018 at 7:51 AM UTC
Chase the chaos
embrace it
wrap both thighs around it
until it screams a name you recognise
and replies
with rhythmic fury
coursing through the contortions
spinning on carousels of shame and regret.
Dec 4, 2018
Dec 4, 2018 at 11:10 PM UTC
My first love was real love —
absolute, pure bliss.
An innocent lie,
but what good love story isn't?
My second love was lust —
passionate, destructive lust.
A hedonistic trip,
but what great love story isn't?
My third love was safe —
conventional, traditional safety.
A step back for feminism,
but what ****** love story is not?
Nov 28, 2018
Nov 28, 2018 at 3:28 AM UTC
for all the turbulence i sought
and sought
i was pretty good
i was so good
i battled through all the chaos
my kite was finally flying
but i snorted so much ritalin
my pupils are tar pits
and she calls me a hedonist but
i don't know what that means
i do know that
i fear neither death
nor consequence
you can treat me like your last meal
always at my most decadent
i remember i need to eat
then delete the thought
the only thing that sustains me is the rushing
by now
you should know that
it's all about me
we did the maths remember?
Oct 27, 2018
Oct 27, 2018 at 11:13 PM UTC
As a young man in love,
I was selfish.
I walked with you,
I shared food,
I slept with you,
It was my insatiable thirst;
Desire, and
I needed to gulp it,
At any cost,
For survival.
Perhaps you felt likewise.
I didn't know.
Now, being older,
That
Which I do
Out of love,
I do for you.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 11:52 AM UTC
When I look down I know
one world apart
from when I look up.
A world below, more reality
than what I've known of reality
through living since my birth.
One earth, two worlds,
splitting hairs,
scrambling airs,
creating errors,
chastising errs
so much
that nothing's
learned.
Up/Down,
Living lies,
Blurring lines,
Up/Down --
It's not that I don't know
what's actually worth a ****
It's that I see worth as a curse,
and would, rather than peace,
see ecstasy return me
into the breeze
as dirt.
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 1:13 AM UTC
Your lips are spun with gold, they touch me in the softest spot, I cannot speak, you thread me in your love.
My eyes are filled with tears, I cannot breathe, your face is light, the heavenly will scream to me, they miss you dear.
For every angel falls, it loses hope, it gains the world, and gods will pine away, they miss your scented skin.
And every man will crave the silver touch, the kind of silk between your thighs, you taste like home.
Heart inside my throat, I swallow hard, my mind is caught within the web, within the strands of shinning hair.
Choke me ‘till I die, I’m just like them, a climb to heaven, drop to hell, my angel I must go and leave you in the dust.
For man can become god, can climb the sky, can stand in stars, the moon his platter, sun you birth me in your perfect light.
Angel you have fallen, I have climbed, for heavens replace purity, they see the world as balanced in thine eyes.
In all my lives I live with you, I stand by you, I reach towards gods yet stood beside you in the past.
But now I see, the sky is clear, my path is here, a ladder of the galaxies, a chance to triumph, door to futures, key to worlds.
Man will fight and man will build, create a legacy, yes, rip apart the cry of femininity, he takes and builds his walls.
And I am he who sees his chance, who cries at last, my love, my angel, fragrant as you are, I leave your love behind.
I walk away, I climb the sky, I kiss your hair, your eyes, and see within your tears a world of emptiness and pain, but I am god.
May 25, 2018
May 25, 2018 at 5:28 AM UTC
What was it about omnipresence that appealed to me
so much that I destroyed myself -
one mountain at a time, one boundary at a time -
until the alarms stopped going off at breaches?
The magpies don't sing when they're sad, so what am I
when I laugh at myself for crying?
Who am I looking for when my pillows waft voiceless lullabies
from a bed half-empty? (half yours, half mine,
and I don't know which one's missing.)
What was it about hedonism that disgusted me
so much that my body rejected kindness -
every peace offering, every affectionate touch -
until it could no longer hold itself together?
Metaphors, like escaped prisoners, running for a life anywhere that isn't here,
anywhere that isn't me,
and I fold and break into myself
in muted, nondescript implosions.
Apr 4, 2018
Apr 4, 2018 at 2:47 PM UTC
Here's an adage to evaluate:
God helps those who help themselves.
Allow me please to start debating,
Speaking first on race relations;
Then you might go on on tax deductions,
And I'll rebut with school age shootings,
And all the *** and moral misconduct;
But the pinnacle's reached
With hedonistic fate,
The Oval Office of those United States.
Feb 20, 2018
Feb 20, 2018 at 9:25 AM UTC